Sammy’s been gone for so long. I’d moved on and gotten over the fact that I’d never see him again. I had gotten a career myself, and was happy to know that my happiness wasn’t ruined by all that happened in the past.
“When are you gonna get a man for yourself, Anita?” My best friend Hilda, who’s got a British accent, asked one day. She was concerned about my happiness, and was worried about me forever stuck in my shell, which I knew would never happen. I haven’t dated in a long time, so I had little love experience. It’s not like I didn’t want to be intimate with anyone, I just wanted to be left alone. Sammy had left me broken, and ever since I had fought off every feeling that had grown inside. Having been hurt by your first love, would make you not want to date again—making the saying; first love does hurts—more of a believe for me.
“You’re not joking about not wanting to date, are you?” Hilda continued.
“Well,” I said, “If it was left for me, I wouldn’t date at all!” I spoke in all seriousness, slipping the last of my button inside it’s hole. “Seriously, Hilda. Do you have to worry?”
Her brows arched up in a bid to criticize. “Worry, you say?” she brought her legs down from the couch. “Seriously, friend. You gotta be up on your feet and go get that dream man!” she encouraged.
“Well, that’s the problem, Hild. Who’s ever gonna be perfect for me?” I turned to look in the mirror again.
“I don’t know,” she spread her arms. “Anyone? Maybe?”
I smiled, admiring my figure.
I turned at her question. “Nothing!” I chuckled seeing her frown. “Oh, Heidi—that I called her whenever I wanted to sound funny.
“Not smiling!” she folded her arms. “For Pete’s sake, Anne. You’re almost thirty!” she reminded.
And I laughed. “30?” I repeated with my right brow raised at her, and went back to admiring myself once again. “I’m just 23, you see,” I did some curly moves with my waist and picked up my Yves Saint Laurent by the corner—a perfume I had come to love.
“You stepping out?” Hilda changed the subject, while I gave a warming smile.
“Yes,” I replied shortly. I didn’t want her knowing what I had in mind—I wanted it to be a surprise!
I stepped out the milk-painted ten storey building, as I stopped the yellow taxi my eyes came on. Getting in, I requested that I’d be taken to Lake Shore Drive, where my new workplace was going to be. I was yet to get the job, but I had full faith in myself and knew this was it.
“You can do it, Anne!” I breathed and walked in, fingers clasped and eyes focused on one place, trying not to seem nervous.
The receptionist led me to where all aspiring employees were, and I was anxious to meet whoever was in charge.
“Sir, there’s someone here to see you,” announced a lady—different from the receptionist; a little plump and average, with long brown hair and sparkly blue eyes.
I walked in quietly, relaxing a bit, as a man seated on a swivel chair, with eyes focused on a screen, came into view. He looked young, I could tell. But what I couldn’t understand was why he looked familiar.