Death. War. Disease. All seemingly bad things. 

Life. Peace. Health. All assumed to be good, positive things. 

But what is life without death? What is peace without war? And what is health without disease? 

What are the good days without the bad ones? Everything is relative… 

“Everything is relative?” 

“…Yeah.” 

“What is this? Math class?” 

“No! I’m just stating that everything is being compared to each other in this situation.” 

“Maybe you should use a different term.” 

“Ok, ok. But other than that, what do you think?” 

“What do I think?” 

“Yeah” 

“If I’m completely honest… I don’t like it.” 

“Wow. Wait, why?” 

“It’s just not… original. I think I’ve heard the whole, ‘You have to have the bad days to have the good ones.’ And also with death, war, and disease, it’s a completely different thing. Those are just bad things, period.” 

“I think you mean seemingly bad things.” 

“Ok, fine. Seemingly bad things. But you get my point. I think you should go in a different direction for your essay assignment.” 

“But it took me so long to figure this one out!” 

“Well, you still have time, right?” 

“It’s due next week.” 

“That’s enough time! And I’ll help you with it.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

“All right, let’s do this.” 

* * * 

6:30 am. 

I woke up and threw on some leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. I pulled my thick, dark brown hair into a high ponytail and slipped on my grey Vans. I plugged my ear buds into my iPhone and turned on my favorite playlist (mostly consisting of EDM) since it helped wake me up for my morning walk to the cafe.  

Walking down the streets of San Francisco, I breathed in the crisp, cool air. Some leaves had started to fall already, even though it was only early November. The sun poked through the grey clouds, shining just brightly enough and giving enough off just enough warmth. A beautiful day for San Francisco. 

Not as many people as usual were out, probably because it was Saturday. Three minutes later, I arrived at Cafe Zoe, my favorite cafe. I always stopped by on my morning route, even during the weekdays. Their coffee wasn’t as bad as it could be and the atmosphere was quite relaxed and cozy. Also, the staff wasn’t half bad. 

“Hey!” Sam called out. 

“What?” I asked, innocently. 

“Half bad?” he asked with a smirk. 

“It’s supposed to be a joke!” I laughed. 

“I don’t think the reader will get it.” 

“Well… ok, fine.” 

Also, the staff is pretty… nice. 

“Nice?” 

“What now?” 

“You have a better vocabulary than that, right?” 

“Ok Mr. Particular, how ‘bout you throw out an idea. Since you said you’d help me.” 

“I meant I’d help you out with an idea for your essay prompt. I’m not going to actually write the essay.” 

“What? You don’t like, ‘A Not-So-Regular Day for the Average San Francisco Girl’?” 

“I can’t relate to it.” 

“And why is that?” 

“…Because I’m a guy, obviously.” 

“Well it’s either this idea or the ‘Everything is Relative’ essay.” 

“Yeah… I’d stick with this one.” 

“You’re no help. You do know that, right?’ 

“Indeed, I do. But I got to get back to work anyway, some actual customers are coming in.” 

“You mean I’m not your only customer?” I said jokingly. 

“No, you’re our best customer,” Sam replied. 

“That’ll do,” I said, picking up my computer. “Ok, well, I better get going too, then. Maybe I’ll go to the library or something. It’s pretty peaceful there. I could probably get most of this essay done.” 

“Ha! Not likely.” 

“Yeah, we’ll see. Anyway, see you tomorrow?” I asked, a little quieter.  

“…Um, yeah, sure. But I thought you said you had a date with Tony tomorrow morning,” Sam said. 

“Oh, right. I forgot about that. Oops, ok, well... maybe I’ll see you in the afternoon, then. Anyway… um, bye” I said, trying to quickly finish the conversation.  

“Yeah, bye, Lucy.” 

I hurried out of the cafe as fast as I could. I could not believe I had forgotten about my date. Well, actually, I could believe that. But what I couldn’t believe was that Sam had remembered and just had to bring it up. Right when Sam and I were actually getting somewhere. 

No matter, I thought. Let’s just get to the library and finish this stupid essay. 

I walked into the public library and grabbed a seat at one of those big, comfy lounge chairs. I took my laptop out and opened my Word document. 

All right, let’s get typing, I told myself. 

I scratched the “A Not-So-Regular Day for the Average San Francisco Girl,” and decided to just wing it and start typing. 

Once upon a time… 

No, that's just stupid. 

One day, a little girl walked into an ice cream parlor. But little did she know that an adventure was waiting for her inside. 

No, no. That’s even stupider. 

Some people believe that there are just two types of people in the world: extroverts and introverts. But one person cannot just be an extrovert or just an introvert. A person can’t be only shy and nothing else. Or only outgoing and have no other feelings whatsoever.  

People are complicated, very complicated. Everybody has lots of feelings every day. Some people have a better time expressing their feelings, while others don’t. Some understand their feelings and can control them, while others, including myself, have no understanding at all. This may seem complicated, which it is... but hell, so are we. 

Hey! That’s not half bad… I mean, right? Maybe I should take a picture and send it to Sam… No, no. That’d just be awkward after the whole Tony incident. All right, let’s continue… 

All my life, I’ve been the shy one. That girl in the back of the classroom who never raises her hand, and when she gets called on, she speaks with a very soft voice. I was the girl who, yes, had a few close friends, but never a lot of friends. The girl who never tried out for a sports team, or a play, or was in any clubs. The girl who never went to any football games or dances.  

But I was also the girl who always turned in her assignments on time, who got As in almost all of her (may I add, advanced) classes, and the girl who knew what she wanted to be in life and had a plan for it. Freshman year of high school, I knew exactly what I wanted to be: a writer. I would go to college, major in writing, and afterwards become a world-famous novelist. I loved writing fiction, especially romance. 

So, you see, people can be very complicated. Their exterior that they show to the public is not their only personality. They could be hiding some feelings very deep down inside themselves. You never know what a person could be going through, what their dreams are in life, or just what… 

“Hey, Lucy!” I heard someone shout, my head springing up from my computer. 

I looked up and instantly the color drained from my face, “Oh… um, hey. Hey, Tony.” 

“Whoa, whatcha doin’ here, babe?” Tony said as he leaned in to kiss my cheek.

His lips were oddly warm and the touch sent shivers down my spine, but not in a good way. He smelled of weed and alcohol. I cringed at the scent. 

“Oh, I was just working on some homework. But, uh, what are you doing here?” 

“Ah, well, actually I came here looking for you, babe.”  

“Me? How’d you know I was here?” I asked suspiciously. 

“Oh, you know, I just sensed it, I guess,” Tony said, with a little laugh at the end. 

“Oh… ha, funny,” I replied with a half smile. 

“But yeah, anyway, so now that we’re together, why don’t we go out and get something to eat?”  

His eyes looked stoned and I could tell he was definitely drunk. 

“Oh, um, I’m so sorry but I really need to finish this assignment. I was kind of on a roll and I would feel more comfortable finishing it tonight.” I spoke as fast as I could, hoping maybe he would just leave. 

“What! Come on, babe, it’s Saturday. Let’s go out to a bar, grab a couple drinks, I’ll take you back to my place…” He started to speak louder.  

“Please… Tony, I really need to finish this. But, but... um, tomorrow, tomorrow morning we were going to meet up, right?” I asked, stuttering. I was starting to shake a little. 

“What? Oh yeah, right.” He laughed. “I forgot about that.” He was practically shouting by now. 

“Ha… right,” I whispered. 

“Yeah… whatever, Lucy. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He was already starting to walk away. 

“W-wait, Tony,” I called out, standing up. “I… I love you, babe.”

He looked back toward me, hands in his jean pockets, his pants sagging a little. I saw cigarettes in his back pocket. 

“Yeah, whatever," he quietly said and then continued walking.

I noticed a hickey on the back of his neck, half covered by the collar of his shirt. I’ve never given a hickey before. 

I sighed and sat back down. I quickly packed up my computer and ran into the restroom. Once inside, I ran into a stall and started to cry. Holding my hands to my face, I cried uncontrollably, my sniffles echoing through the room. I didn't care if someone else was in there, they’d have to deal with the noises. 

Once I had no more tears to cry, I stood up, got my bag, and walked out. I didn’t know where I was walking, just away from that place, anywhere but there. The air was much cooler by then and I wished I had brought a jacket. I walked by a park with some children playing in it. 

I sat down at a bench and watched as the moms and dads played with the little kids. I tried to smile. I opened my bag and took out my computer. I opened a new Word document and started to type… 

Some people grew up with the “traditional” family life. Others, like myself, did not. My mom got pregnant with me when she was seventeen. She was in her junior year of high school and dropped out the moment she found out.

My father was a senior in high school at the time. They had been going out for only three months. My dad was a total alcoholic and a very frequent drug user, as my mom describes. She never told her parents what happened; she just ran away one day and never returned. 

To this day, I don’t even know what my grandparents' names are. She ran away to San Francisco, which is where we live now. My mom told me that when she told my father she was pregnant, he told her he didn’t want me, that she should get an abortion if she still wanted to be with him. And that if she told anyone I was his, he’d kill her. So I don’t blame her for running away.

And she’s been pretty successful on her own. She came up with a whole new identity, got a fairly good job working as a manager, and we live in a small yet homey two-bedroom apartment. 

And if you’re wondering, I was able to get a scholarship at my college, so my mom was very proud. My mom also told me that five years after I was born, she decided to go online and see if she could find anything about my father. She told me that she found out he had died in a drunk driving accident only two years after he was out of high school. He was the driver.  

So, growing up was a very different experience than most other kids at my school had. But my mom and I are very close, so we made it through together. And I decided to never look up anything about my father, because I knew all I needed (and wanted) to know about him. 

I looked up at the sky and felt a drop of water land on my face. 

“Oh, no.” 

The rain started to come down faster and faster. I quickly zipped up my computer and started to run. I ran until I got to the apartment and quickly went up the stairs. 

My mom and I lived in an apartment above a Chinese restaurant, which was actually pretty good. So we ate there a lot, like every night.  

Anyway, the building above the restaurant was painted a dark grey and had a Victorian look to it. There were three stories above the restaurant and my mom and I lived on the very top floor, which meant there were a lot of steps to climb every day. And because of its old, Victorian style, the steps were very tiny and very creaky. 

There was mostly dark wood inside the building and weird old chandeliers everywhere. On the first floor (above the restaurant) lived this musician couple. They were probably in their late twenties and their style was very rock. You could always hear them playing music, which could get pretty annoying. 

The other people who lived in the building started a petition to get the musician couple to either move out or to soundproof their walls. The couple did neither.  Finally, everyone stopped caring. In fact, their music started to sound like white noise to us. 

Also on the same floor lived the family who owned the Chinese restaurant. They were probably the nicest family you’d ever meet. The family consisted of like twenty people (who all worked in the restaurant), with grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, and lots of children. It could get pretty crazy.  

On the next floor lived a quiet old man who had the same routine every morning (which I usually watched). After waking up, he’d pick up his newspaper, walk to the cafe that is next to our building (which I never went to because the coffee there sucked), order the same drink as the day before, and then sit on his balcony until (I presumed) he had to go to work. 

Also on that floor lived some floaters. We called them that because there were at least two rooms on that floor that were for people who would come and go. It was actually kind of creepy.

Sometimes I’d hear noises in the rooms, and sometimes it would be dead silent for two weeks straight. No lights, no noises, their mail never got picked up, nothing. And then a few days later, you’d start to hear noises again and lights would go on, but you’d never see them come in. In fact, I think the last time I saw them was like two years ago. Like I said, creepy.  

Anyway, on the floor where I lived there was also another girl in her early thirties. She was very quiet as well, and she owned lots of cats. I think she hosted a book club every week, because some days I’d hear lots of chatter and laughing in the room. And then I’d look through our peep hole in our door and watch as at least ten people walked out, all holding the same book.

I watched her cats a few times while she was away on vacation, and she owned a lot of books. My theory was that she was a librarian, or a school teacher, but I never asked her. Maybe I just liked the mystery. Or maybe it gave me more opportunities to write stories about her.  

Also on our floor lived a very annoying family. This family was much smaller than the Chinese one downstairs but much more annoying. They had two very annoying twin boys who were about ten. They loved to run up and down the stairs and knock everything over and color the walls with markers.  

I could always hear them playing their violent video games at three in the morning. And they were only ten! I didn’t know how many times I had to get up and out of my bed, walk over to their apartment, and slam on their front door and yell, “TURN DOWN THE TV! Some of us are trying to sleep!” 

This usually led to the boys crying and throwing a tantrum, which led to their parents getting very annoyed at me, which led to them coming over to our apartment and slamming on our door, saying things like, “This is child abuse! We’ll call the police!” which they never did, because they were all talk.  

There were some other people who lived in the building, but they were not that interesting, or I never really paid enough attention to them to be able to write about them.

“Lucy! Dinnertime!” my mom called from the kitchen. My head sprang up from my computer. I looked at the clock. How long had I been writing?  

I stood up, saved the Word document, and headed to the kitchen. I could smell pesto as I walked into the room. My mom turned and smiled at me, her short brown curls bouncing. 

“Look, I made your favorite. It’s a ham and pesto sandwich.” 

I moved closer. “It smells amazing, thanks.” 

“No problem, hon.” 

We sat down at the little table in the hallway that we called our dining room and ate our sandwiches. 

The next morning I got up and did my usual routine before heading to Cafe Zoe. I stared down one of the annoying boys playing on the stairs, who then proceeded to run back to his apartment, crying. I laughed silently. I gave a friendly hello to Aya, who works at the restaurant, and then started my walk.