Page 14 of Joey

The old me would say, “Make your own fucking door, Brooke.” And I want to, I really do. It’s just… I don’t seem to have the basic raw materials required for door-making.

I’ve done all four R’s that stupid book talked about.

Recognize.

Reveal.

Reenergize.

Remake.

I’ve done all that. I’m trying my best to remake myself. It’s just hard because… I’m not sure who I was, but also, I’m not sure who I want to be, either.

But every time I give myself this little pep talk there’s this little voice inside me that says, Be yourself, Brooke. Just be yourself.

That little voice doesn’t seem to really understand who I am.

Or the panic that is building inside me. The panic that the old me was as good as it gets. The panic that this is all there is.

I can’t think like that. I can’t. Or I’ll give up.

I only have one year. One good year of living well before time runs out and all the doors I managed to open get slammed in my face. I feel like the clock is ticking down the seconds to my ultimate demise.

“Ma’am?”

“Huh?” I whirl around and find one of the security guards scowling down at me. “What?”

“You can’t stand here,” he says.

“It’s a sidewalk,” I snap. “I am absolutely allowed to stand on this sidewalk.”

“You’re loitering,” he says, pointing to a sign that says No Loitering.

“I’m not loitering. I’ve been standing here for like ten seconds.”

“You’re talking to yourself, ma’am. Do you need me to call someone to pick you up?” He raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps get you back on your medication?”

“What?” Did he just accuse me of being crazy? “Fuck you,” I say, then walk to the light and start pushing the button.

He watches me until I cross the street and stand on the other side, unsure where to go. This was my only interview today. And it really did take a lot of lying to get into this one. I have no more prospects lined up.

“Why are you watching me?” I shout across the street. Which makes many people shoot me weird looks.

The security guard says nothing. Just stands there, making sure I don’t walk back across the street and soil their perfect image.

It’s a pharmaceutical company, for fuck’s sake. I was trying to get a job as a sales rep. I looked that job up online and they dress nice. And pull wheelie briefcases with drug samples inside them. And visit doctors’ offices and make bonuses when they get the doctors to agree to push their drugs.

I could do that. I’d be very good at that.

“People already hate you!” I yell. Because I can’t stand the way that security guard is looking at me.

I turn away and lean against a building, folding my arms across my chest as I stare back at the security asshole. “OK, Brooke,” I mumble. I probably was talking to myself. I do that a lot. But I’m not crazy. I just like to talk things through. Out loud. “You need a new plan. A new door. A new—Oh, hey. What the hell?”

I stare at the office building across the street and one block up from the place I was just at. “Bright Berry Beach Cosmetics! You have got to be kidding me!”

It’s like a sign. It’s like the clouds have parted and a single beam of light is shining down from heaven onto that building.

My door! That’s my door!