Lucky me

I sit there on the dusty ground in my torn jeans, trying to ignore the atrocity of the world I was in. “Ira! Ira!” I hear my little sister Mirai calling out my name from the distance. Right in time for lunch, I think. “What’d you manage to get?” I ask her, pulling the torn mat out for both of us to sit. “A whole, hot loaf of bread!!” she says, her eyes lighting up. I almost cried. “Really?! Show!” I say, leaning in and inhaling the rich, delicious aroma from the bread that makes my mouth water.

We sit there, chewing the bread in silence. And just like that, a whole loaf of bread makes its way into our stomachs, satiating a weeks’ worth of hunger that had been gnawing at our insides. “That tasted amazing,” Mirai says, crumbs littering her tattered frock. And that’s when we hear sirens in the distance.

In our slum, if there was a rule, there was this- you hear a siren, you run.

Guessing the baker must’ve tipped the guards off about us, we run. Hey, Girl! Stop right there!” a guard calls out. Lungs bursting, panting for breath, we jump over crumbling walls, bustle through the slum crowds and splash through muddy puddles. We soon arrive at a bend and giving each other an understanding look, split our ways. Even if one of us gets caught, the other stays safe, I think. And of course, the policemen decide to take my way and follow me. Darn it. Panting, I skid around a corner- and come face to face with one of the policemen. “Aha- So there you are!” he says, advancing towards me. My voice seems to be stuck in my throat. Sensing movement behind me, I whip around to see the guards holding on to a girl who was struggling against their hold. “Sorry miss,” the policemen says, looking at me. This girl here was found stealing bread from the marketplace. “Oh,” is all I could say, as I helplessly stare at her. The girl was Mirai.

The next day I'm up and at work, my leather hand sowing bright beads into intricately designed dresses, the needle weaving in and out of the fabric with years of practice. Mirai would be let off after a few days. Such clashes with the guards were quite common here in our area. Hunger has driven us all into thieving and the guards, an inevitable hindrance. Running my fingers over the beautiful beads reminds me of my late parents- they owned a little shop opposite to our house, me and my sister running through the shop, earning laughter from every customer who entered our shop. My hands reach up to tap the beautiful blue pendant I often wore around my neck gifted to me by my mother, considered to be my lucky charm. As I sigh, my mind flits back to those days when we didn’t have to work hard day in and out to earn a decent meal, sleep on a beaten-down mat, and worry about guards catching us each time we saw one.

A girl came to the shop to collect a dress she had given for stitching the previous day. The owner was out having lunch and so I was the only one in the shop. Pulling out the elaborate dress from a box, I let my eyes skim through the bright star-shaped beads sewn onto a deep blue fabric that I had stitched yesterday night, my eyes squinting through the dark. I handed the dress over to her, the soft fabric brushing my skin. The girl keeps shooting me looks. “Must be nice working in this little shop, huh?” she says. I don’t reply. As I enter her name “Anika” in the register, I suddenly feel hatred for this girl, her money, her beautiful name, her everything.

All of a sudden I hear a womans voice from outside call out Anikas name. A plump woman hurries into the store, her heels making a click-clack sound as she struts towards Anika. “How long are you going to take to get a dress, for gods sake?!” she says, yanking Anika by her arm. “I have to get a new maid soon,” she puffs on her way out, dragging Anika with her

So she was adoring me, not mocking me.

The next day I was hard at work again, this time showing some designer around the boutique when a young customer comes bustling in for her dress. I excuse myself as she asks me to try the dress on so she could see how it would look n her. I slip my legs into the velvety dress and secure it around my waist, taking in how my shabby hair strongly contrasted with the jewelled dress. Just then, the designer guy comes and admires my dress, running his hand over the beautiful jewels. “Who made this?” he mutters, staring at the dress. “I did,” I say. I don’t know whether to take the surprised look that he gives me as a compliment or an offence. “Really?” he asks, aghast “you made this?” I nod, taking the dress off and handing it over to the girl.

“Such talent... ” he mutters, “ you’re coming with me.”                                           

I now stand in front of people dressed in coats, my palms growing sweaty by the moment. Why am I even here? “I’m Edward," the designer guy introduces himself to me. “This girl… the clothes she designs are fit for a princess” he continues, turning to the others. “How long have you been doing this work?” the woman in the middle asks. Ever since my parents died. “Ever since I was nine,” I reply. “So ten years... that’s pretty good,” she says, running her perfect nails through her perfect hair. “Oh, I’m Alexandra,” she says, shaking my hands “and you’ll be working for us from now.” "Lunch is served,” a maid says, knocking at the door.

I’m soon ushered along with the others into a huge dining room with a table right in the middle of it, delicacies lined across its length. My mouth watering, I take a seat and look at everything placed in front of me. Food. Real food. Lasagna, sandwiches, salads, drinks, fruits… and not just one loaf of bread. And so I eat. I eat until my stomach can hold no more, then lean back with a sigh, suddenly wondering what my sister must be doing back home. She’ll be released in two days. Though I told I’d go meet her once in a while, I saw it in her eyes. That without me working at the boutique she’d go hungry. And so I had promised her that I would visit her as soon as I could, no matter what.

As I sink into the plush, cushiony bed in a room allotted to me, I think back to the torn mat I used to sleep on. Then I fall fast asleep, dreaming about soft beds and lucky pendants.

It was almost evening the next day as I sit back and admire my work. Well, all these years of stitching haven’t gone to waste after all I think, running my fingers over the dreamy flowers I had stitched on the pastel dress. It gives me quite a calming feeling, the leaves intertwining with the flowers. Edward comes in and stands there, admiring the dress. “Beautiful,” he says. “So it’s done?” he asks as I hand the dress over to him. “Cool. Now we hire a model and wait for the cash to start rolling in” he says walking out of the room, leaving me lost in my dreams of money and fame.

 The next day as I sit by the window, mind flitting around for a new design, Edward comes bursting into my room, panting. “We did it! We did it, Ira!” “What?” I ask, standing up. “Your design made it! We’re selected!” he says, taking my hand in his. Words failed me. And so I just stood there numb, hoping my days of despair were long behind me.

At first, the changes in my life came about slowly. First, a few phone calls and meetings. I sat among professionals, discussing ideas when I hear police sirens in the distance. Instinctively I stand up, ready to flee. That earned me several stares from around the room. I avoided meetings after that.

Then things get overwhelmingly crazy as soon as I make my second design, businessmen hiring me and brands asking me to campaign for them. I soon move into my apartment, start a clothing line, and paparazzi are often found at my front door. I am now sitting in my apartment, my hand lazily skimming the magazine covers in front of me. “Ira makes her Debut,” one read.

All of a sudden I hear the doorbell ring. Ah, must be my new maid. But when I open the door, I find myself looking at someone who made my mind without a warning, flit back to those days of drudgery. We stood like that for a while, taking each other in. Me in the designer clothes, and her in the torn dress. It was Anika.

I don’t say anything but sit quietly at the table as she serves me the chicken. I knew I wanted to tell her something, but I didn’t know what. So instead I mutter a ‘Thank you’ and gulp down the soup without a word.

Soon, things start going downhill pretty fast. Impossible deadlines, bad investments and hectic interviews start driving me to the brink of insanity.

“Does this one look good?” Edward asks, holding up a glittering dress. “No,” I say. “Scrap that.” Its the last day to make the design and I’m slowly losing my sanity. “This one?” he asks, holding up a pair of ripped jeans. “Oh, we already did that yesterday, don’t you remember?! I’m still wearing it!” I say, frustrated. “Oh, right,” He said.

Back home, Anika serves me pudding, the usual cold look on her face. “The pudding tastes disgusting,” I say, fed up of her coldness. “I’m going to bed.” She says nothing but bows and makes her way to the kitchen.

Weird things kept happening. Edward and the others didn’t pay as much attention to me or my designs anymore. Alexandra kept interrupting my designs and claiming that hers were better. “Okay, you know what” I snapped at her “If you think you’re better, then design something yourself. Let's see if the others like it better than mine.” I had a feeling I was digging my own grave but I let that feeling pass.                                      

The runway went well and as I celebrate with the others, suddenly I’m reminded that yesterday was the day my sister would be released. An hour later I walk down the slum roads in my heels and ripped jeans, my eyes flitting around for that little corner we had called our home. I carefully step around the muddy puddle I had splashed through carelessly, just a few days ago. My hands reach up to tap my lucky charm, but alas- I had replaced it with a designer one today. “Heh, guess today going to be an unlucky day,” I chuckle to myself. As I near our home, I hear sirens behind me but this time, I don’t flinch. I’ve stopped thieving long back, anyway. But when the sirens seem persistent and follow me around the corner, that’s when I decide to run. “Hey, get her!” I hear one shout. “she’s that thief girl’s sister!” And so I ran, I ran like the thief I once was. Soon I managed to shake the police off and lean against a wall, breath coming out in puffs. That’s when my phone starts ringing. “Hello?” I say, picking it up. “Look, Ira... it’s for the good of our organization, so...” “So..what?” I ask, confused. “So we’ve decided to fire you, Ira.”                                         

And so in a daze, I find my way through the dark, to the old familiar place I and my sister lived in, to the place where we lived unbothered by annoying paparazzi or stupid designers, to the place we called home. I push the creaky door open, expecting to see the crumbling fireplace burning, the familiar peeling walls… and Mirai cuddled up on the torn mat. But instead, I see a note on the dusty chair. Opening it, I read: ‘ Ira, you promised you would, but you never came. I waited, but then I figured you’ve forgotten me.” “Wha-” I sputter, nothing making sense anymore. “Mirai?! ” I call out into the dark, but no one answers. “Mirai, you’ve got to be kidding me!!” I yell into the dark, sliding down to the floor in defeat. And so I find myself sitting there on the dusty ground in my torn jeans, trying to ignore the atrocity of the world I was in.