The Calendar of Brianna Hildenborrow

Sunday: ?

Monday: ???

Tuesday: Dentist I think

Wednesday: pick up groceries (DON’T FORGET TOILET PAPER THIS TIME)

Thursday: what the fck

Friday: TODAY IS THE DAY, TODAY IS THE DAY, TODAY IS THE DAY

Bri didn’t wake up with her phone alarm that morning. She cracked her eyes open with the first smudges of grey dawn and stared at the ceiling for an hour. She thought about her bills and how weird her toes looked after a shower and why she had never called that waitress back who flirted with her once. Her general regrets in life, and then finally she sat up.

It was 6am by the time she cracked all the joints in her back like a firecracker and swung her legs outside the thick covers.

She viciously rubbed her eyes with her palms. She wasn’t sure if she actually slept that night. She wasn’t sure if she just rolled over and over like a blanket burrito that was never fully cooked.

“Goddammit,” She muttered to herself on her way to the bathroom. It was days like this when she almost missed her job. Mornings where she wasn’t sure what day it was or what she was supposed to be doing with herself or if sleep was an important punctuation to her endless days.

She splashed her face with cold water. She took a deep breath. She took out her phone and checked the calendar there. Today was the day.

She brushed her teeth, drank one and half cups of coffee and opened every curtain in the place one by one like peeling back the layers of a bad apple to reveal the inside was pretty decent. Bri had a decent apartment. It had hanging photos on the wall and at least five throw pillows on the beige couch and exactly two house plants her aunt bought her.

Aunt Angelica, who had changed her name to match the herb, spent the whole time talking about how people would go crazy if they didn’t see anything green after awhile. Bri never pointed out that she lived in Portland and she could just step outside to something green.

Nonetheless, Bri was determined to actually keep her ivy plant and fiddle leaf fig tree alive. Not to mention that her aunt, who wasn’t really her blood aunt, would stage a real-life funeral for them if she let them die.

She watered the fig tree. She dusted off the leaves of the shiny ivy plant.

She cleared off the counters and scrubbed the coffee table, fluffed all five of the pillows and by 7am she took a deep breath and decided it was early enough to start her work music. She put on Kendrick Lamar first and then Lauryn Hill (rap is just poetry with a beat) and then blasted it.

She turned on her fat ancient TV for the first time in weeks. She turned it off again as only static came on. She dusted the top.

She organized her plates. She made sure all of her mug handles were facing the right direction. She sorted her glasses by height. She turned her music down when her neighbors banged on the walls.

She went to her bedroom and made her bed (just in case), she changed into her business shorts (just in case) that were navy blue with pockets. She matched her shorts with a loose pink top with an intricate hem.

She tried to straighten her hair which she cut herself. She cut off a few stray hairs again instead.

She went back to her bedroom and put out a sexy girls love manga on the bedside table (just in case). She remembered that that was crazy and put away her sexy girls love manga under her bed with the rest of her embarrassing hobbies.

She organized her tea cabinet. She finally ate something.

She listened for the doorbell. She listened for the doorbell. Bri ate another piece of toast before fluffing her pillows again and sneaking up to her window to check the street. It was drizzling out by then and only a few stragglers in hoods and jackets were walking to work or home or wherever.

“Maybe they’re lost?” She muttered to herself even though she both texted and emailed the directions to her apartment to anyone who inquired.

She technically had four applicants that day.

Bri moved to arrange her coffee table one more time and then the doorbell rang.

“Ah!” She almost choked on her own tongue and ran to it. “Coming!” She put the rest of her toast in the trash and went to the door.

Her hand hovered the doorknob and for a moment she knew exactly who she was hoping it would be. The only candidate she forced the flyer on.

Instead, she opened it and a very tall woman in bell-bottom pants, a crop-top and long blonde hair stared back at her through cat-eye sunglasses. She had a long tanned face and several bracelets on her wrists that jangled as she moved.

She wore bright yellow heels that also added to her height.

Bri swallowed thickly, “are you Samantha Calendar?”

She scooted her eyeglasses up her head. “Are you the one from that Wanted flyer?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Bri stepped aside and let her in.

Samantha looked around for a moment before going to the couch and putting her bulky white tote bag down. She moved in a way that was very sure of herself with no missed steps or hesitancy.

She turned slowly. “So, before we get started, I have some ground rules: no hair-pulling, no tongue-biting, and anything I deem too kinky is extra, but we’ll go over that in a moment.”

Bri’s mouth fell open, “you’re here… for the muse position?” She stuttered over each word individually.

Samantha arched her eyebrow, “someone told me you were looking for a girl to 'inspire you'?”

Bri’s face heated up like a small sun. She looked down at the woman's toned stomach and finely manicured hands.

“Don’t worry, honey,” she winked as she noticed Bri looking. “I trimmed my nails just for you. Honestly, it’s been awhile since I’ve had a girl, I’m a little excited.”

Bri’s face was still burning. She opened her mouth. She closed her mouth. Wasn’t this what she wanted? A call-girl?

Bri took a deep breath, “are you available in the mornings?” Could a working girl inspire her art like this? Bri was starting to second-guess herself.

“Not most mornings.” Samantha looked down, “stop standing by the wall, honey, I’ll show you my prices for the good stuff.” Samantha, who seemed much more prepared for this than Bri was, took out a hand-written pamphlet.

Bri’s face was so hot at that point that she was surprised her ears didn’t start whistling like a tea kettle in a cartoon. She stumbled over. She looked at Samantha’s prices. She stared at Samantha’s prices. She had a mini-heart attack over those numbers.

She politely showed her to the door.

“Thank you for coming!” She called after her. Sorry I couldn’t afford you! Sorry I couldn’t look you in the eye! You’re really beautiful! She didn’t say those last parts out loud.

“Don’t worry about it honey,” she said without looking back. “Let me know if you ever want a one-time deal.” She clicked her way to the elevator. “I promise, I’m a pretty good inspiration.” She laughed and threw her long hair back. Bri was back on tea-kettle mode.

“Bye.” Her voice cracked on that word like dried earth during a drought.

Samantha was still laughing when the elevator doors closed.

Bri crawled back inside feeling like a newt barely heaving itself home without any legs or arms. She sat on her couch for a full twenty minutes without moving and it wasn’t until she glanced at her phone that she realized her second candidate hadn’t even shown up.

“God,” she tipped her head back. Maybe she was too stressed about this. Maybe she should just take out a small loan from the bank for “personal reasons” and call Samantha back and--

The doorbell rang again.

“One second,” Bri stood up, cracked her back, and went to the door. She stood up straight and took in a deep breath in through her nose. “Welcome in, I’m glad you could make it.” She said quickly as soon as she opened the door.

The woman on the other side was wearing a baggy Lewis and Clark sweater, leggings, and had long straight black hair. She wore little to no makeup, which worked for Bri, and had a pink scrunchie on her wrist.

Her school backpack was slung over her shoulder. She looked around silently before stepping inside.

“Just this way,” Bri gestured, “I’m Brianna Hildenborrow, and you must be Henrietta.”

She silently took in the apartment and then took a seat at the couch. “Yeah.” She finally said, “this is paid, right?”

Bri stiffened, “right.”

She slid into the seat across from her with her laptop out, “So,” Bri cleared her throat, “I have a few questions, are you alright with answering them?”

Henrietta’s eyes were still distant fireflies wandering the room. “I guess so.” She said without looking at her.

“How familiar are you with the works of Sylvia Plath?”

Henrietta wrinkled her nose. “A little." Her eyes stopped, "Like, how many throw pillows do you own?” She said as she looked down the line of the couch.

“A lot.” Bri moved on to the next question, “How do you feel about Mary Cassatt nude bather paintings as compared to Picasso’s?”

“What?”

Bri’s eyebrow twitched, “how old are you?”

Henrietta finally looked at her, “I go to the college.” She shrugged, “and I could use some extra cash.”

Bri closed her laptop, “so you’re 20?”

Henrietta shrugged again, “Kinda?”

“Kinda?!”

Henrietta’s chin tipped up, “this is just like, a model gig, right? Does it matter how old I am?”

“It's not modeling." Bri said thinly. "I want a muse. Someone who will reach deep down into my soul and unbury the words locked beneath my heart. Who can melt this flesh into a dew and help me leave something beautiful behind in a barren ugly world.”

Henrietta narrowed her eyes, “wait, is this some type of gay thing?”

Bri wanted to bang her head on something. “I’ll be in contact with you if you’re chosen.” She quickly ushered her to the door.

“Wait, you didn’t even tell me the hourly rate.” Henrietta said in one hurried breath.

“Eight and half Canadian dollars. Goodbye.” Bri shut the door on her and dragged herself back to the couch.

She sat down limply on her couch afterwards and hugged one of her many throw-pillows to her chest. “Some sort of gay thing,” she scoffed, “I’ll show her some sort of gay thing.” She kept muttering to herself until she heard more footsteps in the apartment hallway.

They were brisk noisy steps that seemed to stop outside her door.

Bri’s eyebrows raised. This was her last appointment for the day. She took a deep breath, “here goes nothing.”

She stood, stretched, and shuffled over to the door with slow, deliberate movements. She sighed before she touched the doorknob.

“Please, please, please be good.” She wrenched it open and a very tall woman with bright red hair stood before her. Bri’s eyes went wide. “You."

The familiar woman frowned. “I didn’t even knock.”

“Come on in.” She stepped aside and let the strange stony-faced woman in. “Thanks for coming.”

And she really, really meant that last part.