Death of a Dreamer...
I’m a writer, dammit, don’t do this to me!! My heart had been in a continuous battle with my brain once I accepted the interview. Frustration was settling in from the previous night. My heart was in fight or flight mode; but my brain understood bills and debt too intimately to question this decision to swallow my pride and accept the job.
A grave smile reaches her face as I shake her cold, bony hands and verbally sign my life away to the sound of a 401k, paid time off and a handsome salary. A chill tiptoes down my spine and I instantly know its’ all over; the freedom, the passion, the dreamer. No more sleepless, caffeine filled nights or drunken, word-obsessed mornings. It all had come to an end.
My soul is for sale to the highest bidder just to keep the lights on and she knew it. She could feel my powers waning as she sits before me. She’s my warden now and is every ordinary, dreadful thing that I thought she would be; from the tight pale bun atop her moon pie face down to her grotesque gray flats. No sparkle, no shine, just as grim and mundane as the vanilla plastered walls that surrounded us. The grim reaper of dreams in the form of a pale, stern dangly individual with worry lines embedded into bad skin like hieroglyphics; aged too far beyond repair. She’s pleased with herself, I can tell by the look of satisfaction creeping across her face at yet another “innocent” sentenced to a lifetime of tedious nothingness and stress.
It’s day one of defeat and I follow her down that green mile, head bowed and heart heavy; to my new prison of a carpeted maze of gray cubicles as far as the eyes can see. Those grey stained walls stood there awaiting my entrance, already judging me, taunting and teasing me trying to encase me, subdue me, control me and silently whispering my failures. I look around in a panic stricken state to see the multitude of eyes peering out judging me over their indistinguishable, gray coffins and I couldn’t help but think that this is where dreams go to die. No, they suffocate themselves first and then, allow each breath to leak slowly into the musky stale air and it all ends in a whimper and a single tear. I was wondering all this time, what that smell was and now I know, it’s my co-worker’s dead dreams. The clackety racket of stubby,chewed fingernails typing away on refurbished computers tries tirelessly to drown out my thoughts. They only attempt to conjure up a message whenever a brilliant idea slips through the cracks of my brain fog. I sit encased in my little prison wondering what happened, where did all of that the fire go? Where is that ravenous zest for life? Where is that little girl I once knew that dreamed with such enormity that the depths of her desires terrified her? Where was she now? Probably cowering somewhere in a corner being brutalized by life and bills and whatever other devastation lies on the other side of her tiny gray prison. I spun desperately in my high-back chair, the only comfort in my cage, attempting to stop time, to go back to that little girl and warn her about what lies ahead, to tell her to never give up, to never give in, to keep fighting and believing because she is worth it and the best is yet to come. Most of all please remember that there will be days very much like this one where you need to find beauty in the hypocrisy of it all, after all life does make for great fiction. She understood none of the motivational bullshit that I was spitting, she wanted what she wanted and I could feel a tantrum growing inside of me as I sat in that seat trying to maintain my composure. Had I given up on her? Did having a Plan B mean that I didn’t believe in my plan A at all? I was in a full out war with my inner demons. I could see them tearing the little’s girl’s pink dress to shreds, ripping the ribbons out of her hair and dragging her through the mud and filth of reality. They wouldn’t stop laughing at her; laughing at the mess they made of her pristine little world. They sought to dismantle and destroy everything she stood for, every beautiful hope and dream that told her she could create a world that was all her own. I braced myself against the cold steel of that desk, feeling the impact of the civil war raging inside me; feeling the permanent scars and torment they were inflicting upon her. The sound of my work phone’s incessant ringing dared to snap me back to reality but my inner war was all to real. Tears silently streamed as I closed my eyes and the final horrendous blow sent the little girl barreling face first into the mud.
Everything was silenced now, the phones, the demons and the little girl. I wiped frantically at my tears trying to maintain some sort of composure as the warden walked into my cell. She looked at my tear stained face and a smirk of satisfaction dared to reach her cold, lifeless lips. I could feel her trying to break my will as she spewed out reprimands behind the missed calls and the terms and conditions of my employment; it all could be taken from me in an instant. I could feel a tidal wave of panic wash over me as I realized that my livelihood was now dependent on how much I gave in to the demands of a tyrant. I was only useful as long as I swallowed my sense of self and became a foot stool.bBeads of sweat aligned my furrowed brow as the truth of it all bounced around inside of my head. Why, in the face of defeat, did I not trust myself enough to know that I would do everything possible to succeed? I’ve failed before and survived, what made this situation any different? What that little girl needed was for me to be her source of strength when the world dictated defeat. I grabbed my purse, walked past the warden who was now staring at me in awe, and rushed for the door before my knees buckled. The tears wouldn't stop streaming as I embraced the sun spilling its rays all over my skin. I couldn’t give up on myself; if I didn’t believe in my dreams who would? I could feel the little girl pulling her bruised and battered body up out of the mud; dress ripped beyond repair, her face brutally bruised and battered, her legs barely supporting her fragile body,but there she stood and that was more than enough.
