Started August First, 2002

Second Chances

Prologue:

I couldn't pry my eyes off the pretty white envelope that sat atop the pile of bills and magazines and credit card offers. It's not that I dreaded the day this letter would come, more like I dreaded the entire idea of the letter's contents. I was practically drooling on my filthy, worn, older- than-I-am carpet, curiosity taking the best of me as I threw away my original intent of throwing the piece of paper away without breaking the saliva-seal.

I decided to stall. I couldn't hurt, could it? I sat down on the floor in front of the mail pile and picked up the first bill: electricity. Oh boy, I was in for it. This one was always the worst, no doubt. I never remembered to shut the lights off in my sorry excuse for an apartment. Mother always told me when I'm not in the room it doesn't need to be lit, but little advice tends to slip my mind every now and then as I venture from room to room. So I'm a forgetful person. I slid my finger underneath the flap and it crunched open. I flipped out the sheet of paper and groaned. It was $106 this month. Perfect, there goes one pay check. I let out a long sigh and picked up my next gift from the landlord. The water bill was $85 and the gas bill was $92. I groaned louder as I tipped back and slammed against the floor. This just wasn't my day, hell, this wasn't my year!

I can't tell you how many jobs I've had. I'm a "professional dancer". I wish I could say it without the quotations, but technically, I'm not a professional dancer. I dropped out of college during my first year for personal reasons, but I never went back. What was the use? I'm currently working with Madame Giselle, a skinny little bitch from France. Needless to say, I don't care for her, but she simply adores me. I have that charming personality or something. She always has me out for lunch, not that I turned down a free meal.

Credit cards were next on my mail list. It was so stupid - pre-approved my ass. I have one credit card and one credit card only. I went through that shit before and I'm already up to my neck in debt. I have. . .money troubles. Yes, yes, I'll be the first to admit that I was somewhat of a 'shopaholic', if you will. Hey, if I saw it and didn't have it, I bought it. It was simple as that. Thankfully, I'm out of that habit as well, but I still have a lot of trinkets that I can definitely live without. I can't return anything anyway - not only has it been more than 90 days, but I always misplace those damn receipts. Who keeps those things, honestly? I sure as hell don't. They're so little! I try not to think about it much, being that there's nothing I can do about it.

I let a lot of little things eat me up. If I didn't let myself be eaten up about something I forgot to do in the seventh grade, maybe I'd actually be able to make something of myself. Sadly, I can't change the way I am and I'm stuck with my developing ulcers and regrets of what I did and didn't do.

The magazines always seemed to easy me, but then I look at all the pretty girls with their pretty clothes and I would realize that I would never be one of those girls. Magazines really kick a girl when she's down - no wonder teens get depressed! They look at this shit and compare themselves to those models. I start to feel a little pathetic when I thumb through the pages. That's probably why they put those "embarrassing moments" in there, so people don't feel completely worthless and useless.

I threw the magazines on the couch and was about ready to stand up when my eyes landed on that forgotten letter. Damn that thing. I sat back down and pulled it over, taking it in my hands. I stared at the return address, knowing exactly what it was and why I had received it. Taking in a rejuvenating breath, I ripped the paper apart and pulled out the sheet. The little picture in the corner made me shiver as I led my eyes to the typed message. It was exactly what I thought it was.

Reading the first line, I knew who had written it. Obviously, and I could even hear her high-pitched, squeaky-ass voice reciting the words as my eyes ran across them. I groaned again as I finished the last line: "We all look forward to reuniting".

Reuniting my ass. It was a time for everyone to gather up and brag about how much they've succeeded in society and how prosperous they've become. A time for them to bring their perfect spouse and express their undying love and talk about their honeymoon in Venice. I knew what it was all about, and I started picturing the evening.

Inside the envelope, I hate to say there was more. Another envelope with the return address was printed and a piece of paper was there to reply and assure your presence on that magical evening. I stared at the paper, a blank where'd I place my name and the word "yes" next to a box they expected me to check. My eyes were fixed on the words and my contacts suddenly dried up in my eyes and one folded over. I stood up and began blinking violently as I made my way to the tiny little bathroom to drop the solution into my red eye. Once the mild pain subsided and I could see straight, I looked in the mirror. I thought about that invitation.

What's there to loose?

My pride?

My dignity?

My self-esteem?

I refrained from staring after my last mishap from the lack of blinking and placed my hands on the crack porcelain of the sink. I walked back into the living room and grabbed a pen before I sat down. I picked up the paper and looked at the first line. Biting my lip in uncertainty, I filled in my name. I checked the box for yes and soon I found my tongue licking the extra envelope.

It was one month before I'd go to the Legion Hall and gather with fellow classmates for our 10-year High School reunion.

What was I thinking?

A/N: Another one! I don't know why I even started this one but here it is! It's different from my previous works, but it sounds promising. I have two chapters written up already, so if you want more, leave a review!