The press of voices around her and the quiet pulse
of latent activity delve into her head and withdraw every violent, longing,
envious thought within her. The shuffling of papers and the calling of names,
everyone but hers, create a soundtrack for a song she thinks she might hate. A
glance at her watch seems to have strung out the time, and yet she has been her
she thinks all her life. She traded all her hard-won tokens for a chance to be
here, a vain but hopelessly hopeful promise that she might win. They promised
her that he would know where to put her, give her a chance at the life she’s
dreamed she would have since she was a youthful warrior playing the part. Gambling
isn’t her game and she has played her odds to no end yet, wasting tokens, time,
and ten thousand little chances calling shots she could not see. Her aim is off
yet again and this hard plastic seat has officially become the most
uncomfortable chair she has ever sat upon.
The one ahead of her in line—or maybe he was
behind her and played his hand more masterfully than she—has taken off, leaving
the seat next to her unoccupied for now. Soon enough the next bidder will take
it up and surpass her, just like all the others. The one who just left waved as
he past, clutching his golden ticket to the same places she wants to go. He
promises to write in two languages but she knows he will forget because that’s
what always happens. Success for those lucky winners means that ones like her
are forgotten, the luckless players who pinch their pennies only to toss them
into a bottomless wishing well at the end of the day. And the one before him
dreamed of a home, of all the pretty white fences he would build and asked her
to go with him. She thought about it for moment but then grew afraid, moved her
seat to another line only to look back and see him take off, waving goodbye as
he found his flight, his fight. Her heart aches watching him, sometimes she
thinks, one of her ten thousand chances.
She shuffles through the stacks of books and
papers on each table at the end. Maybe if she makes herself smarter, she will
advance her place in line. Maybe if she gets her hand stamped just right, she
will be cleared to leave. The chances are out there, they told her at the front
desk, you just have to know where to look. She apparently threw away all her
best chances, didn’t pay close enough attention to the odds and the statistics when
she signed up for this. Futile dreams drift away as desperate fears creep in.
She’s been here for so long, maybe they’ve forgotten about her. Maybe they
forgot to tell him she is here, waiting, wanting, hoping.
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