Winter Wonderland

one: winter wonderland

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There's a storm coming. My phone keeps pinging with alerts of crazy winds and snow and ice, as though I can't see the trees bending outside my window, obscured by the swirling flurry of snowflakes raining down like confetti. Apparently the temperature's going to drop to twenty degrees. It already feels way colder in this crappy studio apartment with the window that doesn't quite fit its frame.

The moment I think about it, the catch loosens and the window bangs when the wind catches it, and I curse as I launch myself across the room to shut it before the glass breaks. I've told the landlord about this window. Several times. I sent photos, even a video last week. He promised to get it fixed but nothing has happened and with Christmas only two weeks away, I don't think anything's going to get done.

So I wedge it shut with a piece of folded paper, tugging the handle as hard as I can, and I tape down the draughty edges before pulling the curtains. When I moved in, there were blinds here. I didn't realize how much of a luxury curtains are until my mom sent me a thermal pair, and now I take back my laugh and eye-roll. I swear they do more than the heating in this place, which has hardly worked since the weather turned. This apartment was stiflingly hot in September, when it was ninety degrees out, but now I'm shivering despite wearing three layers inside.

A new alert pops up on my screen, yelling at me not to travel unless it's absolutely necessary. I swipe it away and pull on my coat over two sweaters, pocketing my keys and my phone. I need to go, and it is absolutely necessary. I lost my job last week and if I don't want to be out on my ass in the middle of winter then I'm going to need to find some extra work.

My lease is up in three weeks and to renew it, I have to prove that I either earn fifteen hundred a month, or that I have a job and six grand in my bank. Which I don't. So, yeah, things are going great.

When I was a kid, my mom told me I could do anything I wanted to do and I could be anyone I wanted to be. My dad would glance at her and shake his head and tell me to work hard. He said there was nothing sweeter than the taste of well-earned success, and though he never said anything, I knew he'd be disappointed if I didn't set myself up to follow in his footsteps: self-made millionaire; loving wife; seven kids.

Ok, maybe not exactly like him. But I knew not to expect any handouts once I was done with college, and I didn't plan to need any help once I graduated. I also didn't plan for my plan not to pan out, which I guess is why I am where I am right now: struggling to pay rent for a crappy studio apartment because five hundred bucks a month feels impossible on a part-time supermarket salary.

I graduated two years ago with a business degree and not much else. Two and a half years in a fraternity was wasted when I left the house halfway through my junior year, throwing away my network of brothers and the promise of opportunities – and brazen nepotism – in exchange for a slightly alleviated conscience.

The fraternity would have guaranteed me a job after I graduated. Everyone knows everyone in the circle and every month I see one of my old frat brothers starting a new job that he's no doubt grossly incapable of doing – the kinds of jobs I wish I was doing at the kinds of companies that give me an interview and no more – and it sucks, sure, but I couldn't stay.

Beneath its promises, there was a toxic environment, one I only understood after I left and I saw it for what it was and for what it had turned me into. A cult of brothers using a few Greek words to excuse the kind of behavior that deserves punishment; the kind of behavior that cost me the only girl I've ever loved. I can't blame the frat for what I did. That's on me. But I couldn't stay, and I can't forgive myself for what I did.

So I left – too late – and I didn't have a back-up plan. Until then, I'd had it made, but I turned my back on it. I thought I'd find a job I loved and I thought I'd have Storie by my side, but I broke her heart. Now, I'm still trying to find my feet, and the will to brave the storm so I can throw my resume at anyone who will read it.