The Girl Who’s Got It Together
The girl who’s got it together keeps a spotless dwelling. There is no heap of clothes draped over a desk chair, or hamper, or laundry basket, or towels hung from the wardrobe knobs. Her room is camera ready for a design magazine. It is sparse, with walls painted in a soothing lavender, and select pieces of tasteful artwork hang in straight rows. Her space is a sophisticated version of her childhood bedroom. No chaotic mess of books, notebooks, and shoeboxes of old snapshots from the pre-digital era reside in tilting towers under her bed.
The girl who’s got it together only possesses the items she needs. Her closet is uncluttered, and her bookshelves are organized spines out with the precise quantity of books she has finished. They are not double-stuffed with novels lifted from those little free libraries and left unread. They are stacked by color to satisfy the sight and create a sense of beautiful order. She remembers all the titles, having noted them in a series of notebooks in her neat, loopy cursive since age twelve.
The girl who’s got it together derives enjoyment from reading select novels. The stories have a protagonist resembling her, yet she never aspired to replicate such a work. Telling stories is something she did once she outgrew dolls. That’s for someone else, just like singing or playing the guitar. When she left for college, she gifted her eager, promising, and talented younger sister the instrument. There is no unanswered text from her sister reminding her of an open mic night long past.
The girl who’s got it together studied a practical degree applicable to a useful, lucrative, and somewhat philanthropic career where she’s worked for many years. At eighteen, she ceased dreaming of imaginary worlds. Life became black and white. Work hard and harder. She became a well-dressed girl at an important company who labored on important projects.
The girl who’s got it together is fit, does not gain weight, and refrains from binge eating when she’s nervous, sad, or lonely. Those times are rare and never crop up on a weekend night. She consumes only healthy foods from morning until two hours before a reasonable early bedtime. The nights are long and restful. When the sunrise reaches her face, its light wakes her as her mother did as a child. No cat is meowing and scratching the carpet for her attention. Its bowl is empty, but a crown of kibble surrounds it.
The girl who’s got it together never lost money. Never put a deposit down for a car lease instead of financing. She never withdrew her account to the point where she owed the bank fees higher than the money spent. She never loaned cash to her boyfriend, who needed it to start his business. That girl could shop and splurge on the occasional gift to herself. She would not have to verify her bank balance to cover lunch. That girl did not get her card rejected and witnessed the service worker’s pitiful realization. That’s not enough.
The girl who’s got it together loves only one person—her longtime boyfriend (now fiancé). He is her world, and she is his. A delicate, modest engagement ring reminds her of their commitment to the years ahead. Her journey so far has fulfilled her expectations, the outcome her mother believed she deserved for her authenticity. The arrangements are falling into place.
The girl who’s got it together has shiny reddish-blondish hair that she straightens. Her mascara never leaves an imprint if she sneezes during the allergy season. She irons her business clothes during the early hours before facing traffic and the busy workday ahead.
The girl who’s got it together leaves the apartment wasting no precious minutes and looks forward to her tasks. She begins preparing in the car, then on the train, then on the walk from the station to her office downtown. One cup of coffee holds her through until lunchtime. As the sun climbs over the city skyline, she sits and scans her planner, project spreadsheets, and rainbow donut charts showing successful analytics. Everybody loves her at the company. She rarely makes mistakes. Management understands she’s only human. At a minimum, she abstains from repeating them.
The girl who’s got it together receives fair compensation, with a significant portion being deducted for taxes, health benefits, and 401K. There is money left after she pays the rent for her carriage house in the expensive suburb she used to drive through as a young girl.
The girl who’s got it together has her taxes filed on time. She is at ease with numbers and doesn’t rely on anyone to complete the annual task. In fact, she filed as soon as she received the W-2 from her practical, important job. Because she is debt-free, student loans, club fees, car payments, or credit card minimums, she invests her substantial refund for her future, their future. Her best friend mentions a girl’s weekend if next year’s wedding allows it. Thoughts about it flip like a slideshow as she drifts off to sleep that night.
The girl who’s got it together doesn’t sadden or feel regret. She doesn’t over-analyze or second-guess what she should have done, said, or worn. No apologies for her, as she has done no wrong. Doesn’t stay quiet when her fiancé is gone for hours or remains fixed on the phone when she walks in through the door.
The girl who’s got it together can rise from the bed in the morning motivated. She never stays under the covers, staring at the clock’s red numbers flipping forward. She never formulates thoughts about this girl who’s got it together. Hot tears don’t blur her vision and wet her cheek and pillow. Didn’t hear her love say the words he said without meeting her eyes. No faults ticked off his hand. Each one added up to something unfulfilled. The sum? She is not enough.
The girl who’s got it together sees that it is well past rush hour. The station lot is likely full, and the trains are running hourly by now. There are plenty of seats, as the usual crowds are sitting at their desks toiling away. The management will ask for a reason. This girl is willing herself to get out of bed. Her day starts any minute now.
Editor: Lucy Cafiero