Barbara Seiler

Tiffany felt more determined than ever to change every single aspect of her life. For starters she hated her name and always had. Everyone called her “Tiff” which sounded like the sound you make when belittling. Secondly, she w anted a change of landscape. All this came rushing to her suddenly as the Brazilian Blend coffee from 7/11 began to work it’s magic. She stared out the window at her neighbor’s yard. They were an elderly couple that spent the winters in Naples, Florida to play golf. She once received an express parcel of one thousand black golf tees by accident destined to the old man. She signed for them without checking the address too excited about receive anything at all. Tiffany’s thoughts skipped and hopped from big ideas to details of the now. Poughkeepsie was overcast and cold that morning. It had a very specific way of being overcast, unlike anywhere else. The sky hung low, you could reach up and touch it.

The 1991 Honda accord her father gave her ran but not without constant clanking, bonking, whooping and thudding in the most worrying way. The steering wheel was held like the reigns of a bucking bronco refusing its passenger. In the miserable car’s single defense, the radio and tape deck still worked. She had one tape: Joy division’s Unknown Pleasures, and it had been in the deck for as long as she could remember. Convinced it kept the car together she kept it in there and relied on Ian Curtis’ voice to fuel the car’s spirit. Not bothered that she had to cut the fingers off her gloves to operate the radio, or any of the car’s tiny buttons, she felt it was a fair trade. Hobbo hands for sweet tunes.

She achieved the highest level of promotion at the Poughkeepsie Nasty Dog Brewing Company & Grill; shift manager and part-time brew master’s assistant. She had found an unexpected passion in beer making and knew she could find work in a new town given her experience with the craft. She had to amicably leave the Nasty Dog Brewing Company hoping Trip Cicero, a big squinty Italian who carried a wad of cash in his flowing sweatpants, would still give her a good reference.

For now, she was off to her sister in law’s baby shower. How they clashed. Filth never found it’s way into their home, in the most nauseating way. Tiffany could never stay there too long. Running her hands on the clean granite counter tops sent her into anaphylactic shock. She had to leave as soon as she arrived. Her every visit was a peacekeeping mission. Tiffany picked up a cute stuffed animal from the hallmark store in Beacon with a ribbon around it’s neck repeatedly branded with the purely factual “It’s A Girl” printed in a progressive blue no less. It’s A Girl. It’s A Girl. It’s A Girl. Like a noose around the teddy bears neck. She felt the teddy’s pain as she parked her demolition derby destined car in front of their pristine castle. Was it jealousy? Sure, but pain no less.

Tiffany’s social participation was adequate aided by the mimosas and cupcakes. Admittedly, Tiffany even enjoyed the Baby Bingo. Her sister in law took her aside, and asked in a general way how she was doing. Tiffany nonchalantly explained she was leaving the brewery and looking to change horizons.

That’s when it happened: Tiffany’s general plan gained its first piece of specificity. The mother-to-be had friends back home in Denver, Colorado that operated a small line of ales and lagers. She explained that were opening a new outlet in Boulder and were having a hard time finding experienced beer-makers. She would be happy to tell them about her and recommend her. Tiffany blushed and opened her eyes real wide.

“Wow, that’s far away.” Was all Tiffany could say.

Tiffany thanked her for the tip. Her mind was sifting through mental photographs of her new life in a mountain town. It was exciting. Poughkeepsie to Boulder. Valley to mountain. It had change written all over it.

“Just throwing it out there.”

Fast-forward ten days. Tiffany had three separate calls with her potential employer, the last being a Skype video chat. Albert Crossings, putting his best professional tone on, attempting to mask his inner “bro”, told Tiffany they would like to have join their team in Boulder. Tiffany was ecstatic, it was a sign that good things don’t only happen to people with clean and expensive kitchens.

Three days later a loud knock came to the front door that shook the doorframe, Tiffany dashed to the door only to see the FedEx truck driving away. More golf tees she imagined as she looked down at the yellow parcel leaning up against her door. It was in fact, a parcel destined to her from her new employer. It was apparel branded with their logo: a toque, a key chain and a fridge magnet all branded with the Howl Ales & Lagers insignia. She was hired and outfitted. As a victory badge she wore the toque around town preparing for her move. To be fair, she did take it off before walking into Trip’s office to thank him for the reference. He was a man of few words, and even fewer words to express anything remotely emotional.

“All the best, Tiffany.” he said squinting down at his android smart phone, followed by an audible sniff. What was that sniff about? Was he trying to maker her feel guilty? Was he Tweeting from the breweries official Twitter account that they were sad to see their best member of staff leaving? Doubtful.

She gave her roommate a cheque for the remaining two months of her room sublet and they had a very insincere farewell moment, having never really seen each other long enough to create any special bond. Chewing on a bread heel she found at the bottom of a bread bag she cleaned out her part of the fridge. That dry bread heel would be breakfast, she was too excited to get on the road to have her recommended oatmeal and grapefruit. It was too much of a here thing, she wanted to be over there.

It was time to pull the trigger on this wild adventure, thought Tiffany feeling silly having just thought that. It was a short ride into the next state over, Smile, You’re in Pennsylvania read a sign. Tiffany smiled, why not? Through Wilkes-Barre, Perrysburg, then seamlessly into Ohio. She hit Toledo after sun down, and called it a day. She grabbed the essentials from the car, checked in, and finally stretched out onto the rough polyester Motel 6 branded bed cover with the threading becoming undone at parts like small pricks. She was almost sound asleep with Entertainment Tonight importantly talking to itself on the television bolted to the Mexican mahogany armoire. The old Tiffany would have fallen asleep knowing full well that not only had she not brushed her teeth but she also had not put on her retainer. She sucked up her drool before it hit the starchy pillowcase, and walked into the bright flickering neon bathroom. She avoided eye contact with herself in the same way she would when sharing an elevator with a stranger. That’s when she realized that she had left her retainer in a separate case back in the car.

She begrudgingly wrapped herself in her jacket and slipped on her boots with her heels sticking out wearing them as slippers. She flip flopped up to the front desk and asked for her car keys (the front desk asked renters to leave their keys on account of the double parking). Tiffany went out into the cold Ohio night, passing cars from all across the Great lakes region. As she tried to open the trunk of her car she noticed that she had been given the wrong keys. This was a fancy Volvo key with fancy buttons, not her no-name brand duplicate key. As she was parading her frustration back to the front desk, she decided to take a minute to see what this Volvo looked like. She spotted it and aimed the lock button at it pressing it twice. The SUV made the friendliest sound she had ever heard from a car. It was love at first sight. It was very new looking and shiny. She looked at the SUV for a moment, took a deep sigh and walked back towards the Motel 6 main entrance to get her own key.

The next morning she was up before the sun looking to get an early start, got her things together and made her way back to the lobby where she filled up on complimentary coffee.

“Good morning” offered Tiffany with her back to the desk. She was chipper.

“Good morning, checking out?” asked the attendant.

“Yes, please.” her mug was full and she turned to face the counter. It was the same clerk working as the night before, nearing the end of her graveyard shift. Tiffany handed over her room key.

“Did you have a car parked on the lot?”

“Yes”

“Oh right, you have that nice Volvo.” The clerk reached over to the key cabinet without checking the numbers and handed Tiffany the same key, not remembering the mix up from the night before. Tiffany didn’t say anything, but mumbled approvingly of the shiny key that was handed to her, glowing with impetuosity. “Alright your all set, happy trails little missy!”

“Thank-you, you too, you have a good day. Bye.” Tiffany was nervous but her face was hidden behind enough morning hair and toque that she got away with it.

She anxiously got into the Volvo’s driver’s seat in disbelief at her own actions. She looked out the windshield onto the dimly lit parking lot, with her hands on the wheel. It was still dark and she could see her breath within the car. It had leather seats, plastic wood detail and sweetest of all that new car smell. She couldn’t just steal the car because the Motel 6 had her credit card information and they would know who stole it. But there had to be a way. She was sitting there with the keys, a few motions and she could be on the road with this beautiful beast. It was crazy. Were they legally allowed to keep her information? of course, they were! This conversation with herself went on. Not to mention that they would trace it back to her by looking up the plates on the abandoned Honda ‘91.

Tiffany found a bill of sale in the driver’s side door pocket. The car was originally from a Volvo dealer in San Diego and had been sold to someone named Amber. There was no family name, address or contact information, simply Amber. Amber was probably now staying at the same Motel 6 as her and had driven all the way from Southern California. Imagination and caffeine being the life long friends that they were fueled her guilt. Tiffany imagined that Amber was like her: a girl looking to change her life, searching for the same new sense of living as her. Also, Tiffany thought that Boulder was no place to be with bad karma what with the Buddhist community she had read about on Wikipedia.

Tiffany quickly got out of the Volvo, removed her things from the back seat and went back to the front desk. There was a new receptionist behind the counter. Tiffany explained that she had been given the wrong keys and got her own back with a sarcastic “Great”, a sarcasm only she could place. Back in the uncomfortable familiarity of the Honda, she took a deep breath and turned the ignition on. The car woke up reluctantly like an old man being called out of bed to take out the garbage. She let it heat up as she looked out at the parking lot and at the Volvo parked nearby, wishing Amber happy trails. She putted through Indiana, still lending Amber the best of intentions and fabricating details about her. It was just before entering Illinois, near Portage that the car hit a large pothole, teetering the cranky accord so violently that the trunk swung open and sent Tiffany’s suitcase and boxes jumping out onto the highway. Tiffany quickly looked into her rearview mirror in shock and felt a surge of adrenaline. She threw the car over to the side of the road to a halt and switched on her hazards. It was bitter cold, the sun was starting to cast a ubiquitous shade of light on the flat plain’s horizon. Tall golden grass stuck out of the fresh snow along the fence on both sides of the highway. The pavement crunched under her boots as she walked against traffic towards the back of the car.

An eighteen-wheeler shot by her releasing an alarming horn that shook Tiffany being. Peering through the wind down the interstate at her boxes that had been sent off to the side of the road, Tiffany made the inventory: her box labeled bathroom, a plastic garbage bag containing her 300 thread count Soft and Luxurious duvet, her expensive Norwegian bunt cake mold carefully wrapped in old editions of the Poughkeepsie Equity, and lastly her DVD player. All lined up on the side of the wind swept snowy interstate-80. A place she had never been to. A place her things had never been to. Poor little things. She stood there for a minute, with her arms hanging on each side, floating in one of those quiet moments of realization about one’s own life. A realization that can only happen in the cold outdoor after something is lost or broken. “I’m done picking up pieces.” She muttered into her scarf. At that moment she noticed her small yellow plastic retainer carrying case sitting in the road not too far away. If she was to save anything it should be at least that, they weren’t cheap!

Tiffany began to walk towards the case. Suddenly a car’s headlights appeared in the distance and as it came closer she realized it was Amber in her Volvo. She thought of Amber as someone she knew, someone she cared for and someone who’s car she had almost stolen.

The Volvo approached faster and faster until there was no stopping what was destined to happen. It ran over her retainer case at all speed. The plastic of the case having grown quite brittle from the cold made a barely audible cracking and splattering sound. Never seen or heard by Amber. Small pieces of plastic and metal scattered in a crater around the point of impact. Tiffany cursed that spoiled brat and got back into the car. The retainer would be expensive to replace and she was still due to wear it for another six months. A Québec City Winter Carnival effigy of their mascot Bonhomie Carnival hung from her rearview mirror on a red string. She used the red string to weakly tie the shutting mechanism of her trunk back together and she put the effigy in her pocket before getting back on her way.

The radio announcer came on with breaking news that Pope Benedict had announced his resignation, and that was the first moment she felt any real change at all since leaving home.

••••
‘No Breakfast For Tiffany’ is the title of a short story written for Pauline Bastard by the scriptwriter Sinbad Richardson.
During her residency in 18th Street Art Center in Santa Monica, CA beginning of this year, Pauline Bastard collected eight objects, which she found on the streets of Los Angeles. She then posted the eight items on Craigslist, offering USD 25 to the person who would write a story based on these objects and connecting them with one another into a coherent short story. The advertisement on Craigslist received a lot of attention and resulted in a vast number of responses. Canadian scriptwriter Sinbad Richardson was selected to write the story, which he titled ‘No Breakfast for Tiffany’.