Page 5 of Actually Yours

“Are you able to order me a taxi?” I ask the first person I stumble upon, who is busily clearing the tables we’d just vacated.

A blank stare greets this request.

“Do you have a phone?”

Nothing.

“Do you speak English?”

A slight shake of the head.Great.My night keeps getting better and better. I reach into my impractically small clutch purse and pull out my phone. Holding it up and pointing to it, I ask again in a loud voice, “Do you have a phone I can use?”

Now, I know speaking louder will not get her to understand me, but my tired, slightly intoxicated brain is working off fumes at the moment, so I’m hoping this will excuse my culturally insensitive behaviour. Just this once.

“Here.” My new non-English-speaking friend hands over her phone and with a grateful smile, I take it from her, happy to see her service provider has granted her network privileges, and use it to call for a taxi. A taxi that will take thirty-five minutes to get to me.Wonderful.

“Thank you,” I say, this time keeping my voice at a normal decibel, as I give her back her phone, hoping that she can understand the gratitude on my face and in my tone, if not my words themselves.

“Welcome.” She gives me a timid smile and gets back to work, leaving me alone. Again.Geez, talk about a theme for the entire day.

The blister on my right toe takes this opportunity to burst, and this is my cue to take the sparkly, so pretty, silver torture devices off my throbbing feet and brave the walk back down the gravel path to the roadside, to wait for my taxi. Leaving a small trail of blood in my wake, I limp away from the warmth of the building into the night.

“Ouch,” I hiss, walking on my tippy toes and debating with each step into the stones coating the pathway whether I should put my shoes back on. This is just a perfect end to what has been a really trying day.

Reaching the end of the driveway, I sink down into the grass, wincing at the grass stains I’m inevitably inflicting on this beautiful dress and blink furiously. I’ve made it through the day without giving in to the tears that have had my throat tightening every fifteen minutes. I’m not letting one little (enormous) blister and a missed Uber ride break me now.

A partner to share some of these burdens wouldn’t be the worst thing.

I’m too emotionally spent to squash this annoying voice in my head that always seems to pop up when I’m feeling at my lowest. I hate this voice. It makes me feel weak and useless, like I can’t be a fully-fledged, fully-functioning person without a boyfriend. But then, at times like these, when all my friends disappear into the night as couples, entwined and happy, I can’t stifle the idea that things would be easier,better even, with someone by my side.

“You are a strong, independent woman, who doesn’t need anyone to get you through this life. You have the tools to be successful and whole, all on your own.”

I repeat this mantra out loud because there’s literally not a single person nearby to hear me, until the taxi driver approaches, offering me a way to bring this day to an end. A ride home to bed. To sleep and then start tomorrow without this sense of loneliness dripping over me.

“Miss? You need a taxi?”

I slowly bring myself up to a standing position and gingerly walk to the car.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“You ready to go?”

Am I ever!“Yes, I’m so ready to go.”

I sink gratefully back into the soft leather car seat, letting the rambling, running sentences of this particularly chatty taxi driver wash over me, only inserting the occasional “aha” and “yep” when it seemed appropriate.

“This is you, Miss.”

I open my eyes, wondering if I’d actually fallen asleep and see my apartment building through the fogged-up car window.

“Thank you.” I pay the exorbitant fare—geez, my savings are taking a hit with this one taxi ride—and, looping my fingers through the straps of my shoes, I walk the final few steps through the front door of my building.

“Stupid staircase!” I curse this older, elevator-free building, as I do daily, and gripping the handrail tightly, I pull my heavy legs up the one, two, three flights of stairs, summoning the last of my energy to trudge down the final hallway to my apartment. 3F.

“What in the mother of all that is holy is this?”

I say this out loud, out very loud, as I stare at the note taped haphazardly to my front door.

“Oh no, not today, Satan!”

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