Even the Cup Noodles

I was never one to sleep in, personally. It feels like I’ve wasted the whole day when I wake up that late, you know. My family, however, is my polar opposite. Funny how that happens, isn’t it? 

But it’s not as if we’re different species entirely, of course. Though dissimilar at some points, they’re like me in other ways. We’ve similar interests, especially, and I’ve many fond memories of enjoying those interests together with them. I’ve found it’s important to appreciate the ones you love like that, especially through the small moments.

Ah, well, this story isn’t about me. I suppose it’s about time we get on with it.

Go on, then, Scarlett. Wake up!

…Rain.

That was what it was. The patter of rain woke Scarlett up. Gentle, at first, but soon torrential. Uncommon at this time of year, or so she supposed. The world outside her apartment walls, though once familiar, had long since faded from importance.

The window shimmered, the streaks of rain painting infinite refracting lines of… gray. The world was gray. Probably because of the overcast sky, no?

She leaned out of bed. Nope. Getting up was not happening. Why bother? Her mental state matched the environment beyond the rainy glass. Everything was just… blegh. With a sigh, she dropped back to her pillow. The pillowcase practically stuck to her face from weeks of accumulated grease and buildup. A healthy person would have thought to wash it ages ago.

Well, Scarlett did think to wash it. She just never did.

Her phone rang out in the darkness. With a dreadfully lazy reach, she dragged it to her face, the bright blue light of her background assaulting her eyes.

A notification. An email! The subject line read: “Application Results.”

Scarlett jolted awake. Getting an email back was a good sign. Typically, they might just “ghost” you — is that what they call it nowadays? — if you didn’t make it, right? The Institute didn’t do that last time.

Leaning up, she slipped out of bed. I’ll make some food first, she thought. Feeling unusually alive, Scarlett was electrified by the anticipation. She wanted to bask in the feeling, the potential, the hope, for as long as possible.

The poor, sweet girl. I pity her.

As soon as her foot met the ground, pain shot up her leg. “Ow!” Scarlett looked down to locate the culprit. A staple, embedded in a paper delivery bag from one of her FoodDash orders last week. Whoops.

Carefully and delicately, she tiptoed around the danger zone next to her bed. Without picking the offending garbage up, tsk tsk. Trudging to the kitchen area of her apartment, she pulled out a long-time friend from the cupboard — cup noodles. Good enough, she thought. At least she was saving money by not ordering takeout.

Her stomach impatiently groaned at her as she waited the two minutes and thirty seconds for her breakfast to cook. Some breakfast, really. It was almost 4:00 PM! But that was what her life was like these days.

Scarlett hadn’t been employed for over eighteen months now. She knew she was lucky to have a wealth of savings which protected her from harm, of course, but her hiatus was far from a vacation.

Over two years ago, she had applied to her dream job: a fantastic position as a marine life surveyor, conservationist, and researcher at a government facility on the coast. She’d diligently plodded away at that monotonous data entry place; she’d saved up and lived frugally to be able to move across the country; she’d worked harder than she ever had to ensure her application showed her intellect, ability, and potential in the field. She had the qualifications, too.

But it never goes the way you want just because you work hard, Scarlett dejectedly thought.

Ding!

Noodles were done.

As she grabbed the styrofoam cup, the giant pile of unopened mail on the counter caught her eye. Mostly bills, but a few familiar tan envelopes, handwritten letters, peeked out here and there. Letters from her family.

Scarlett had never opened them.

She couldn’t bear to face her loving parents after her application had been rejected. She didn’t want to see the disappointment in their eyes, their gaze of pity for their failure of a daughter. At least, that’s what she imagined. They were both superstars in her eyes, a successful ornithologist and business owner. How could Scarlett show her face proudly to them, when her hands — and her resume — felt so empty?

And so she ran.

Her attention returned to her noodles. They were going to get soggy if she didn’t hurry. She made for her desk. But between her reminiscing, the painful memory of her family, and the “morning’s” hopeful excitement about the future, she had forgotten about the state of her living space.

It was a mess, quite frankly. She needed someone to come help whip the place into shape. Old food wrappers, empty cups, dirty dishes, packaging, cardboard boxes, it all piled up to her calves, at least. The floor wasn’t even remotely visible. Hard to forget, you would think!

And yet, she was used to it.

A heart-stopping surprise, then, when she tripped over a hidden stray bottle, sending her noodles and scalding chicken-flavored water across the sea of trash.

Scarlett’s mood evaporated. She had caught herself from faceplanting entirely, but her food was ruined. She didn’t particularly feel like eating cup noodles off of garbage. Her thoughts, now a maelstrom of self-deprecation, nearly clouded her vision in their intensity:

Of course, I can’t even make cup noodles right. All this garbage and I’m sitting here in the middle of it, queen of the garbage. The Marine Institute would never accept someone like me. I shouldn’t even get my hopes up. Scarlett, you are scum. No matter how hard you try, you’ll never make it.

Now, Scarlett, that is not a healthy way to be. You’re going to worry us with that talk, you know?

It had been this way ever since the incident two years ago, when she got rejected — nothing but self-flagellation over the mishap from back then.

After a few moments spent wallowing in self-pity, lamenting the loss of her breakfast, she picked herself up and shuffled through to her bed. Despite the recent inconvenience, the hopefulness at the prospect of a position at The Institute slowly returned. Scarlett wanted to work there so desperately. Getting sent an email simply had to be a good sign, wouldn’t you say?

She picked up her phone. Thumb trembling, Scarlett allowed herself to unlock the device and press the notification. It was time to see what this was really about.

This Year’s Application Results!
Sender: marineinstituteapps@mar.gov
Subject: Application Results

Dear Scarlett Renoir,

Ugh, Scarlett thought. She hated that name. Like some stupid, ditzy 1920s starlet or something. It never felt like it commanded dignity or respect, especially not for a marine biologist. Her mother had chosen it for her with love, truly, but she just couldn’t take it. One of these days, she was going to get it changed.

We write to you to extend our heartfelt gratitude for your diligent application to the Marine Institute. We are very pleased to announce—

Scarlett’s heart rate skyrocketed. Was this it?

—the results of this year’s application cycle. The pool (if you’d excuse the pun!) of applicants this time around was truly astounding. Many of you, we are sure, will go on to do far greater things than you can even imagine.

Yes, yes, get on with it! Why was this so fluffed up?! Just say if she made it or not!

The number of available positions was small, smaller than we would like. Please know that the results are in no way reflective or indicative of your personal capabilities.

Her heart sank.

This year’s candidates were a powerful group of promising young Marine Scientists. You should consider yourself among them.

No.

Unfortunately, your—

Scarlett’s phone dropped. Her eyes watered uncontrollably, tears welling up at the corners. She didn’t need to read any further to know what the final decision was.

She didn’t make it.

She wasn’t enough.

Her chest tightened, compressed and knotted. If her thoughts had been negative before, they were downright apocalyptic now.

Never mind the failed breakfast. She had a lot more to worry about now. Foolish though it may have been, she really was banking on that position at The Institute. Her savings were just about dried up. In truth, her bank account was beyond empty. Hence the cup noodles.

But where would she go now?

Back to bed. Where else could she go? The outside world had turned its back on her. Without that job, she wasn’t going to be able to make rent. She lit a candle, hoping it would help her relax. Just put it anywhere, the scent could calm me down, she thought.

Maybe it was about time she called home again. It would hurt, but she was out of options. Her savings were gone. As was her breakfast.

She collapsed into her covers, deflating with a massive sigh. Scarlett’s contacts list was scant — her parents, two friends from college, and her previous boss. That was it. No wonder she felt so lonely.

She stared at her mother’s contact page. Should she do it? It had been almost two years since she’d spoken with Mom and Dad. Her chest tightened. She felt a sense of shame and guilt creep up, the same one she’d been pushing down every day since she left.

Scarlett thought of the noodles, and relented.

But — now that was odd — dial tone. Was Mom’s phone number no longer in service or something? She tried again, more dial tone. Her brow furrowed. She tried her father. He didn’t pick up, but at least it went to voicemail. But he sounded pained, his voice quivering, the short 6 seconds of his new voicemail sounding nothing like what she remembered.

Worry began to overtake Scarlett. Something was amiss. She felt it. Her brain now in investigator mode, she turned her mind to the pile of unopened letters on the counter. Seeing no other options, she gingerly stepped over the trash, navigating her way back.

Those fancy brown envelopes. She’d avoided opening them, feeling as though they would make her feel even worse about her sorry state. Now, however, she dreaded something else.

Had something happened?

She shuffled through the pile and picked out the ones in the stylish construction paper envelopes. One of them had URGENT written across the back in giant red letters… Scarlett began to panic. She ripped it open.

Her father wasted no time getting to the point of the message. As soon as she read the first sentence, Scarlett understood.

Mom was dead.