Day 25

Start writing a story that...

Step 1: includes the words: armchair  prisoner  wristband

Step 2: add this word: kerchief

Step 3: add this word: fame

Step 4: add a character who is very hungry
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Abby sat in an overstuffed, corduroy armchair surrounded by her roommate Emma's coworkers, a gaggle of interns and social media experts in miniskirts and chunky heels. Like Abby, they wore tight pink wristbands to show they had the right to drink alcohol at this bar where Emma's band was about to play. Unlike Abby, they were at an age where it was still a new pleasure to be allowed to drink at a bar.

Abby sipped her beer and checked her watch. There was still half an hour to go until the band's 10:00 set, but she was already feeling exhausted from the week. She wondered if it was really her job, which was mentally demanding but not physically difficult, or her depression about her fast-approaching 30th birthday that was making her feel so tired. She watched Emma's friends laughing and talking, but made no effort to interact with them. Any other day, she would have gone home already. Actually, any other day she never would have come out in the first place. But that kind of behavior was exactly what had caused a recent fight with Emma, who had accused Abby of being a terrible friend and roommate, which made her feel all kinds of guilt. And so here she sat, a prisoner in a hipster bar, waiting for a band she hated to perform. She nursed her beer for the next half hour and finally allowed herself a second beer when The Knobby Knees took the stage.

The melancholy moan with which Emma started the band's signature song, "Cry Like Elvis," catapulted through the crowd. The band stood behind Emma, ensconced in a blue light, poised to begin playing when she reached her deep, guttural cry of agony. At that moment, the drums kicked in, followed closely by the guitar and keyboard and bass. The wave of sound flooded the room, and everyone began cheering and swaying to the music.

Abby stayed in her seat, trying to take in the scene on the stage. There was Emma in a flowy dress, her short hair tied up by a red and white checkered kerchief and her lips blood red. The rest of the band was made up of guys wearing tight, button-up cowboy or flannel shirts, jeans, and Chuck Taylors. Emma's voice, now high-pitched and jagged, jutted above their twangy sound. Abby recalled a conversation they had had about what Emma wanted for the band. It was hard for Emma to define the type of fame they sought. They wanted to be noticed and well-regarded, but they feared some hard-to-define level of popularity that would push them from cool to sellout.

Emma's coworkers cheered loudest. Abby tried to remember what it was like to have just stepped into adulthood like they had. That time when your life briefly feels like it is entirely your own, before your experiences at work and in the broader world lose their novelty and become the norm. Sometimes she still wished for that time and those experiences, she hungered for them, but it was becoming more and more clear that she had no choice but to move forward. After all, what kind of nearly-30-year-old still lives with a roommate and gets pushed into spending her Friday night watching ridiculous bands she wouldn't otherwise tolerate?

As Emma shifted from screeching above the din to singing a more melodic song, Abby felt her own shift. Within a month, she would be moving out of the apartment she shared with Emma and would begin living on her own for the very first time. Within three months, she would accept a new job where she could imagine a future for herself. And, although she would stay in touch with Emma, this would be the last time she would see The Knobby Knees perform.