Rob Mayo

Monique

She walks with her head bowed, the stinging cold air now more tolerable against her nesh skin as she walks up a staircase and underneath a roof belonging to the grandest portico of the grandest mansion she’s ever seen. The neoclassical architecture and grand balusters make her feel as if she’s in the Capitol about to conduct a series of interviews with senators, although she was on the portico of a home off Calhoun street in Audubo – the most expensive neighborhood in New Orleans. Hands protected and warm underneath her gloves, Monique presses her index finger to the doorbell – an oval diamond set into what appears to be a case of ornately carved slate. The resounding sound is an unfamiliar melodious song that reminds her of the mellow tunes played during the intros of soap operas her mother always watched. Many different emotions enter and exit her psyche as she hears the footsteps of the lady to greet her -- she feels as if she’s in a dream. She clutches her little black book in her left hand for comfort. The $10,000 award isn’t even at the forefront of her mind. She cares most that she now has the chance to get the exposure she needs to achieve her dreams.