SECOND CHOICE
I sat on the worn couch in my tiny Queens apartment, a half-empty mug of tea cooling on the table beside me. The city hummed faintly outside the single window, looking at the message on the screen at this point I really don't care anymore whoever this person is, not scared anymore but inside, everything felt still. Too still. The kind of quiet that invited memories I usually tried to keep buried.
I had always been the second choice.
Even as a little girl, I learned that no matter how hard I tried, someone else would shine brighter. Emma, my younger sister, was the golden child, the one who got the loud cheers at school plays, the new clothes, the proud hugs from our parents when she brought home a B+. I would come home with straight A’s and hear, “That’s nice, Evelyn. B
