2016 – Day 49

Start writing a story that...

Step 1: takes place: in a meeting

Step 2: add this word: sensitive

Step 3: add this word: dawn

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"We appreciate your honesty, Mrs. Dubrow..."

"Ms. Dubrow."

"Ms. Dubrow, and we will certainly take that into consideration when making our decision."

"Thank you." Debra stood and shook hands with Dr. and Mrs. Highton and Mr. Brillstein, the deciding body of the 42 Wharton Street Condo Board. Dr. Highton and Mr. Brillstein had both worn blue suits and Mrs. Highton a silk red blouse and tan trousers. Debra felt as if she were staring at a clothing ad in the New Yorker that was using models of a certain age. It was really only their faces that gave them away; at a distance, she would have thought they were in their early 30s, not their late 50s.

As Mrs. Highton escorted her out of the meeting room, Debra looked down at her floor-length skirt and v-neck sweater. She had thought she'd dressed so smartly that morning. Suddenly she was conscious of how sloppy she must look to the woman wearing six-inch heels on a Saturday.

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"You're being too sensitive," Robert said that evening when he stopped by to check on Debra.

"No, you should have seen their faces change when I mentioned the bankruptcy."

"But did you explain how it happened?"

"I said it resulted from a divorce."

Robert shook his head and pulled a wine bottle out of the fridge. He raised an eyebrow and Debra nodded.

"Honey, why didn't you tell the full story?" he said.

"Because it doesn't sound good. Telling them he spent all our money makes it sound like I let it happen. I sound weak!"

She watched as he uncorked the bottle and filled two glasses.

"They don't want a victim," she said. "They want a successful person who will keep bringing in the money and will fit in with their other residents."

"If they're such snobs, why apply at all?"

"Because I'm finally doing well. And because I've loved walking past that building ever since I moved to the city four years. ago. It's what I want."

Robert handed Debra a glass and they toasted to her house hunt. Later, after Robert left, Debra crawled into bed and stared at the window across the room. Though it was getting dark, the streetlights cast enough light that she could make out the passersby just outside. A woman was being pulled along the sidewalk by two large dogs on leashes. Teenagers, laughing raucously, rolled past on skateboards. A couple argued as they rushed by, stopping only briefly just outside her window to hurl swears at each other.

Debra's thoughts bounced from everything she loved about her neighborhood to everything she hated about it and back again. The noises. The smells. The people. The community. Was she a sell-out for trying to get into the Wharton Street building? What did she owe to the neighborhood, anyway? Her brain ached as thoughts swirled in an endless loop.

She didn't remember falling asleep, but she realized what had happened after she was jolted awake by a ringing phone that pierced her dreams just after dawn. She rolled out of bed and squinted at the name of the early-morning caller. It was the 42 Wharton Street Condo Board.