Unlikely Destinies

The Atlanta light lit the city skyline by bouncing off glass skyscrapers and through tall pine trees. Marissa Villaon stood in front of a misty mirror in her small one-bedroom apartment on the south side and fiddled with the collar of her neat, buttoned blouse. It wasn't designer, but it was neat and just fine for her first day at work. She slipped quietly out from under the bag on the couch and moved so she wouldn't wake Liyah, who slept on their futon under a heavy blanket with her face buried half-way into a pillow and speaking gibberish. Marissa smiled faintly and departed. A few people were coming and going from the neighborhood early in morning. While autos ran their engines, parents brought children to the grade school just down the street. A food truck was parked nearer to her that was frying bacon and eggs, and she could smell it. There was always something going on in Atlanta and always with tension. Marissa took a deep breath of the fresh, pine-smelling air and walked toward the nearest MARTA train station. She was 24, and every year had returned to show her to keep going, whether anyone else saw her or not. She showed up for her first day on the job as a junior accounts clerk at the Midtown office of VEC Enterprise today. It wasn't sleek, and she wasn't a new business school grad, but it was better. One that offered benefits, a steady paycheck, and best of all, the sense that things were on the way up. She hesitated when she spotted the VEC building, which was quite imposing. There were steel structures, gleaming rocks, and brightly-colored glass. It practically yelled money. She squared her shoulders, walked through the automatic doors, and approached the front desk. She said, "Good morning," and steady her voice with practiced assurance. The young woman behind the front desk glanced up from her computer. "What's your name?" "Oh, Marissa Villaon. Day one." "Please have a seat." Someone will come to fetch you. Marissa stepped aside to appreciate the serene, lovely look and smell of money of the building. The marble floor glistened under her feet. There was a water feature around it that produced soothing sound. There were sound systems that you couldn't see which played jazz. was a whole different world. But she wasn't about to. She sat in the waiting room, ironing out her skirt as she lost focus. From the name-stamped bottled water on the side table to the flat-screen TVs playing VEC's most recent philanthropic endeavors, the entire room cried out luxury. A headline typed out on one of the screens blazed with the following: "VEC Enterprise Appoints Charlie Daniels as New Executive Director. CEO Viktor Daniels' Son to Head Large Expansion." Her heart skipped a beat. She stared at the name. Her fingers trembled slightly. Charlie. --- *** Down in Buckhead, however, downtown, Charlie Daniels stood barefoot on the balcony of his penthouse apartment, sipping from a humongous ceramic mug. The city stretched out beneath him like a canvas come to life—smooth, vibrant, and teeming with sound he couldn't hear from here. He glanced nonchalantly at his phone as he turned it over and put it on the glass table. "VEC Heir Spotted at Gala: Sources Indicate Takeover Nears." He sighed and put the phone aside. That was his life nowadays: headlines, flashbulbs, and waiting. Charlie Daniels. The waiting billionaire. The son of Viktor Daniels' fortune. Suave, urbane, and learned to command boardrooms and win smiles. But he had not been himself for years. Esther, his mother, went out onto the balcony and wrapped her silk robe tighter about her. “You’re up early. Big day?” He nodded. “Viktor wants me to meet the new hires today. Some PR stunt.” “Try to smile,” she continued, half-joking. He gave a half-smile. "Always." She moved closer and put a hand on his shoulder. "Charlie, you've grown a great deal. Don't lose yourself due to where you are." He said nothing. Sometimes he attempted to recall who he was—before Viktor, before money, before the relocation that enticed him out of the tranquility and into this high-rise game. He could picture vividly a dirty basketball court in front of a worn-down community center. A braided chick who could outrun him. Her laugh, music to his ears. They'd sit on the curb and eat bites of mango and dare each other to jump fences. Her name fluttered on the edge of his recollection. But it never came. --- Back in Midtown, Marissa suffered through orientation at a gigantic conference table with nine other new hires. The HR representative droned on about procedure, corporate culture, and ID badge protocol, but her thoughts were elsewhere—herself drawn to the hallway on the opposite side of the glass. There was a fuss. Clicks of the camera. Motion. People stood up straight. Then he walked in. Tall. Nervously dressed. Confident stride. He seemed like a man destined to rule the space. Her chest constricted. “Charlie Daniels.” His name resonated in her mind like thunder. Older now. Sleeker. But his eyes were the same. Her childhood best pal. She took a deep breath, lips parting slightly. The boy who stole her food, mocked her with nicknames, and vowed they'd be best friends forever—was this man. He remained behind Viktor Daniels and delivered a neat, clipped hello. His voice was practiced and professional. Smooth. It stung. His gaze scanned the room once. Quickly. Unnoticed. It did not linger on her. He didn't recognize her. Marissa's hands curled into fists on her lap, gazing down at the table. A flicker of pain flashed through her—but never crossed her face. So this was what he had turned into. She would be like a stranger. And see if he would ever remember what she used to be. After class, the HR person handed out temporary badges and took everyone on a whirlwind tour. Marissa barely registered the words. Thoughts and recollections swarmed her head—his laugh when he was younger, how he walked barefoot down their narrow street, and the homemade bracelet she once gave him before he left. It was a long time ago. Perhaps she was foolish to expect him to recall. Nevertheless, something within her refused to let go of the past so easily. He may have forgotten. But she never did.