Fat Chance

                                                       Hope is a waking dream. ~ Aristotle


The train came to a halt as it reached the Redfern stop, doors sliding open, Sandy was careful not to step into the gap between the tram and the landing. She swore if you weren't looking where you were going you could easily lose a leg or a foot. It had been a long, sweltering day in Sydney working in the harbor and dealing with the tourists who asked her a hundred different questions in what sometimes seemed like a hundred different languages. The information booth was a temporary job, at least she hoped so, until she could find proper employment as a personal chef with some corporate mover and shaker or better yet, a rock star. The only honest appeal to the job was the fabulous view of the Opera House and the small flirtation she shared with a handsome Portuguese waiter at the Metro Cafe across the wharf.
Beyond that, everything was like holding her breath and waiting to come up for air. That panicky feeling that you'll never come to the surface was a feeling she knew well.

Flopping down onto her bed by the one large window in her room, Sandy stared up at the ceiling and at the fan whirring round and round. The breeze felt nice on her skin and face and soon she drifted off.

"Do you really think you can make a go of it Sandra?" Her mother spouted, her voice filled with doubt.
"You're closing in on 30 and you're no kiddo anymore, don't you think you should have thought of doing something so reckless much sooner when you at least had a fat chance in hell of succeeding?"

Sandy recalled the words burning in her heart as she held back all the mean things she wished to yell back at her mother. A mother who did nothing with her own life and still lived in the same house she was born in.

That was 2 years ago. She hadn't spoken to her mother since. Back at home Sandy was a big fish in a very small pond and could have easily made a small success of her life owning a chic eatery in her hometown. "Chic" covered a great deal of ground in Hobartsville and she wouldn't have had to try very hard at success.

Instead, on her 30th birthday she climbed a plane with a 3 year working visa to the other side of the world. To Sydney, Australia. Land of the perpetual sun and beautiful people. There she would make her mark in the food world and be the toast of the affluent Northern Beach communities. A personal chef in high demand among the wealthy and health conscious. She would become a coveted commodity.

Sandy woke in a pool of sweat, her eyes burning and her heart beating fast out of her chest. She felt dizzy. Making her way into her tiny bathroom to find her pills. Pills she began taking at rapid speed a few months prior for anxiety. Gulping two down with cold water from the tap, she stared at her reflection in the mirror.
In two years the only things she acquired were an enviable tan, some weight loss, a string of interesting lovers and a semi-fluency in Mandarin. Just no client prospects.

After rinsing her face, combing her thick mass of brown waves and applying her favorite red lipstick...Sandy made her way to the corner cafe where she dined almost exclusively. The owner always greeting her with a smile and a espresso martini. He had been open for just under a year and was anxiously waiting and hoping for the dinner crowds in town to take notice.

Together, they would talk for hours about food, wine pairings, Carl Jung and toast to the vibrant Sydney sun and sometimes....to fat chances.



CJ Ellis