Once Upon a Time...

Taking a smoke, I came out on the black metal balcony that most apartment buildings had in New York City. Leaning on the cold, thin, and somewhat rusted metal, I stare out at the weird and uncomfortable silence that never occurs during any point in this city. 

Wearing a white tank top and an unbuttoned black short sleeve shirt to cool myself from the sticky warmth in my apartment. I breathed in the drug, holding for five seconds before puffing out the white wisp of smoke. Looking around as I dragged the old white cigarette from my mouth, a voice called out.

“You know smoking is bad for the lungs, but if you don’t care about your own health think of all the people and the environment who must suffer for your desires and addictions,” A lady’s voice advised with a stale, apathetic look of disgust.

“As much as I care about others' opinions, I don’t. I was supposed to be alone with my own thoughts and the once loud traffic music rolling through the streets,” I say leaning back onto the brick building, taking a glance at the woman who sat on the stairs of the apartment escape stairway.

She wore tight skinny jeans with rips in them. It complimented her light grey crop top with her sleeves pushed up to the elbows. “So what are you doing out here? Something on your mind?” She questions.

With a light laugh I answered, “There is always something going on in people’s minds, is there ever a time we are not thinking?”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she responds shortly.

The man raises an eyebrow as he looks at the woman who had her face looking to the left, watching the buildings across from them. The woman’s careless attitude made him grimace.

“Fine, once upon a time I wanted to be a journalist, writer of some sort. It didn’t turn out, because my parents weren’t able to make the right amount of money, and with my kid brother's medical bills, I decided on majoring in business and found an office job. I am a young man who could be doing so much more than sitting in my house and having regular conference calls with people I hate,” I summarized, growing angry as I talked. She looked down at her feet, she seemed to not even be paying attention. 

“Really what’s your brother’s name,” she asks with a bored tone after a long moment of silence.

“Bobby,” I replied pausing beforehand.

“Liar” she nonchalantly mumbles right after.

Shocked all I could say was, “What?” She rolls her head up, her eyes piercing mine and I gain a chill.

“You. Are. Lying. It is obvious from your mannerism, and come on Bobby, that is similar enough to the name Bob which is almost always a fake name. Bobby is a fake name used by die hard liars. Also, from your get up, it may be late and in this predicament which will definitely go against both of us for the payment of rent, but no man would not be at his company working and sucking up to the richest of the rich to get a promotion. But you're at your apartment at 7:42, no 7:43 now, taking a smoke on the fire escape balcony,” She says her analysis as she checks the time on her phone. The low glow gives a clearer view of her tired but youthful face.

“Hmm, well then what about you? Why are you sitting on the disgusting steps of your fire escape balcony?”

“I’ll give you a story. Once upon a time, which by the way that beginning was a dead give away it was make believe,” she starts. I chuckle at her upfront and excessive comment.

“I wanted to be an artist, that passion pushed me in a different direction of becoming a patisserie making art on a plate. I had just opened a cafe with my best friend. I’m the boss, of course, while she is my accountant, this quarantine is going to end my dreams before it even was able to live,” she says with a sigh.

“Heh, you seem to be more the accountant type,” I say.

“Yeah and you mister seem to be a man who just got out of college, living off of his parents money as he does part-time jobs just to pay for his food and phone service,” She throws back.

It surprises me how quick her comebacks are. It rips me apart but yet I feel it is funny. 

“But, you're right, I am more the organized, strategic, studier who excels in all her classes but studying too much to have a life,” she says softly.

“Heh, so are you the accountant and the rest is true in your once upon a time,” I ask jestering on.

“Hm, not even close, that was actually my sister’s once upon a time,” she replies with a playful smirk. I knew she was lying, she’s more of a fraud than I am.

“Alright then what is your once upon a time?” I question taking a step towards her. She didn’t back down.

“Fine, once upon a time I saw a little girl die, I have been struck so bad it became my life goal to be a doctor or nurse to help anyone from suffering, and for those relatives and love ones who must go through the torture of waiting and anticipating for the victim of the hospital to be well once again. Now being in nursing school I can’t do anything to help and save lives and give comfort to those suffering from this terrible disease. Not only that but I can’t even be there even less to help my fellow friends in the hospital who are working tirelessly. But here I am talking to a complete stranger, a man who is older and could be a predator for all I know and playing this game of once upon a time,” She says looking straight into my eyes with total seriousness, with complete helplessness at the very core she is trying to hide with her prickly and dry humor. I felt hopeless like I needed her to be her prickly self once more instead of this girl who seems to feel useless.

“Once upon a time... I wanted to be an astronaut, but when I failed the test, I found my passion in writing about the unknown and sci-fi stories that were similar to the comic books I grew up reading. Now having my life detoured into a new direction, I am a freelance writer trying to make my name and works be remembered by the public.”

“That’s your once upon a time , huh?” She asks with a saddened smile.

“You could say that,” I answered looking awkwardly away. I could still see it.

“Alright well once upon a time I met a man, who lived just a floor below me. Though I accused him of things he just laughed, he only laughed. When I called him a predator angered at my situation more than at him, he spilled his once upon a time story to make me forget my sorrows. I knew him way before we had our dry talk, always being overly cautious, I asked for everyone’s information that was not just on my floor but also about the residents who lived in the rooms above and below me. I knew he was never a predator. I had gone out at the same time on these very balconies with jog bras and shorts on or dresses that if he looked up would see my underwear but never even peaked. He always looks across to watch the sunset having a smoke before going back in to use his old typewriter,” she said as she stepped closer, the stairs and in front of me and then gave a slow peck on my cheek and smiles, a genuine smile. It left me in a state of loss and brokenness. She finished, “and even as I kiss his cheek he won’t dare take advantage of me but look startled and let me go up back to my apartment and then stay out on his balcony to think and watch the sun finally be gone from his sight.” 

She climbs up the stairs never looking back and entering her apartment. I did exactly as she said, I stood shocked looking up at her apartment, I watched the ending of the sunset went back in and went to my typewriter, clicking away opening and closing my hands with my head shaken it paranoid me as I rubbed my eyes dragging my hands down my face and took a deep breath. From then on I stopped the smoking break feeling it would only remind me of her reprimanding. My body craved the thin rolled up stick but every time it made his insides curl. After pushing myself away from the box of cigarettes I walked onto the balcony and tilted my head up before finding no movement, or sound, sagging my shoulders I watched the sun set.

It was only one, but once upon a time I learned about a stranger on one unexpected night.