Alice

Micole Abdelhak

Tenafly High School Short Story

Dear Vanessa,

It is with grave earnestness and consternation that I find myself writing this letter. Your mother informs me of your current state. I too remember when I was just out of law school, still eager for what was to come. I am in no way trying to discourage you, for that is not my purpose in this letter. Instead I find it my responsibility to warn you, for if only I had someone to warn me…. You know that your mother is someone who has always been near and dear to my heart, and I wish all the best for you as well. I have many regrets in my life and I fear that this will become a projection of them onto you, which is in no way what I desire. But I see much of myself in you–the same hope, the same ambition, the same determination that caused me to make one of the biggest and most regrettable decisions of my life.

Perhaps as you read this letter you will find that my past in no way resembles your present and, if that is the case, then please disregard my apprehension. But, as I said, when your mother requested me to give you advice about this profession and informed me of your own second guessing, I knew that if I didn’t inform you of my truth, I would always feel a pang of guilt. With my prior briefing over, I will start at the beginning, from the point in my life where you find yourself now.

As I write this now, with a shaky hand, a vivid outpouring of memories and emotions comes flooding back to me. My mind has taken me back to the day I reached for my diploma. My hand was steady and I was sure of myself. I had received a top education for which I had worked incredibly hard, graduating with honors, and had a job offer from a prestigious law firm all lined up. Although I had sacrificed many social nights and at points my own mental and physical health for this very moment, all I could feel was excitement and pride. Everything was finally falling into place. I stepped off the dais knowing my life would finally begin, that my work had finally paid off. All those late nights I had spent studying were worth it. My fear, dread, and doubt left me as if the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders.

I awoke on Monday morning, dressed in my freshly dry-cleaned suit, and walked the ten blocks to my new office. The early autumn sun gleamed on my face and a brisk breeze blew my hair off my shoulders. I arrived at nine sharp and took the elevator up to the eleventh floor.

“Good morning, Alyssa!” A woman approached with her purple stilettos rhythmically tapping on the linoleum floor. Her tight-fitted, fuchsia suit was a perfect match to her violet, wiry glasses that hung down her nose. Her face, hidden behind a plastered-on smile, with ten layers of foundation, in no way matched her flawless exterior. Although her bun was so tightly pulled to the back of her head, it was unable to stretch out her deep wrinkles, which were quite apparent. She showed off two wide sets of pearly white teeth as she smiled; however, the top half of her face didn’t match the bottom. Her eyelids sagged, causing an overall tired appearance. “Welcome aboard. There's coffee in the break room. Help yourself. You break for lunch at one thirty.” She briskly walked back to her office, her shoes making the same ker-tap sound as she went. I didn’t have time to tell her that my name, in fact, was Alice.

I turned back to my cubicle. The soft, gray walls surrounded me on all sides. I was also given a nameplate, a heap of paperwork, and a bulky white computer. As I unpacked, I questioned why I would need a nameplate. As a first year lawyer, I wouldn’t really be meeting with anyone in my small cubicle. No one would be there to see it. I turned the object towards me. Alyssa Fisher looked back at me.

And so the days went on. I never did inquire about getting a new nameplate. I was new and didn’t want to

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bother. I took the same mindset with most other aspects of my work. I came in at nine. I clocked in. I went to my cubicle. I did paperwork. I broke for lunch at one thirty. I did more paperwork. I drank coffee. I clocked out at five. I walked home. On Friday I got paid. As the days went on, I felt a sort of discontentment grow. The days all felt the same.

I often heard my coworkers chatter amongst themselves. I usually didn’t participate.

I didn’t work this hard and get this far to make new office friends, I reminded myself.

“Friday again.”

“Yes, how about that. Any plans?”

“Mondays, am I right?”

“Did you catch the game?”

“Where's that intern? I need another coffee.”

“Shoot, I forgot to clock in.” The gray walls of my cubicle engulfed me. Every day they came in closer and closer.

“Welcome aboard, Olivia.”

“Um, actually it’s Anna.”

Ker-tap. Ker-tap. Ker-tap. It was all the same.

My mother invited me over for dinner. I clocked out at five as usual and stopped by the employee bathroom on my floor. I turned the faucet and heard the pipes groan, loudly, begging to be freed from their labor. I knew this sink was faulty but I used it anyway. I let my hands rest under the warm water for a moment. I grabbed a brown paper towel from the dispenser. The leftover water from my hands softened it enough so that it conformed into a wrinkled shape around my hands. I met my eyes in the mirror. Were they always this way? The brightest of blues had always shone through my eyes, my best feature, according to my mother. Perhaps it was the lighting, but now, to me, they were grey. More grey than my cubicle walls if it were possible. My suit was a pale brown. Wrinkled around my body as if it too was slathered with water and plastered on. I smoothed my skirt and tossed the soggy paper into the trash.

“And how are you, Alice?” my mother asked. My family had crowded around the table devouring every last drop of my mother’s savory food. How am I?

“Well.”

“Enjoying your first year as a lawyer, aren’t you?” my brother said as he shoved food down his throat. Mike, a doctor, had been married for seven years. He extended his arm out to his wife and made a beckoning motion with his hand. She passed him another soda. Their three children were fighting in the next room. They made no move to stop them.

“Work’s all right, but I don't know if it’s meant for me. I was thinking about going back to school. Maybe I would be interested in art. I saw an advertisement for....” I felt my mother’s eyes glare up at me. I swallowed. I didn’t lift my head to meet her gaze.

“Alice, you have sacrificed a lot, the family has sacrificed a lot for you to be where you are now. Do you think I had the opportunity to do what you're doing? A college education. Seven years of school.” Suddenly my brother became aware of the brawl in the living room.

“Kids!” he said, rising from his seat and yanking his napkin off his neck as I nodded my head.

I woke up. I went into work at nine. I clocked in. I went to my cubicle. I did paperwork. I broke for lunch at one thirty. I did more paperwork. I drank coffee. I clocked out at five. I walked home. That Friday I got paid. The next Friday, I got paid. I progressed in the field. Within four years, I got my own office with grey walls, a less bulky white computer, and a new nameplate–Alice Fisher. That’s me. This is me.

As you know, Vanessa, I was a successful lawyer. For forty years I clocked in and I clocked out. I got married. I had children. I clocked in. I clocked out. For forty years I was grateful for the roof over my family's head and the food on my children’s plates. As your mother has informed me, you are having doubts, second thoughts. Normal, she says. She wants me to be a source of encouragement, a source of advice. While your mother might tell you of your eagerness, inform you of your privilege–for which she is not wrong, it was much harder to be a professional woman when we were young–my own advice is that if it is true that you are unhappy now, don’t simply push through. There will not be an end to your discontent if you are not enjoying life now. Explore your passions. Do not let one unfulfilling year turn into forty.

With my love and best of luck,

Alice

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