Every morning I’ll double check that the top button of my collar is fastened. The last time I forgot to do that was the first day of secondary school. My father never made me forget that day.

He was strict about a lot of things. Tidiness – no toys were ever to be seen in the living room.  Bedtimes – in bed on the dot every single night. But my school shirt was something he was especially picky about.

He told me that it was the first thing he’d notice when he’d interview employees. If their top button wasn’t done up, no job. I had felt the collar of my school shirt tighten around my throat, the thought of my father ordering a person out of his office. The thought of that person being me. 

My father continued to type away at his computer after he told me this fact. 

Today my top button fell off. It might have been coincidence, or it could have been the fact I had been wearing the same button-down shirt every week for the past six months.

I was on the bus when it rolled through the aisle of people. I felt sick. I watched as it tumbled through the mesh of legs and rolled somewhere in a corner. When I arrived at my stop, I bent down to look for it. The bus driver looked at me funnily.

“Sorry,” I said, not bothering to explain. The bus door spat me out onto the pavement. I walked to my office.

I cringed at the thought of the receptionist seeing me. My manager ballooning with anger. My Dad’s disappointment plastered on his face as I came home to tell him I’d lost my job.

“No top button?” he’d question, and I’ll sulk to my bedroom, nodding my head in shame.

When I walked into the office, the receptionist greeted me as always. My manager sat down to talk to me as usual. The meeting was swift and everyone agreed on a point I had raised. The day was going well,  if not better than usual.

I had forgotten about the top button until I had walked back into the house. As soon as I stepped in, my father looked me from head to toe. 

“What’s your shirt doing looking like that?” he questioned.

I looked down at my shirt, my eyes scanning the stitch where the button used to be. I thought about the button rolling away into the crowd and suddenly I was glad. I wasn’t sure what, but when it had tumbled somewhere on that 9:45am bus, it had taken something – something with it.

I shrugged my shoulders at him, not bothering to reply, and walked up to my bedroom.