Dreama’s Diary–June 30
Like an orphan of Hecate, Goddess of the Underworld, I flounder in this madness called life. Day after day, I beat on the door of my shadow, begging it to conceal me from the bright scrutiny of my everyday world. But it never lets me in. I have to face myself out in the open where all can see. I have to struggle with being me.
Sometimes I just go for a drive. I wonder where Stefan and his wife live. I know you won’t believe me, but I hope they are happy. I like to believe that he and Lisa are sunning themselves on his boat or preparing for an upcoming July 4th picnic. He is a good man.
I’m not one of those fatal attraction kind of women. Perhaps I’m merely addicted to unrequited love. It is safe. I don’t have to step out from my shadow into the real world or touch a real hand that will make me tremble. For the moment, I’m happy to look upon that compassionate face that smiles at me. Most people don’t realize that a waitress spends hours being leered at, berated, or sneered at, so having one customer greet you with unconditional warmth is a joy. A brief moment with him lifts my spirit enough to repair my wounded soul. Whatever this kinship is that I have with him, it is rooted in a positive source.
During my aimless journey, I decided to stop at Lynnhaven Mall. I just walked around alone. My best friend, Mary Skinner, had a baby boy last year. I thought having children would give us a lot in common, but we are drifting apart and I don’t know why. We meet for lunch sometimes at the Plaza Azteca when she is not too busy working as a hairstylist, but today, I wanted to be by myself. Henry’s mother has Ana for the weekend, so I figured that I’d get out a little.
I like to look at people, especially business women. So elegant and confident in their tailored suits–I want to be like them. Just because I live in a trailer park doesn’t mean that I wear suggestive clothes or do meth. There are no curlers in my hair and I don’t have my belly button pierced. We simply moved into the home that a co-worker was selling. It was a small, but clean mobile home. We figured that this would solve our problems until things got better. Besides the neighbor with aluminum foil on his windows so that “aliens” don’t contact him, it is just a quiet neighborhood with hard working people.
Today, I chose a black skirt, a nice fitting white blouse, and a cute pair of black shoes to wear. I pulled my blonde hair back and pinned it in what I call my faux riche look. I aimed to blend in with the crowd as I strolled around. I wanted to fit in.
Maybe I had other motives too. By some chance, Stefan could have been at the mall. He has never seen me out of my black apron and uniform. I’m a real person besides being a waitress. I wanted him to see me at my best for once.
So many thoughts collided in my mind, mostly insecurities and “what if’s.” For instance, what if he and I bumped into each other by the food court and decided to have a cappuccino together? What if that led to more, and he suggested going back to my place? Hmmm, that’s a nice picture. His car alone is worth more than my trailer. I can see us park by my tiny fenced yard next to a series of potholes, and I’d watch his jaw hit the ground. Would he ask if it were a joke? I tried not to laugh. Humor is my strength.
Do people ever truly know anyone? Probably not. Most people don’t even know me. I’m sure I won't let them.
I paraded around the food court casting about a dignified air. I should have been an actress, but that is what all waitresses say. I don’t take myself seriously. At least, it is my goal not to. A few men in suits gawked as I casually strolled by sipping a soda. To them, I could be successful, but for now, the world I know is 14 x 60 feet and the color of dirty pink. It sits on a small patch of land in a quiet trailer park. We won’t be here forever.
I shouldn’t complain. It is decent. I have a bright eat-in kitchen with a Southwestern motif and a comfortable living room with my grandma’s lace curtains. Then there is Ana’s cozy pink room with plenty of smiling toys. Mine and Henry’s room is floral like a mythological garden where my spirit is being serenaded by panpipes and drunken gods too wasted to know that I’m not perfect. That’s my dream world and that’s how I like it. I find my peace at night. It is the real world that is hard. It is just one journey at a time. I need to not be afraid.
Soon, I returned to my home in my Chevy, but I’d have rather driven and kept going. My neighbors waved, and I pretended I was busy with something in my glove box. I can’t handle friendliness on days like this. It hurts too much.
So, where is my life going? I guess it depends on whether I accept it or destroy it.