Day 119

The writing exercise starts with: “It was her first day of class, and she was already really behind.”

…

It was her first day of class, and she was already really behind.

Walking the the archway that dignified in a sense that I was transitioning from one phase of my life to the next, I stopped, eyes almost involuntarily on the girl with red hair, a feature that made her stand out.

Like me, she didn’t belong.  Fumbling in a voluminous handbag, stuff was falling out on the floor, and she was looking both sheepish and apologetic.

It took another single, casual glance over the occupants in the room, a very diverse collection of people that ranged from, in my opinion, Hollywood starlets to maximum security prison inmates, to instantly make the assessment that out of a hundred, perhaps two might make it.

I took a seat at the back, ready to leave.

A man in his 30s perhaps younger, dressed casually to the point where he was the least expected person you would expect to see, given the nature of the advertisement that brought everyone to this hall, stepped up onto the podium, take a look around the collective, tapped twice on the microphone to see if was working, then, when silence had replaced the sound of many conversations, said, “For some, this is the first day of the rest of your life.”

I’d heard it all before.

I scanned the faces I could see, those that wanted to hear what he had to say, and those that didn’t.”

“From this moment onwards, everything is a test.  What you do, what you don’t do, what you say, and what you don’t say.  Every question can be a double-edged sword.  Most of you won’t make it past this first day.  It’s not a reflection on you personally; it’s just that we are looking for particular types of people.  And, even if you do make the first cut, there will be a second and a third and a fourth and so on.”

I watched him look around at the sea of expectant faces and, like myself, stopped on the girl with the red hair, this time with a cell phone in her hand.  Perhaps it was ringing, and she was hesitant about answering.  It went face down on the desk

His eyes moved on.

“There’s a questionnaire on the desk in front of you.  It looks like one of those odious examinations you did at high school.  It is.  Only you can’t fail.  It is designed to tell us about you, things that you might not even know about yourself.  Make sure you write your name on it because if we don’t have a name, we can’t call you up for the first interview.  When you have finished, please wait in the room next door.  There are beverages and food.”

Another look around the room.  The red-haired girl had looked at her cell phone twice since putting it down.  Her expression was one of fear.

“There’s no time limit, but the sooner you finish, the sooner you can be interviewed.  Thank you.”

I picked up the paper, about 50 pages long, half of which were multiple-choice questions and smiled to myself.  I knew the psychologist who created it.  One of those self absorbed smart asses that I threaten to punch his lights out.  But I hated everyone back then.

I filled in the form and put my name on it.  A name, not my real name.  That had been lost in the mists of time.  Whoever in this room made it to the end, they too would also become a ghost.

My departure elicited several looks, though it was hard to tell if they were of surprise or disgust, including one of amusement from the red-headed girl.

I went next door and waited.  Tea and scones trumped chicken and mayonnaise sandwiches, though not by much.  I resisted the urge to pick a can of Coke.

The candidates didn’t realise that what they ate also counted towards their eligibility.

Over the next hour, the candidates strolled in, looked over the wall of food options and made their choices.  Some sat on their own, most sat in groups, perhaps alliances made outside before filing in.

Alliances wouldn’t help them.

The redhead was among the last, which told me it was too hard, or she was selective with her answers.  Thinking about them wasn’t the answer.  It was designed for instant response, but that wasn’t explicitly stated.

I watched her walk over to the food cabinets and take her time.  It started with sandwiches, cake, scones, salad, and ended with health bars.  She also opted for a protein drink.

Then she circled the room, saw me, and came over.  I didn’t expect that.

“This seat taken?”  She had a hand on the chair opposite me.  Usually, most people tried to avoid me.

“Feel free.”

She sat, putting the voluminous bag under the table in front of her feet.

She carefully unwrapped one of the bars and took a bite.  There was no expression on her face, nor was she deliberately trying to look at me.

“Who do you think they’ll pick?”  Her eyes came back to me.

“I left my crystal ball at home.”  Deliberately gruff.  It was usually enough to send people away.

“What’s your deal?” 

“Why do you keep looking at your cell?”

“Is that going to keep you up at night?”

Sass.

“It could.”

She looked me up and down, trying to look through the facade.

A shrug.  “Ex won’t leave me alone.  Cheats and expects me to forgive and forget.”

“Come here expecting to learn skills to deal with him?”

“Get away from everything.”  She sighed and took another bite of the bar.  There was something in it she didn’t like, a slight wrinkle in the nose.  “OK.  Maybe I’d like to beat the shit out of him.”

“Revenge.  There is a saying, First dig two graves.”

“You know this from experience?”

“My father beat my mother to death in a drunken rage.  I beat him to death over three days.  He begged me to kill him.  Revenge doesn’t give you what you need.”

Her eyes widened, but not in terror as they should.  The thing is, that was the truth.  The bigger question was, why did I tell her?

“The very definition of hell coming to breakfast.  Wow.”

“Sorry.  You don’t need to know.”

I saw Taylor, the man who had been up front at the start of their journey.  She didn’t and jumped in fright when he dragged a chair over and sat. He had her paper in his hand.

“Lolita?”

She smiled.  “I figured if you were any sort of organisation and not a bunch of scammers, you’d know who I was the moment I walked in.”

“Amelia Mack.  Seven parking tickets, three speeding fines and a shoplifting charge that was dismissed.  Waitress, wanna be actress.  How am I doing so far?”

“You haven’t said major loser yet, but it’s on the tip of your tongue.”

It was Taylor’s turn to smile.  He looked at me.

“Sassy.  Playing a role.  Uses truth and embellishes.  Looks you in the eye when she talks to you.  Judging by her manner, I’d say her ex called the police about her after she told him no, and he ignored her.  I’m betting there’s some threatening messages on her phone.”  I looked at her.  “Comment?”

“He is a self entitled little shit trying to score points with his friends.”

Fair enough.  She was not the first to be running away from their problems, but she was one of the few who did something about it.

Taylor handed me a sheet of paper with her recent texts.  Confirmed.

“You do realise,” Taylor said, “that she’s your problem.”

She looked at Taylor.  “What?”

“Normally, we don’t take on problems.  You have a choice.  We take you in, but he is your mentor.”

Her eyes came back to me, like watching a tennis game.

“I don’t do training,” I said.

“I’m in if he’s doing it; otherwise, forget it.  I’ll take my chances.”

“They’re not good.  Not against his family.  We can make all of it go away.  But you have to renounce everything.  Before you go through that blue door at the end of the room.  You take nothing with you.  Nothing.  Is that understood?”

“Certainly not the cell.  If you have family, say goodbye.  Friends, none.  When you go through that door, you become a ghost.”  I had no family, and definitely no friends.  It wasn’t hard for me.

Most people had a social media presence, followers, and people who asked questions.  That alone knocked out more than half the applicants.

She looked down in the direction of her bag.  Her whole life was in the bag and on her phone.  She dragged it out and put it on the table.

A minute passed, then she shrugged.

“I’m in if he’s doing the training,” she said, nodding in my direction, and pushed the bag towards Taylor.   “Take it.  Take everything.  The little bastard’s lawyers will do a number on me, so what have I got to lose?”

Put that way, I could see her point of view.  In the corner she was in right then, there wasn’t a way out.  But that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be one in the future.  If she lasted that long.

Taylor looked at me.  “Time to take the leap, Mac.”

I sighed and dragged myself up.  It was not as if I hadn’t thought about it.  They’d given me a year to recover, knowing I couldn’t go back into the field.  But they said I could still be useful.  I didn’t think I had much to offer.

She stood too.  “Are we doing this?”

“You’ve got to the door to change your mind,” I said, not waiting for her.

I could see potential. But I could also see trouble.  She was starting from a point where she didn’t really have a choice, like I had no choice.  People will tell you you always have a choice, but that’s not necessarily true. 

I didn’t look back, and when I reached the door, I went through it.  A hush had come over the room, and there were about a hundred pairs of eyes on me, and they would be on her. That would also be the question on everyone’s mind.  Why her?  It would not be so much about me.

Inside the room behind the door was a table and two chairs.  Usually, it would be for an interview.  Taylor usually asked me to cast an eye over the intake and offer an opinion.  So far, the three I’d recommended had passed through the training.

Five minutes later, she came through the door and, after closing it, leaned on it.

“You really killed your dad?”

“Would you have cut his dick off?”

“Put him in a room and give me a sharp knife.”

I could see the fire in her eyes.  “Perhaps I might make that a test.”

“This is the first time you mentored?”

“Do you understand what you’re getting into?”

“You’re not very good at selling the product, are you?”

“What’s there to sell?  You hand your life over, and we turn you into something you never thought you’d become.  Something worse than anything you could imagine.  Three months down the track, you’ll wake up, disoriented, distressed, and wondering what the hell happened to you.”

“But you’ll be there?”

“Yes.  I’ll be there.  For better or worse.”

“Then lead on.  As the man said, it’s the first day of the rest of my life.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025