A Chance for Acceptance

The auditions are my first unexpected slit of hope, just like sunlight that sifts light into our day. Prisons weren’t an experience that were admired, although gawking and edging away (not so) discreetly are common reactions. I am looking for work, but twenty years in jail aren’t impressive on a CV, meaning I needed income, because currently funding my apartment is challenging. My parent didn’t associate with “threats to society”, so no assistance would be found through them. It’s stupid but my eyes well.

I’m not sure what I’m auditioning for, but thankfully “everyone is welcome”, and any work would be accepted at the moment. We are ushered into hall, and even though I’m five foot seven, I’m struggling to see the person whose booming voice is echoing around the hall.

Pushed into a circle, I realize that first impressions count, and proceed to behave affably.

“Hi! I’m James.” My friendliness is met with a steely-eyes, almost as if those three words had dark ulterior motives.

I attempt to shake the shiver of dislike off my back, drawing my focus to the instructions of our first activity. Rhythmic taps of high heels parade around our circle, tapping people with manicured nails and signaling them to leave, even though we haven’t even played one “game”!

Searching my brain for humorous stories, my mind’s ‘internet’ finally loads, just as it’s my turn. I retold the Russian farting fable, receiving snorts and giggles all around the circle, that my parents used to tell me. Before they changed their contact information and house, just to ensure I’d never find them, because relating to a criminal would damage their reputation.

An hour flutters past, and I notice how quickly time disappears when it isn’t all spent by the television or sending emails that have attached two-line CV’s. One hundred people have been eliminated, and I allow myself a flicker of pride for still being in the audition process.

People mingle in clumps of chatter, even though the organizers have left the hall. I longed to socialize, to actually make a friend, other than the delusional forty-year-old who resided in the cell next door to mine. Socialising was valuable, far too valuable for me.

The next audition stage is similar, games to test confidence, speaking, empathy, and team work. I don’t even analyze how I performed like I hear other people doing, instead I’m thankful that I found that rare motive to roll out of my bed. To be more accurate, the moudly couch in my living room, which is also known as my only room.

‘If you weren’t such a loser, you’d live more prosperously.’ I slap my face, the red mark almost as aggressive as my mind’s snarls.

I shove my hand into my Doritos dinner, because I’ve managed to just scrape by with this week’s rent. Suddenly, the home line, which is thankfully free, rings.

“You’ve been invited to the call back.” A robotic voice delivers its lines, and promptly hangs up.

A grin splits my face, the first real one I’ve done in months. Proceeding to joyously explain to the wall what happened, I drift into daydreams imagining a real person responding to my dialogue.

A beeping shrieks in my mind, the alarm clock succeeding to wake me up, but unfortunately with a splitting headache.

I dress into my fanciest Kmart clothes, brushing my hair to the side. Would my parents have loved me if I was handsome?

I arrive at a modern building with gleaming windows, lusciously white walls, and leather seats, thinking I’m early based on the small number of people.

“I’m sure you realize that you five are competing for the final spot on Second Chances, a reality TV show that will star celebrities and run on all major television channels.”

I gape, quickly shutting my mouth. Following the other actors because I didn’t want to be even mildly rude and step in front of anyone, I stress about my lack of performing experience, but my worries are interrupted by the chief organizer calling my name. Was it already my turn?

I sit on a wooden stool, encircled by glimmering cameras, each of which are probably a two month’s of my rent!

“Why do you deserve a role on Second Chances?”

I knew it was the final, most important question, so I allowed myself a moment of thought.

“I desire this role because it really is my second chance or my opportunity to receive a respected place in society again,” the words tumble before I can stop them, “I’ve hurt a person, and that knowledge incessantly pains me. Even writing these worries in my private diary is overwhelming.”

I pause, whacking myself internally for making such a personal, irrelevant speech, but the lady’s eyes are wide, her hand hovering above her clipboard as if she was waiting for me to continue.

“I’ve realized the beauty of innocence and kindness, but others perceive me as this thorn in society, that deserves to be barricaded away. Even my own parents don’t relate to me.” I try to wipe away the tears streaming down my face.

“I believe in second chances and if I receive a spot on this show, I hope to encourage others and promise to work hard. Thank you for this second chance. Sorry if this response wasn’t five minutes..” I awkwardly trail off.

The weekend was spent searching tirelessly for work, as the land lord had aggressively nagged me about late rental payments. Lazy losers, not to mention criminals, like myself would never receive a spot on a TV show, so it was easy to convince myself the auditioning experience wouldn’t go any further.

A day later, as I enter the fashionably furnaced reception room for the second time, I realize life has unexpectedly granted me a gift. This was my journey towards my second chance, and for the first time, I could picture friends and family supporting me. And maybe, just maybe, I could pay my rent!