The very next day, Vinny woke up feeling different. Maybe it was mania, but for now, he felt like he had woken up on the right side of the bed. The world didn't feel as crushing, and his anxiety seemed to be on hold, if only for a moment.
He stood in his bathroom, cleaning himself up as music played softly from his speaker. The playlist, a mix of artists like SZA, Summer Walker, Jhené Aiko, Sky, and Tanerelle, set a soothing tone. He moved with the rhythm, swaying his hips, letting the sensual atmosphere of the music engulf him. He felt good, maybe even a little sexy.
After washing and drying his thick hair, he stepped out of the shower, the warm steam still lingering in the air. He moved to his dresser, going through his usual routine: applying skincare products and finishing with a floral-scented mist that smelled like a summer day. As he sprayed it, he couldn't help but sing along to the lyrics, his voice light and carefree.
Today would be different, he told himself, a surge of optimism swelling in his chest.
He dressed quickly, styled his hair, and greeted his mother and sister on his way out the door. Today, he was going to find a job. It didn't matter what kind; he just needed to start somewhere.
Walking through the city, he scanned every storefront, searching for "Now Hiring" signs. His anxiety lurked beneath the surface, but he fought to keep it at bay by plugging in his earbuds and tuning out the world. He didn't want to be overwhelmed by the crowds, the relentless movement of people reminding him how out of place he felt.
Still, he kept going, step after step, determined to prove to himself that he could do this.
But reality hit hard. More than once, he stumbled, his feet tripping over nothing, his legs momentarily forgetting how to coordinate. The nerves twisted in his stomach. He entered places, asked about job openings, but the moment he had to talk to a hiring manager, he froze. His voice wavered, his thoughts scattered, and his self-doubt took control.
Hours passed, and rejection became a familiar, crushing weight. He told himself to push through, but the quiet dismissals stung more than he expected. What did I think would happen? he thought bitterly. How could I believe today would be different?
As he trudged back home, exhausted and defeated, a small herbal shop caught his eye. A handwritten "Help Wanted" sign hung in the window. He hesitated. It was on his way home, and after everything, he figured one more try wouldn't hurt.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside. The scent of dried herbs and essential oils filled the air. Behind the counter, an elderly woman was mixing herbs in a mortar. She looked up and smiled warmly.
"Oh my, such a handsome young man," she said, her voice gentle. "Can I help you with something, dear?"
Vinny felt his cheeks flush but mustered the courage to speak. "I saw the 'Help Wanted' sign outside. Is the position still available?"
The woman studied him for a moment, then nodded with a bright smile. "Yes, would you like to apply?"
Vinny nodded, a flicker of hope reigniting.
"Do you have a resume?" she asked.
He handed it over, watching as she pulled a pair of glasses from beneath the counter and scanned it quickly.
"Hmmm," she murmured, her eyes narrowing slightly as she read. "A degree in Pharmacology... Not your typical course of study, but you do seem to have knowledge of herbs and medications. I like you. You're hired."
Vinny's jaw dropped. "Aren't you going to interview me or ask me more questions?"
The woman chuckled softly. "I trust my gut, young man. And my gut says you're the right fit for this job."
He blinked, struggling to process what had just happened. He had a job. Just like that.
The old woman introduced herself as Madam Grace and briefly explained his duties and pay. He left the shop with a light heart, feeling a sense of accomplishment he hadn't known in a long time.
Did that really just happen? he thought, quickening his pace as he headed home to share the good news.
When he walked through the door, his mother was in the living room, sorting through papers.
"Hey, Mom," he said, his voice full of excitement. "I got a job!"
His mother glanced up, her expression unreadable. "Really? That's great, Vinny."
His chest swelled with pride, but then she asked, "How much are you getting paid?"
He hesitated before answering. "It's not much, but it's a start. At least it's something."
She paused, her smile faltering slightly. "Well, it's good that you're getting back out there, but you know this won't be enough, right? You should start looking for something else to supplement it."
Vinny felt his excitement deflate. "You don't think it's enough?"
His mother's tone softened. "It's not that, sweetie. But it's just the beginning. You need to keep pushing for more."
Before he could respond, Liz walked in, earbuds in, barely glancing at him. "What's up?"
"I got a job," he repeated, quieter now.
Liz raised an eyebrow. "Oh, cool. Where?"
"At a herbal shop," he answered, suddenly self-conscious. "It's not much, but—"
"That's good, I guess," Liz interrupted, her attention shifting back to her phone. "It's something."
Vinny's stomach twisted. He hadn't expected a parade, but a little enthusiasm wouldn't have hurt.
"Yeah, I guess," he mumbled. Retreating to his room, he shut the door behind him, the weight of their reactions sinking in.
I can never be enough, not after everything.
His mind drifted back to his past. Flashes of reckless nights in university surfaced, drinking, drugs, dangerous choices. His family had seen him as the shame, the disgrace. It wasn't until his diagnosis of bipolar disorder and schizophrenia that they saw him differently. But knowing there was a reason didn't erase the damage in their eyes. Or his own.
He had stopped taking his medication to avoid burdening his family financially. But deep down, he knew the real reason. He couldn't forgive himself.
That night, he opened his phone and began writing a poem:
Redemption? Does it really exist?
Can change make it all disappear?
Does it matter if we resist?
Forgetting your wrongs to move ahead,
Remembering but leaving them for dead.
Can healing happen when the limb is lost?
Can we feel whole after such a cost?
He sighed deeply, closing his eyes. The words hung heavy in the air. Opening FipFop, he scrolled absentmindedly through Griffin's page. His fingers lingered over the man he had come to obsess over. As the night stretched on, his mind finally quieted, and he drifted into an uneasy sleep.