Missed Opportunities

“I’m here to see Dr. Montgomery.” The woman said. The secretary consulted her computer; a Ms. McConelly had booked an appointment with the doctor at exactly 2:00PM on Monday the 17th of November 2006. She looked at the clock on the bottom of her screen; it read 2:09PM.

“Are you Ms. McConnelly?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“The doctor will see you now.” She said indicating to the closed door at the other end of the room. Once she had gone the secretary went back to doing what she’d been doing before she had been interrupted, making a paperclip chain.

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“Would you like to share your answer with the class?” The teacher asked a boy in the back row. Marissa stared at her book. Under the heading ‘How to conquer Mount Everest’ she had written ‘don’t go.’ It made sense. If you don’t want to die of frostbite don’t go wading in ice. If you don’t want to suffocate as a result of there not being a sufficient amount of oxygen in the atmosphere to sustain you life don’t go climbing massive land formations to insane heights. Simple, she thought as a boy in her class listed off all the explosives he would need to conquer Mount Everest, don’t go.

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The secretary sighed as the phone rang for the thousandth time. “Hello, this is the office of Dr. Montgomery…yes…yes…sure…what’s a good time for you?…Sorry. The doctor is – indisposed – at the moment.” If by indisposed you mean lying on his desk surrounded by empty beer bottles, and I do. “Yes I’m still here…11 o’clock would be fine…absolutely…okay, have a nice day.”

She hung up and sighed rubbing her temples with her fingers. She almost screamed when the phone rang again immediately, but she didn’t, instead she yanked the plug out of its socket and locked the phone in the till. She was in no state to be answering any calls. If she had to she’d probably say “Hello. Sorry Doctor Montgomery isn’t taking any patients at the moment because he’s an under qualified alcoholic who will probably try to hack off your leg with a letter opener. Have a nice day!” And she did not want to say that as it would undoubtedly result in her hearing the word ‘fired’ and that word didn’t really take her fancy. So instead of answering phone calls she attached her recently formed paperclip chain to the corner of her glasses and started arranging coins in a line from newest to oldest.

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Wanna be a star? Wanna be famous? Then STAR is for you! Show the world your talent! Let your voice be heard! Enter STAR now!

The posters were all over the school, a mass of clashing colours arranged in a way that seemed to be designed to induce epileptic seizures. They were advertising a young talent competition being held at the school. The idea was you wrote your name down on a sheet pinned to the notice board then you performed a musical act at the concert night in front of a panel of judges who picked one act who would win a scholarship to a highly acclaimed music school. Marissa stared at the list of volunteers. There were five names in all, three of which were “Hue Jars”. The other two were Freddy Grey, who had been playing guitar since he was six, and Trudy Freeman whose name was imprisoned in a boarder of stars. Marissa picked up the pen and stared at the empty space underneath Trudy’s name. To write or not to write, that is the question, she thought before choosing the first option and scrawling her name at the bottom of the list. Then she heard voices.

“Patricia! I did it! I put my name down!”

“Oh! Trudy you’ll be so good!”

“I know.”

“You are so going to win- ” Marissa stopped listening then and dived towards the notice grabbing the pen and crossing out her name over and over again until there was a hole in the paper just under Trudy’s name, then she scurried off down the hallway.

“Oh look there’s a hole in the sheet. Hey! They ruined one of my stars!”

“That is so inconsiderate!”

“They were pretty stars too!”

“I know, you could be like an art person.”

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Marissa used to take voice lessons but her mother stopped paying for them when she refused to join the choir. “What’s the point in having a beautiful voice if you won’t ever use it!” she had said. But what if it’s not beautiful? She thought, What if I start to sing and everybody laughs and I die a little inside. It’s safer to just not do anything. Marissa bit her lip. That was a close one, what had she been thinking? Signing up for a talent competition with an audience and judges and her parents and everyone! Marissa shook her head at her own idiocy. How to conquer Mount Everest and other obstacles: Don’t go. Don’t do anything. She thought I guess it doesn’t matter if I didn’t enter as long as the winner really deserves it. What am I thinking? I wouldn’t have gotten it even if I had entered.

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Trudy. Trudy won.

Marissa couldn’t help gaping. Of course Trudy had sung well, she wasn’t bad or anything, but her voice lacked feeling. She chose a plastic song and sang it in a plastic voice and she won. Marissa walked out of the concert hall and saw Freddy Grey in the hallway thumping his head against the wall. She felt sick. She could have beaten Trudy. She could have gotten a scholarship to a music school. She stopped and thought about her life. There were so many could haves. So many missed opportunities.

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The secretary stared at the clock as she hummed tunelessly and wriggled her toes in her uncomfortable shoes. She stopped her humming to listen to the phenomenal snores coming from Dr Montgomery’s office and then slipped off her heels with a sigh putting her feet up on the desk. This is the life, she thought, what more could she want? Silent phone locked in the till. 67 coins organised in order of most recently made. Successfully completed paperclip chain dangling loosely from her glasses. She sighed again. Talk about denial. What more could she want? She could want fame, she could want to be a star, and could want to go back in time and stop her high school self from crossing out her name. She could want another chance. “Just one more chance.” She said out loud.

“MARISSA!” Screamed a voice as the doctor’s office door opened. “Would you keep it down! Some people are trying to do their jobs!” Dr Montgomery thrust his head around the door catching the secretary off guard. He suddenly noticed that her feet were on the desk, the phone wasn’t and her shoes were under it. His face turned an interesting shade of purple. “Marissa! What are your bloody feet doing on the bloody desk!” he roared.

Marissa sighed, taking her feet of the desk and slipping them into her shoes. She knew what was coming.

“Conshider yourshelf FIRED!” He bellowed, his voice slurring.

Marissa stood up and picked her bag up off the floor. She was considering going out with a dramatic “You can’t fire me! I QUIT!” but decided it was a waste of breath and just walked out of the building a chain of paperclips swinging from her glasses.

“Someone’s singing in the street again,” she sung softly to herself, “New York, New York.”