The Death of Dreams
Metaphorical story about a person who progresses through life getting ready to follow a dream or a whimsy, but keeps getting side-tracked by the objects of her life until she’s grown into an old woman and gives up to join the masses.
“You really think running away will solve anything?”
“No.” Jamie frowns as she throws her clothes into her briefcase on the bed. She stops and turns to me. “I know it will.”
I frown and hug my knees closer to my chest. “You’ll need money.”
“I’ll get a job.” Jamie huffs as she resumes her packing.
“You’re nine.” I unfold my legs and stare at her.
“And?”
“And last time I checked there were rules against children working.” I stand up and grab Jamie’s comb from off the dresser.
“Is that a fact? How do you know?”
“When was the last time you saw a twelve year old working at the mall?” I demand.
“Well…whatever. I’ll figure something out.” She ignores me as she angrily stuffs her briefcase closed.
“You’ll need help.” I approach her slowly.
“No I don’t. I’ll be fine on my own. I don’t need anybody.”
I open my palm and offer her the comb. She glances down at it. “Take me with you.” The whisper escapes my soul.
She glances down at the comb and then back at my face. She snaps the comb out of my hand while grumbling, “You’ll only slow me down.”
“We both know I can only slow you down as much as you want me to.”
Jamie bites her lower lip.
“I have sixty dollars.”
“Fine.” She snaps. “But only because you’re pretty.” She grabs the briefcase and moves to the door.
I stand shocked. Who am I? What did I just say?
“Coming?” Jamie demands from the door.
I take a deep breath. “Ummm…I think so.” I look over at her frowning face. “I mean yes. Yes. I’m coming. Just let me go grab a few things.”
“Well alright. Don’t take so long, though. The Dictator’ll be back soon from her church meeting. I’ll be downstairs.”
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