The wind chimes outside my apartment window clinked softly in the chilly morning breeze, but I was already awake. I woke up early this morning, the sun not even up yet. I stepped out onto my balcony, savoring the blue of the city in the early morning. The only sound I could hear was the faint bark of a dog. I stood on my balcony until the sun rays, looking like skinny fingers greeting me, peaked out of the clouds. 

I work at an architectural firm downtown. The work is pretty monotonous, but it pays well. I graduated college as an art major but was always criticized for how my drawings were too methodical, too exact, and precise. I lacked originality and the ability to be free within my artwork, so drawing sketches of buildings was the perfect job for me. Geometric. Straightforward. 

Walking home from a particularly boring day, I decided to go out to eat. I got done abnormally early and it was only around 5:30 but it was freezing outside, the air cutting into my lungs and my mucus freezing in my nostrils. I chose a little mom-and-pop Italian restaurant that had a local following in the city. I walked into the dim dining room, immediately feeling warm and at ease. It smelled like yeast.

“Table for one, please,” I said to the hostess, and she led me to a table tucked away in a little nook of the restaurant. I nestled into my seat and started paging through the menu, reading the description of all the dishes. My feeling of security was immediately disturbed by someone pulling out the chair across from me and sitting down.

“Hi,” she said. “It’s been a while, but I recognized you immediately. You haven’t changed one bit.” It was Bell. My middle school crush. Gone was her side part and thick glasses. I first noticed her hazel eyes shining with little gold flecks in them. Then I noticed her clothing. Her outfit seemed tailor-made for her. Her green sweater draped just right, the color was perfectly muted, and she somehow made ballet flats look fashionable. 

“What are you doing out so early?” I managed to muster out. 

“I thought I would have a new job right now, but that didn’t work out, so I’ve just been mulling about the city. If I want to get dinner at 5:30, I get dinner at 5:30.” 

“Fair enough”. I poured some water from a tall glass bottle on my table into my glass and took a sip. I offered her some but she declined. She waved over the waiter and ordered a Coca-Cola which was promptly delivered in a tall glass. Her eyebrows scrunched up and she turned around to look back at the waiter who disappeared through the double doors that led to the kitchen. 

“Did that waiter seem angry at me? I didn’t perceive that he was treating her differently than any other customer so I said

“No, not at all, he seemed perfectly fine, why?”

“I just feel like he just slammed that glass on the table.”

“So, you said that you stopped working last week. What did you do?” She sighed deeply and looked wistfully at her Coca-Cola, swirling towards the top. 

“It’s an interesting story”

* * *

Bell did a stretch of anticipation as she got ready for the very first day of training for her new job. She had been fired from her old job as a roller rink attendee after an incident. She had been working there for one week. As a mark of shame, she also had endured too many bruises to the point where she had to tape a pillow on her backside. Not a good look. Luckily, the pillow was able to be un-taped a couple of days ago. Unlike some of her friends who thought starting a new job was embarrassing, she loved it. She enjoyed the process of not knowing where things were or where they went, to becoming more comfortable and acclimated to the environment.

She wandered into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Her hair was resembling Marie Antoinette on this fine morning. An auburn beehive. Or a Christmas tree. Her fringe stuck out, looking like little arms reaching out for a hug. Her hazel irises look dull without her morning caffeine. 

She sauntered into the kitchen to make some coffee. She drank a different variation of coffee every morning. Sometimes a cappuccino when it felt like a foam day, sometimes straight espresso when she wants to feel like she’s cliff jumping. She didn’t want to be wired for work so she sensibly chose a simple drip coffee with some cream. .

Bell’s new job was at a kitschy American-style diner where everything from pancakes to soup du jour to gristly steaks with too much fat on them (but people seemed to eat it anyway) were served. It had a cult following, so every day was a rush. From the moment she walked into the dining room for her interview last week,  she knew it would be perfect for her. Its dated wallpaper, the gaudy print of a jolly plump chef, old-timey orange juice dispensers, and serving staff in light green collared shirts and black half aprons carrying trays on their shoulders. 

She put on her uniform and faded yellow sneakers that have been washed one too many times, and practically leaped out the door. On her walk, she looked up at the cool blue sky and a nippy breeze caressed her hair. It was going to be a satisfactory day.

Bell walked into the restaurant and slipped on the mopped floor. From the other room, she heard a laugh

“HAHAHA” sounded this unknown voice. From the decorative window-like divider between the two dining rooms, she saw a blurred face in the glass. The figure came around, and Bell was greeted by a girl with dark, frizzy hair done up in a ponytail, bright eyes, and light blue canvas sneakers with red laces. 

“Man, you’re lucky I’m the one who caught that epic fail. I’m Serena. You must be our fresh meat. Bell right?” she said as she extended her hand out to Bell.

“Yup, that would be me” she said as Serena hoisted her up, only slightly terrified that new employees were regarded as “fresh meat”. 

“So how long have you been working here?” Bell asked.

“I’ve been here for almost a year. They pay pretty well so I’ve been saving up to buy a moped. I like it here, the other waiters and waitresses are really nice. Just some tips, though, you might want to start lifting some weights because when I first came here I literally collapsed from the weight of the trays, also, wear shoes that you’re willing to get messy because once, a customer dropped hollandaise all over my shoes. The food here is pretty good, but stay clear of the seafood chowder because that once gave me food poisoni--”

All of a sudden, that brightness in her eyes disappeared like a star fading away into oblivion and she went silent. Bell heard the entrance ding of the door and swore she felt the air shift. A balding man around 5’5 lumbered in, his white T-shirt covered in coffee stains. Although Serena had a good 3 inches on him, she was white as a sheet.

“Ey! Serena! Head back into the kitchen! We have eggs to crack and batter to make, chop-chop!”

“Heard” muttered Serena as she gave a “good luck” look to Bell and trudged through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Bossman started to pace.

“Well, well, well. You must be Bell” He paused for a second. “Hah! I’m a poet and I didn’t even know it!” he exclaimed, doubling over in laughter. Bell was already intrigued by her boss of approximately 10 seconds in stitches over self-induced laughter. As soon as it happened, it was over, and he looked sternly at Bell. For a split second, as he made direct eye contact with her, he looked flabbergasted but composed himself in a nanosecond.

“The name’s Tony,” he said as he cleared his throat and offered a beefy hand which Bell took and momentarily lost all hand circulation as he shook it. 

“It’s really nice to meet you, Tony!” she said with a smile. Tony momentarily looked at her like she urinated in the middle of his restaurant as if pleasantries were foreign to him.

“Now I know you were interviewed for this position, but the real test, if you want to have this job, you have to pass my trials. The Tony Trials, if you will” he said as he smiled maliciously. With caffeine coursing through her veins, Bell was ready for anything. Tony took a cup from one of the tables and handed it to her. 

“Fill this glass to the top with orange juice and give it back to me without spilling a drop”

Piece of cake. Bell echoed in her mind. 

“You have ten seconds” finished Tony as he smoothly pulled out a stopwatch from his pocket which he was clearly prepared to do.

Not a piece of cake.

Bell snatched the cup and bounded over to the juice dispensers. 

8….7…..

She filled the cup to the brim and gingerly hobbled back to where Tony was standing.

4….3…..

She somehow managed to hand the cup to Tony without spilling a drop. 

“Tsk tsk tsk Bell. You were .1 seconds off. You flunk that portion”, said Tony

“WHAT?” Bell exclaimed, “I barely had any time to begin with!” 

“In the employee handbook, there's a 10-second orange juice policy, where all employees are required to be able to deliver a glass of orange juice at any given table at the restaurant in 10 seconds or less,” said Tony, proudly.

Bell had the largest internal eye-roll of her life but managed to stay composed. 

“Understood,” she said, trying not to show defeat. “What’s next?” she said.

Tony promptly pulled out three trays and three 5 flat pound weights. She briefly looked into the two circular cutouts of the swinging doors that led to the kitchen and saw two employees peeping out at her, looking like they were having the time of their lives.

He put a tray and a weight on each of Bell’s hands and put the third tray and weight atop of her head. Struggling slightly and with various “whoop’s” and “oy’s”, Bell managed to keep the trays up. Barely. 

“Alright, now do 2 laps around the restaurant. GO!” Bell took one step and was already wobbling. The weight on her head kept shifting, threatening to crash to the floor. Tony was being anything but supportive. 

“Come on! 3 plates of food are nothing! We have hungry customers to serve, chop chop! Jimmy is going to cry to his mom if he doesn't get his chocolate chip pancakes! Bridget is going to complain if she doesn’t get her orange juice!” She half expected him to pull out a whistle and treat this as training for The Big Game. She passed the plump chef, she wished he could spare her some of his arm muscles. In the midst of her balancing act, she couldn’t help but wonder why Tony would bother doing this. Probably because he watched other people make fools of themselves or belittle them. Bell was determined not to let him have this satisfaction. As she completed her first lap around the restaurant, her biceps were on the verge of turning into jelly and sliding down the rest of her arm. As she slowly passed the print of the plump chef again, he was no longer smiling. He wore a sneer and seemed to look down at her with patronizing eyes. A look of what are you doing here? The trays felt heavier. Finally, and out of breath, she completed her two victory laps around the diner. Tony stood in front of her, arms crossed trying his best to not look impressed. 

“Take 10. Then you’ll do it again.” he hmphed as he dramatically pushed open the double doors and went into the kitchen. Bell let out a long exhale and went to the bathroom down the corridor to splash some cold water on her face. The cool water felt cleansing on her hot skin. Her hazel irises popped against the dull colors of the beige bathroom. She quickly slapped her face with both hands and exited the bathroom. 

She still had 6 minutes left in her break, so of course, she wandered about the restaurant. Bell had never been the type to stay still for very long. On a slow day at the roller rink when time  and minutes seemed to drag by, she induced a limbo competition with the help of a very long broom. 

She wandered down the narrow corridor, which almost felt alive around her, beating with energy and warmth. She found it lined with more prints of the plump chef. In one he was milking a cow and wearing a straw hat. She turned around, and in another, he was catching a fish off of a sailboat against a brilliant orange sunset. She looked back at his cow milking endeavor and did a double-take. Instead of milking the cow, a bucket of milk was tipped over, the contents spilled all over the ground. He looked at Bell wrathfully, his balled fist raised in the hair. She looked back at the SS. Plump Sailor and the landscape had turned into a raging storm, swirling black clouds, gargantuan waves, and cold sleet raining down onto the little boat. Bell averted his eyes and kept walking. 

As she continued down the corridor, she was greeted by a slightly ajar wooden door with the following sign: Tony Territory. Others: SCRAM!

Naturally, Bell looked over her shoulder to make sure that no one was snooping around and watching her, and she pushed the door open. It was a cavernous room that had a clean smell to it. Lots of paper stuffed into filing drawers, the corners peeking upwards. There was a coffee machine that had clearly seen better days, the carafe half-empty with sludgy over warmed coffee at least from yesterday or the day before. In the middle of the room was a large wooden desk, strewn about with paperwork, newspaper, a half-finished crossword puzzle, and a set of half-moon glasses. On the corner of the desk, was a photograph of a family, and she picked it up to get a closer look. The father was Tony (with a little more hair) holding a little girl, and the mother was a beautiful woman with warm, sparkling hazel eyes and short, choppy brown hair. She was carrying a little boy, their faces cheek to cheek.

As she put down the photograph, her eyes went wide. Behind the desk was a marvelous painted portrait of the woman in the photograph. She was sitting with both hands stacked on her knees, her body turned towards Bell. Her cheeks were perfectly rosy, and choppy hair was shining. She seemed to glow. As ethereal as her appearance was, her face was twisted into a sneer. Eyebrows arched, those hazel orbs of fury looking down and burning into Bell’s soul. Bell’s breath hitched, and she felt her palms start to perspire. She felt so vulnerable and targeted. Her expression was seared into Bell’s mind. What had she done? Did she know about the incident? It was one door. One door that she forgot to lock. The employee entrance. How all the children’s size 2 roller skates were stolen, the shelf barren by the next morning. Hot, searing tears of disappointment plummeted down Bell’s face. She couldn’t bear to work in this environment where everyone seemed to look down on her. Didn’t believe in her. Doubted her competence. She ran out of the office sobbing, down the corridor past the angry milkman and stranded sailor, into the dining area past the plump chef, and whooshed past Tony, before he had time to yell 

“Ey! Where is ya going!”

* * *

“The weirdest part”, she continued as I took a bite of my slice of bread, was that Serena somehow got my number and called me the next day. 

“She was sorry that I felt so overwhelmed and completely understood if it was too much for me. I then asked her 

‘Serena, have you been in Tony’s office ever?’ She said 

‘Yeah, loads of times’ she said. 

‘Does that painting ever freak you out?’ I replied. 

‘What? No way’ she replied. 

‘Quite the opposite, actually. That beaming smile always makes me feel happy.’