Live your dreams

"There are two primary choices in life: to accept conditions as they exist, or accept the responsibility for changing them."


I read this in a book titled “Live Your Dreams”, given on my 45th birthday by my two daughters. Today is my day off from the publishing company where I work as a secretary. Instead of cleaning out the bookshelves after my husband leaves for work, I call my Shih Tzu, Pantser, and start up my Dell. While the small dog nestles himself on my lap, I log onto my account.

A few months ago I found a website for writers, with advice and reviews as well as forums and contests. I’m thinking of participating in a contest in which the prompt is a secret from postsecret.com. Perhaps, “The mailman delivers my drugs”? I wish there would be one saying: I want to be a writer. But then, that would be too easy, I laugh to myself.

Checking up on a scene I posted, I see someone has commented on it. Curious, I scan it. One sentence stands out, “Though your excerpt can be tightened, I think you have a lot of talent and should definitely continue writing! I’ll be watching your portfolio for new items!” I find myself grinning like a loon. Enervated, I open the word document that holds my current romance project.

I love romance novels, even though the pure, consummate love described in them doesn’t exist. It’s still nice to dream about, and people need their dreams. I continue writing the scene where my intrepid gypsy girl steals her true love’s horse.

In the afternoon I grab Pantser’s leash, who proceeds to run about like a kid hopped up on sugar. The walk clears my head, and when we get back I remember to make myself lunch. The sandwich ends up half eaten on my plate and Pantser back on my lap, while I type away at a furious pace.

I don’t realize the sun has set until I hear the door slam. I give a start and look at the clock in panic. Huub is home and I haven’t even started dinner or bought groceries! I rush downstairs, and see my husband taking off his jacket.

He looks up, preoccupied. “Hi. Did you know the neighbors bought a new car? I didn’t think they could afford that.” He hands me his jacket, which I hang up. He walks to the living room, and asks, “What’s for dinner? I’m starving! The office was a madhouse.”

Following him, I notice I’m wringing my hands. I still them. “I’m sorry Huub, I didn’t start dinner yet.”

He turns around, looking annoyed. “What? I thought it was your day off.”

“Well, yes, but since the girls are in college and I have more time now. I… I thought I’d try and write something. I’m sorry, I guess I forgot the time.”

He stares at me, incredulous. “You forgot the time?! Writing? Writing was more important than my dinner?” Now he is frowning at me, his hands clenched at his side. My eyes burn and I bite my lip.

“I’ve worked hard to support this family all day, and you can’t even be bothered to make dinner! Is this writing going to do that for you? Will it pay our bills?” His derisive laugh cuts me to the quick.

“I’m so sorry, I really forgot the time!” I cry, seeing a vein throbbing in his temple, “I’ll run over to the shops and get something that I can make quickly.” Without a word he walks into his study and slams the door. In tears, I grab my wallet and keys and run out the door, then have to run back in to put on my shoes.

That evening we eat in silence. When we lie in bed I turn to Huub. “I really am sorry. It won’t happen again.” My soft touch on his shoulder elicits a grunt. Sighing, I close my eyes and wait to fall asleep.

***

The shrill sound of the alarm clock sends a surge of adrenalin through me. Squinting, I slam it, restoring the blessed quiet. Levering myself up, I get out of bed and stumble towards the shower. We celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary next weekend. Our garden hosts a party for twenty people with ease, so we invited close friends, a few colleagues, our parents and our two daughters. I plan to make a buffet under party tents, in case it rains. I also need to order the cake and about a million other things.

Later that afternoon I have a moment to myself, as I walk Pantser in the park a block away from the house. There is a small field where I take off his leash and throw an old tennis ball. As I watch him run, I realize I’m feeling miserable. I think back on Huub’s words to me. A dagger of pain shoots through my heart. I don’t know if I can live like this. Am I such a bad wife? A quote from the book floats through my mind, “It’s never too late to be who you might have been.” I can do this, I assure myself. But Huub’s words echo through my mind. Can I do this? Self doubt swamps me. What if he won’t let me? What if he hates it and yells at me, rejects me? I shake my head to clear it.

I remember I need to call my eldest daughter Katie, to see when she’s arriving home. Digging my cell phone out of the black hole that is my purse takes a while, but Katie picks up on the first ring.

“Hi mom!” she calls out, “What’s up!”

“The sky honey, you know that,” I reply, laughing.

It’s silent for bit and her eye-rolling is almost audible. “Very funny, mom. Allie called me this morning at an ungodly hour, to ask when we’re going home. I was just about to call you, I think we’ll be there Friday evening. Is that all right?”

“Perfect, that’s what I wanted to ask. How is university?” I ask.

“Same old, same old,” Katie sighs. “How’s it at home?”

“Great!” I lie, without batting an eye. “I looked at that silly self-help book you gave me, it actually makes sense. Be all you can be and such.”

Katie laughs. “That’s cool, mom, what did it make you want to be?”

“A harem owner,” I quip.

“Ew, mom!” my daughter predictably squeals.

Chuckling I say, “Just kidding kiddo. I did actually start looking into writing, though. I even put up some pieces on a website.”

“That’s totally awesome! Really? Wow, my mom the writer! See, I knew that book was a good idea,” Katie lectured.

I laugh out, a happy flush warming my cheeks. “It’s just a hobby. But I do enjoy it a lot.” Before I can stop myself I blurt out, “Your dad wasn’t too happy, though. I forgot to make dinner, I was so engrossed with writing.”

My daughter scoffs, her disapproving expression vivid in my mind’s eye. “Dad would forget to put on his shoes when he walks out the door if it weren’t for you. He’s just a big grumpy. I think it’s great you’re doing this.” Her voice turns distant, “I’m coming!” Louder she says, “I’m sorry mom, I gotta go, Carla wants to go for lunch. Love you mom, see you next week!”

“Bye swee— ” She has already hung up. Smiling I throw my phone back at the mercy of the void and call Pantser. “Come on babes, let’s go home and do some writing.”

***

Rrrrr-rr… Rrrrr-rr… Rrrrr-rr… It takes a while for the sound to penetrate my focus. Blinking I take my eyes off the computer screen and search through stacks of paper for the phone. I locate it under a pile of sheets filled with scribbles. I have a missed call from my mother. Sighing, I call back.

“What on earth were you doing! The phone rang for ages!” my mom’s shrill voice snipes through the phone.

“Sorry mom, I was… I was writing,” I explain.

“Writing? Who to?”

“No, writing prose,” I admit.

It is silent for a second. “Humph, what nonsense are you up to now?”

“It’s just a hobby, ma.”

“What does Hubert think about this?” she demands.

“I don’t know ma, as long as it doesn’t interfere with his food I don’t think he cares,” I sigh, exasperated.

“Well I should think so!” my mother huffs. “Imagine that, writing and letting it interfere with dinner? You listen to me missy, Hubert is a decent man who takes good care of you and you’d better not go on and neglect him, hey? You better keep him happy so he doesn’t run after some light skirt!”

Like how dad left you, mother? I think to myself. “Yes mother,” I mutter through clenched teeth.

“You hear me, girl?” she carps.

“Yes ma!” God, sometimes…

“You know what happens if you do that, don’t you? He’ll leave you and what will you be left with? Well?”

“I’ll be left with nothing, mom.” She can be such a miserable old hag.

“Good. And we don’t want that, it’s not like you’ll find someone else. A woman ought to take care of her husband and be supportive.” Like that worked for you. “Anyway, why I called, I’ll be staying at your place tomorrow evening,” she states.

“What? Tomorrow, already? But the girls are staying over as well!”

“Well, they can share a room. You wouldn’t let your mother sleep on the couch, now would you?”

“No mother,” I reply, like a good daughter. I’d like to make you sleep on a bed of nails tipped with poison ivy, if I thought it would soften you up. I give myself a mental shake. She’s your mother and she can’t help herself, behave.

“Ok, see you tomorrow then. Sleep tight, my dear!” Her cheerful, teeth-grinding voice grates on my ears.

“See you tomorrow, mother.” I end the call and stare at the phone in my hand. I always hope sheer repetition will soften her words. I save my work and switch off the desktop.

“Come on babes,” I tell Pantser, who perks up his ears, “let’s head off to bed. Busy day tomorrow.”

***

The next afternoon, my mother’s words still make me angry, but nonetheless bounce around my head. You can’t seriously believe there’s any truth in what she said. Can you?

My neighbor comes by to drop off some food dishes for the party tomorrow. She calls out a bright, “Hellooo, anybody home?”

“Here Therese!” I yell from the kitchen, where I have been cooking all day. She walks in, laden with a curry pot and a pie on top of that, Pantser dancing around her feet, barking. Her ten year-old son trudges behind her, carrying a bowl filled with fruits and punch. “Oh, Therese, thank you so much! Down, Pantser! This is great! Here, put it in the garage fridge,” I say, while lifting the pie off the curry-pot and preceding the duo into the garage.

“Ben, go and play outside,” Therese orders her son, who dutifully skips out the back door.

She whirls to face me. “You’ll never guess what happened!” she gasps, her eyes shining with an unholy light.

My smile becomes fixed as I ask her, “What happened?”

“Do you remember Sarah Middleton? Casey’s mother? She married Johnny? Well, she left him because she said he cheated on her, I think I told you that. Turns out, it’s all a lie!” Therese avows with wild gestures. “Or well, Johnny told Adam, my husband’s best friend, she made the whole thing up as an excuse to leave him and get a fat bonjour check. Apparently it’s true because the judge granted him custody of Casey, supposedly because Sarah was negligent. Sarah went ballistic and attacked Johnny outside the court. Really attacked him! I saw the scratches on his face and now he has a restraining order against her. Can you believe it? The nerve of the woman, falsely accusing the poor man and then attacking him! I tell you, I cannot abide such people. I can’t believe she lived here so normally all these years, I will give her the cold shoulder every time I see her from now on.”

At this point Therese looks outside, and throws up her hands. “Oh, Ben! No don’t touch that! I have to check on him, I’ll see you tomorrow for the lunch? It’ll be fun! Let me know if you need any help, tata!” And off Therese goes, in a whirlwind of perfume and lilac skirts. Dazed, I go to the kitchen and sit down on a stool. That poor woman. Tears welled in my eyes. Oh God! With a shaking hand I push a strand of black hair out of my eyes. Her children taken away from her… How easily people condemned Sarah, I think. My lips tremble, and tears stream down my cheeks. With a sob, I run upstairs and throw myself into bed.

Later, I hear the front door slam and Huub call out. I look at the disheveled reflection in the mirror next to the bed. I try to fix myself up while Huub calls out again. He walks into the room and stops. “What’s wrong?” he asks, frowning. I explain about Sarah.

“Well, she did almost let Corey drown in the bath once. Don’t worry hun, you’re nothing like her. That wouldn’t have happened to you. You’re an excellent mother and a good cook. And, I know you’ll do me proud tomorrow. Besides, who else could have held out 20 years with you?” he teases. He leaves to go to poker night.

That evening, I laugh and joke when my daughters arrive home, excited about college and full of stories and youth. I prepare food, not taking my usual pleasure in cooking. The next day, I laugh and joke for friends and family. I drop a wineglass. The shattered glass echoes my long broken dreams and self esteem.

I finally realize the true secret I’ve been hiding from everyone, including myself.

I shuffle upstairs to my office. I switch on my Dell and open my account. I Close My Account. I turn on the shredder.

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover,” Mark Twain wrote.

I dump the book in the shredder. Later that night I post a letter. It contains two sentences.

I’ll be married to him another 20 years….. I am that afraid of being alone.

Word Count: 2477. Secret story round three. Prompt: I’ll be married to him another 20 years….. I am that afraid of being alone.