My Life After Now - By Jessica Verdi Page 0,44

tube, into the vials. The technician repeated the process again and again, collecting eight vials in all.

When he was finally done, I moved to stand up. But the whole room went dark and spun around me like a tornado, and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor, vaguely aware of cold hands on my forehead, my eyes working to focus on the face hovering over me.

“Oh, wonderful,” I said as I attempted to push myself up to sitting. “I passed out, didn’t I?”

Dad nodded. “Are you okay?”

“Who even knows anymore?” I grumbled.

As the background became clearer, I realized that Papa was arguing with someone. His voice was raised, and he was gesturing wildly.

“What’s going on?” I asked Dad.

“Seth is…expressing his dissatisfaction with the amount of blood they took from you.”

Oh yeah, now I heard it.

“She’s all of a hundred pounds!” he was shouting. “What makes you think that it’s okay to take that much blood out of her?! Of course she’s going to pass out. What kind of operation are you people running here, anyway? Don’t you know how to do your jobs? I’ll have you know that I am an attorney, and if there is even one bump on that child’s head resulting from your negligence, I’ll sue you so fast you won’t even know what hit you!”

The technician’s face was flushed, and he was pointing an unsteady finger toward a computer screen. “Sir, please, look. The doctor ordered eight vials. I don’t make the decisions.”

“Papa,” I called out. “Calm down, I’m fine.” I slowly stood up to prove it.

Papa exhaled when he saw me supporting myself on my own two feet, and I saw the fight leave his body. He took my hand and led us toward the elevators. “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

“Best idea you’ve had all day,” I agreed.

23

Being Alive

It was two-thirty in the afternoon when we finally felt the sunshine on our faces again. We’d been in that building for over four hours.

“Why don’t we go get some lunch and you can tell us what exactly happened in there,” Dad said.

“I can’t,” I said. “I have to go to that audition.”

“Lucy, please, it’s been a long day, and you know how much pressure you put on yourself at auditions. Is that really what you need right now?” Papa said.

“Yes, Papa, that’s exactly what I need right now.” He didn’t understand that performing, in any capacity, was far more therapeutic than any lame group meeting could ever be.

My dads exchanged a glance.

“Well…if you’re sure…” Dad said.

“I am sure.” I gave them each a big hug. “You guys go home. I promise I’ll tell you everything later.”

Five minutes later, I was on the subway, zooming downtown. The car was packed, and I had to stand near the doors. Surrounding me on three sides was a high school tourist group, all wide eyes and eager smiles, wearing matching bright orange sweatshirts that read, “I marched in the Thanksgiving Day Parade!” A guy weaved through the crowd selling self-published copies of his book of poetry. A mariachi band serenaded us all with their version of “La Cucaracha.” I closed my eyes and absorbed the organized chaos of it all, letting the sounds fill up my head, so that soon there was no room left for any lingering doctor’s office jitters.

I found the address Roxie had texted me easily enough.

There was only an hour left of auditions but the line was still out the door. I’d been to a few auditions in the city before, and they were always like this. Hundreds of similar-looking, similarly-dressed, non-union girls neatly lined up, shooting each other dirty looks while their own heads were filled to the brim with delusions of grandeur. I knew better. I wasn’t going to get this job, just like I hadn’t gotten any of the other professional roles I’d tried for in the past. It had nothing to do with talent—the competition was high and the odds were slim. The sight of so many hopeful faces was a reminder that this was a city filled with dreamers, most of whom would simply never see their dream realized.

It would have been discouraging if I was actually thinking about the job. But for the first time in my life, I wasn’t focused on the end goal. All I cared about was this exact moment in time and standing in front of those casting directors, becoming a character, and leaving my own body—and everything it meant to