Olive Branches Don't Grow On Trees

CHAPTER TWO: WHAT’S WRONG WITH HERE?

  Factory smoke puffed into the gray sky that hung over Philadelphia as Silvia drove over the Ben Franklin Bridge. The sun had been trying to peak through all morning and it finally gave up. But today, Silvia didn’t need the sun. She felt bright and shiny enough inside herself since her phone conversation with Donna last night. She now had a whole new sense of purpose and didn’t care that she was on her way to one of her art school modeling jobs, which usually depressed her. Such jobs were fine when she was a student, but now that she had graduated and had a degree, it was beneath her. In addition to it requiring no skill, it wasn’t very dignified or interesting to be standing naked in front of a bunch of art students, who she now perceived as overly privileged and sheltered despite the fact that she was one of them not so long ago. It was, however, the only job she had until something else came up. She was afraid that that ‘something else’ would probably end up being a job near her father’s house.

  She drove to south Philly to park her car. This section of the city was easily over two miles from the art college, but it had street parking spots that, while not ample, were free. The college itself was in the downtown section of the city that only had paid lots that Silvia couldn’t afford. She tapped the bumpers of the cars in front and in back of her as she crammed into a space that was way too small for her car. Her hatchback had faded to the palest shade of yellow from the Tucson sun, was covered with dents and scratches, and had one mismatched panel colored off-white on the front left hand side. She wasn’t concerned with the looks of her car and thought its shabby appearance as a good thing for deterring potential thieves. Internally, the car was fit, and that was what mattered most. She did whatever maintenance she could do on her own, for Frank had instilled within her a mistrust of auto-mechanics and warned her, that as a young woman, she was extremely susceptible to their tricks.

  After parking her car, she began on her long walk to the college. In south Philly, she passed row homes, corner bodegas, and people who looked like they might have lived on the same street for their entire lives. As she got closer to the downtown, the space surrounding her gradually filling with skyscrapers, Starbucks, sidewalk preachers, people sleeping on the street, and fast walking professionals. As she got into the downtown, the smell of cheese steaks, that permeated the air in south Philly, changed into a less distinct flavor of urban stench.

  When she was only a couple of blocks from the college, she heard someone scream her name and she was happily surprised to see it was Rafa, a guy she met at an anti-war protest a few years back. He was a thin fellow with brown skin, black almond eyes, and a head of afro-hair that made him look like he belonged in the seventies.

  “Hey Rafa,” she said. “It’s great to see you.”

  “You too. What are you doing downtown?” he said while inconspicuously inspecting her from head to toe.

  “Oh, just meeting a friend for lunch,” she said, still reluctant to talk about her current life situation to anyone. She was quick to ask him about himself in hopes of diverting any attention away from herself.

  “I’m bartending at Dirty Frank’s up the street. And I’ve been going to the Occupy rallies when I can. And, oh, you’ll love this. I took a couple of woodworking classes and I‘ve been building all kinds of stuff. Chairs and tables and boxes.”

  “Wow that’s great,” said Silvia feeling slightly envious of him for his apparent happiness. She tried to think of some kind of follow up question to ask him about his newfound craft, but her mind was blank.

  “How’s your little brother doing?” said Rafa squinting into the sun. “I remember you brought him to a couple of the protests.”

  This question spurred a mini conversation about Vince and college and Berkeley, and ended with Rafa giving Silvia his phone number and telling her to give him a call some time if she wanted to go for coffee. She said that she would, though she knew that she probably wouldn’t be calling him. He was certainly cute and nice enough. There was just something about him that seemed boring. In addition to that excuse, she was sure that she would be moving to Portland soon and didn’t want to get involved with anyone in this area.

  She wasn’t expecting to run into anyone else from her past, but as she was about to enter the college, she unluckily ran into a former classmate, Kayla, who studied graphic design, the practical art school major. Silvia had trouble relating to the graphic design majors, as they were too modern for her. She preferred vinyl records to CDs, print books to e-books, and paintbrushes and canvas to a computer. Kayla was long and narrow and had her hair tied in a knot that sat perfectly on the top of her pointy-head. She was always stylish and elegant, even dressed down in jeans and sneakers like she was today. Silvia tried to dodge her by pretending that she didn’t see her, but her efforts were in vain.

  “Hi Silvia,” Kayla said, smiling with eyes open wide. “What you are doing here?”

  “Just visiting,” Silvia said, wondering when she would be able to stop lying to people about herself. “And you?”

  “Just had to pick up some transcripts,” she said with a smile that showcased her super straight and sparkling teeth. “I'm starting grad school in the fall.” Her rich parents would undoubtedly be paying, Silvia thought.

  “That's great,” said Silvia smiling fraudulently.

  Kayla then proceeded to update her on the current status of various other students in their class who were all doing “really well.” Some were earning good salaries; others pursuing their life-long dreams. Others were working in jobs that, while not well paying, were internally rewarding. Silvia's state of hopelessness, that had lessened only just last night, was now rising fast and steep. She was relieved when Kayla said that she had to go.