A Night Out

Tammy’s shift at the Mac counter was over.

“I’ll see you on Monday, girl!” she yelled cheerfully before exiting the store.

 Fiona looked at her quickly and waved, then diverted her attention back to a slender woman debating between two shades of red lipstick. It might seem like shades of red are all the same, but Tammy understood the dilemma. There are cool undertones and warm undertones, date night shades, and work shades, high gloss and matte, the choices are endless.

Tammy had the weekend off. A rare thing. She could finally spend some time with her boyfriend. Anton worked at an office job. It was hard for the two of them to find time to hang out. They agreed on a movie night at his place, they were going to watch The Invisible Man. Tammy stopped by H&M to pick out a new dress for the occasion. It was still February but inside the store floral prints were in full bloom. Tammy felt that spring was inevitable. She was wrong. 

Tomorrow a catastrophic mistake will be made. Donald Trump, in a constant struggle to prove his competence, will test a nuclear weapon. The calculations will be off, and the bomb will hit Russia. In retaliation, New York would go up in flames just an hour later. Millions of people will perish alongside the Statue of Liberty and the Metropolitan Museum of the Art. The world will plunge into WWIII, but Tammy won’t be there to see it. 

 If Tammy knew that the world was about to end she would turn around. She would march back into the Mac store and she would punch Fiona right in her dumb fucking face. The girl is nineteen, yet somehow she’s the manager. Never mind that Tammy had worked there for six years and did more than anyone. Fiona’s make up skills were comparable to a ten-year-old’s. Her hand was slightly steadier than that of a toddler and her only inspiration was Barbie. Tammy would grab Fiona by her over-bleached blond hair and extensions would fly in all directions. Then Tammy would let go, flinging Fiona into a mirror. The floor would look like an abstract painting, makeup and blood spattered over black tile. Tammy would walk out calmly, careful not to step on the shards of mirror scattered on the floor. Then Tammy would go next door.

She worked hard and she deserved luxury goods damnit. She would size up the flamboyant shop attendant. She could definitely take him, she was taller than him and in a higher weight bracket. He would not stand between her and the light pink, monogrammed Luis Vuitton bag. Not that he would try. A woman covered in blood would look like she means business. The man would simply move aside, he is not paid enough to risk his life. Perhaps he’d even grab a designer handbag and go on his own rampage in style. After his departure, Tammy would calmly move her wallet from the old Nine West purse to the new, shiny one. She would wipe her hands, so she wouldn’t ruin the bag with unsightly handprints. When the security guard would come rushing at her, she would grab a leather chair and smash it over his head. People would evacuate the mall in a panic and she would blend into the crowd. 

 She would forget all about movie night. Anton is cool, but she would rather not spend her last day on earth listening to him talk about the merit of arugula in salads. She would stop by her studio apartment to clean herself up. She would put on that short red dress that she has been too self-conscious to wear. Her legs would be stubbly and she would pick up a razor. Then she would laugh at herself. How stupid it would be to worry about leg hair when the world is ending. Still laughing she would move the razor to her hair. She always wondered how she would look if she were bald.

The haircut would not go as planned. A leg razor is not meant to remove twenty inches of curls from a woman’s head. Tammy would give up the close shave, she would grab scissors instead and hack at her hair indiscriminately. A new look for dying. She wouldn’t even glance in the mirror. She has grown tired of looking at herself. Surrounded by mirrors at home and at work, all Tammy saw was the mask she has been drawing on for years. Permitted by the impending doom to be a violent, impulsive woman, she would stand in that bathroom and feel like she is finally herself. It can be exhausting to be nice all the time, to listen to your incompetent boss, to be polite to bitchy customers, to not assault men who tell you to smile. Tammy would give her apartment one last glance, an impeccable ensemble of Target decor. She wouldn’t really miss this overpriced rental. She would grab a coat on her way out and would leave the door open behind her.

 Tammy would head to her favorite restaurant. All of this destruction would make her hungry enough to eat a horse, unfortunately, this place would only serve burritos. She would debate getting a drink and would settle on a pitcher of margarita. She would enjoy the meal and tip everything that’s in her account, $1,223.26 to be precise. Then she would head to the park with the margarita pitcher in one hand and her Luis Vuitton purse in the other.

Sitting on a park bench, wrapped in her coat, she would fall asleep. The sun’s rays poking through the clouds would wake her up in the morning. She would feel so desperate to have more time, to have a family, to go to beauty school, to see Europe, but none of that would be possible anymore. She would sit on that bench and imagine what her life could’ve been until the bomb comes.

But Tammy didn’t know about the bomb, so instead, she picked out a beige dress and headed to Anton’s house. They ate the arugula salad, watched the movie, and had sex. They were still sleeping when the bomb came.