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It’s Tuesday, April 23rd and Paula wakes at the same time she does everyday, between 5:45 and 5:55am. Rising, she turns off the alarm that never sounds and quickly pivots to make the bed. She reaches for her shorts and sports bra that she had laid out carefully the night before. 

For a twenty-three year old, she’s seemingly got her shit together. A recent transplant to New York City, she lives in a one bedroom apartment in an up-and-coming neighborhood of Queens. 

Although moving across the country required a considerable adjustment, it was a needed change. Physical distance is exactly what she needed for a fresh start, or so she tells herself. And isn’t New York City the perfect place to be anonymous? Where people never made eye contact and minded their own business?

Her resume, riddled with fables and fantasies of a normal education and work history, was uploaded to a temp agency’s database. Luckily, her recruiter, Amy, probably overworked and underpaid, decided to cut some corners and didn’t bother to check references or run a background check. Paula nailed the video call, which although brief and perfunctory, greatly impressed Amy. Needless to say Amy was quite taken with her social skills and assured her they would have no problem placing her in assignments. 

And Amy really did hook her up. After a couple of weeks proving herself by taking short term gigs, always being on time, and playing the part of a professional, she got a long term placement. This was definitely a coveted position for anyone doing temp work. She was working as an administrative assistant at a physical therapy office on the Upper East Side. 

She makes a quick stop into the bathroom to relieve herself and pop her morning meds. Then she starts her resistance training. Today she’s doing chest and back. 

The living room-come-gym has a modest but functional setup. It has everything she needs and nothing she doesn’t. The quaint apartment is sparingly furnished, or as she likes to call it, barebones chic. 

When she works out her mind is nearly devoid of all thought except the task she is doing. Her only focus is how many reps she has left, and what the next exercise will be. This is all part of the regimen that she followed during her stay in juvie. 

‘Stay’ makes that time in her life sound short-lived, like a blip in the grand scheme of things that are a part of her life story. The reality is that she was detained from the age of thirteen until the age of twenty-two. If there is anything that she has learned throughout her years of court-mandated counseling it’s this: keep yourself busy. Many of life’s problems can be solved by just thinking less and doing something productive. 

After completing her workout she replaces the free weights and bench and heads to the shower. She gets dressed and catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and pauses. Dressed in black slacks, a tapered button-down shirt, with her hair pulled back in a tight, sleek bun, she smiles. Today is going to be a good day. 

Morning rush hour is always an uncomfortable commute made worse by the several less than courteous riders. The unmistakable whiny sound of a well-known female pop singer emanates from someone’s headphones, along with a  myriad of other musical talents chosen by her fellow passengers. Mundane conversations abound. Not even this cacophony bothers her. She feels incredibly hopeful and upbeat this morning. Grasping the overhead handrail, she glances down at the person seated below her. She does a double-take, startled as her sympathetic nervous system abruptly responds to the stimulus of seeing the girl in front of her. 

The drastic rise in blood pressure brings a heat to her chest and neck. Her heart jumps in her throat.

It couldn’t be… 

Suddenly cognizant of the intense stare, the young girl looks up. Their eyes meet for a split second. Paula quickly looks away. She lets out a long, slow breath. 

It isn’t her. Right?

Of course it isn’t her. How could she possibly be in New York? 

Feigning interest in something on her phone, Paula takes several more deep breaths. In through her nose and out through her mouth. It’s not working. She closes her eyes.

She thinks back to the strategies the psychologist recommended doing during these attacks but her mind is blank. She can’t seem to remember anything beyond breathing. The close quarters now feel oppressive. Her palm is slick with sweat and she struggles to maintain her grip on the overhead rail. 

A thought enters her brain so quickly and unexpectedly that she rocks back on her heels. 

She’s dead, you idiot. You killed her.

The train screeches to a slow and agonizing halt and the young girl stands and pushes past Paula. She doesn’t bother to look after her. She doesn’t believe in ghosts. 

Thirty minutes and one subway change later, she is climbing the steps back up to street level. Still feeling a little on edge, she debates calling her dad. With the time difference he will definitely still be asleep. But maybe he will call her back on her lunch break. Fully expecting to have to leave a voicemail, she is surprised to hear his groggy voice on the other end of the line.

Without issuing a greeting he says, “Is everything okay?”

“Hi, Dad.”

He lets out a long sigh. “What are you doing, calling here?” 

“I’m sorry to wake you, I need to talk. Just for a few minutes.”

He’s speaking in a half whisper, so he must be in bed next to Judy. “You know that wasn’t part of the deal. No spontaneous calls.”  

“I know, I thought just this once.” 

“I gave you money for the security deposit, first and last month’s rent...the rest is on you.” 

“I don’t need money.”

I hear a voice I haven’t heard in years. “Who is that?”

“Gotta go.” The line is dead.

At twenty-two the California Juvenile Justice System decided she was rehabilitated. They were preparing to send her home to reunite with her so-called ‘support network’. The only problem was, they didn’t want her. Her stepmom flat out refused to let her anywhere near the house. Paula suspected that her dad didn’t argue on her behalf as much as he had let on. So, in the interim she went to a transitional housing program, or what used to be called a good ol’ halfway house. 

In the nine years that she had been locked up, her dad had visited her three times, all within the first few months. He did arrange a phone call once a month.  She never did see or hear from Judy ever again. 

Those calls were the only thing she had to look forward to, especially during those first few tumultuous years. They were brief at first, mostly talking about the conditions there and how she was being treated. Eventually they were able to move past that and have real conversations. 

It’s several long avenue blocks to the office from the subway. Normally she people-watches and makes a mental list of the tasks she needs to do for the day. Today however, she is having trouble keeping her mind out of the past. She puts her earbuds in and tries to beat her personal record of eleven minutes to the office.

Upon arrival she greets Kate, the office manager, and logs into her computer. As it’s booting up she sends a text to her dad, apologizing for the early morning call and asking if she can give him a quick call during her twelve o’clock lunch hour. Proceeding with her work duties, she pulls up the patient schedule, scans through the office email account, and puts the coffee on before the physical therapists arrive. 

Her dad was cagey when it came to talking about home life, but it eventually came out that he and Judy had separated after the incident for a brief time. When Judy found out she was pregnant they started talking again and a little while later he moved back in. However, this did not come without compromise. Judy allowed her dad back home and a new chance at fatherhood, but in return, he could never see Paula again. Even once she was out of juvie, Judy insisted that all phone calls had to continue to be scheduled. 

She had been optimistic that she would still one day see her dad again. Her housing program was not close to her dad’s house, but it wasn’t too far either. It would have been possible for her to find her way over there using public transportation. She was still hoping to win her way into an invitation and finally meet the half-brother she had never seen or heard from. Then her dad brought up the idea of her moving. 

It was couched as a way to start over in a big city, on the other side of the country, where no one would have heard of the case. It made sense to her. Especially since it seemed there would be no forgiving or forgetting. 

She’s lucky in that her name is so commonplace that no one would ever leap to any conclusions about her past. Her adjudication hearing did not allow any cameras and she was fortunate enough to keep her identity, for the most part, anonymous. 

The day felt like it was creeping by and Paula’s thoughts were more scattered than usual. Lunch time could not come soon enough. By the time twelve o’clock rolled around, she was itching to get outside and away from Kate’s incessant questions, which seemed more personal than usual. 

Stepping outside, she notices that her dad has not responded to her text but the checkmark indicates that he had read it. She thinks it through and decides that since he read the text, this phone call is essentially scheduled with advance notice. In any case, he did not send a reply negating the call.

She places the call and to her surprise an automated message tells her the number is no longer in service. She looks down at her phone to confirm she pressed the right contact. She tries once more with the same result. 

It’s a week later and Paula is at home. Having called her father dozens of times, and told herself a myriad of excuses for why his phone isn’t in service, she is finally coming to terms with the situation. She is alone in the world. She might live in the most populous city in the country, but there is only one person in the whole world she wants to speak to and he has just cut all ties with her. 

Checking her watch she decides it's not too late to go for a run. She pulls on her sneakers and walks out the door. When she’s outside she concentrates on her breathing and footfalls. Maybe she’ll set a new PR.