The Ghost Of Who I Could Have Been

Chandeliers swinging like the leaves on a maple tree, tear drops of pure crystal catching my eye as I step into the dinning room. The late afternoon sun chases shadows, shining light on rows and rows of engraved service plates and diamond wine glasses. 

“There she is, the birthday girl!” 

He stands up glass in his left hand, his right in the pocket of his infamous black suit. 

“A toast to my beautiful daughter and of course all of you for coming today.” 

And there he is, dad, I know him no better than I do the strangers looking up at me from across the room. I smile, of course. As I always have “keep your head held high, don't let anybody see you cry, for life's a dance and you better not trip.” I make my way to my seat, every step my heels sink into the floor as marble melts into tar. But with every step I pull myself back up and out towards the table, my future. 

“My little girl, all grown up, look around you, all these people have come for you, to celebrate you and as I trust one day, one day soon your bright future, to stand where I am today at the head of the table.” 

He tilts his glass slightly upwards with the nod of the head. A light brush of the shoulder draws my attention to the man next to me.

“Hello, I am Mathew, your mum has told me all about you.” He combs back his hair over his balding spot, month old grease to keep it in place. 

With an anxious laugh I rebut, 

“Hi nice to meet you, I presume you already know my name.”

Be nice, remember to be nice, rage running cold through my veins. Mum always tries to set me up with men, respectfully, ugly men but rich, filthy rich. Without fail every Easter every, Christmas, and every dinner party, at least it's legal now.  

“Awfully pretty you are.” he says 

Rage quickly turns to fear as I feel his cold clammy hand slide up my leg, slightly under my dress. 

“Hey Honey, I see you have met Mathew, isn't he a gentleman?” 

I don't know why, but I hide my tears behind a smile just as I always do. 

“Yes, yes he is mum” 

“Before you came down stairs from your room Mathew was showing off his family engagement ring, a five million dollar diamond, would you like to try it on?” 

Mathew grabs my hand away from the place mat and slips the ring onto my right hand. 

“It’s perfect, your perfect”

I smile graciously, before I ask 

“Can I go to the bathroom, lady problems?”

Heart racing, the elevator doors open into the lobby. Heart racing, step by step, closer and closer to the door, traced by grand timber framing, an exit sign directly above. Through the golden gates. 

Greeted by a familiar voice, 

“Good Afternoon Miss.” 

Elliot, my doorman, took a step towards me in an attempt to reach for the door handle.

“It’s alright, I’ve got it.” I say, quickly intervening. 

My heals leave the marble floor to meet cracked concrete. The cold air whistling in my ears, blowing my hair into my cherry lip gloss, the stench of puke paired with second-hand smoke. Welcome. I begin to walk, in and out of the illumination of streetlights. Past living room windows, past front door steps and neglected garden beds. Apartment, 24, 26, 28. I’m supposed to feel lucky, grateful for who I am, for all I have but if I'm being completely honest with myself, I envy the people with the keys to the apartment, 36, 24, 47. Where the world is undeniably all consuming, and you are acutely aware that you are nothing but a grain of sand in the mitts of the world's velocity, and not to let it destroy you but to allow you to cherish the small corner of the world that is yours. To understand that time doesn't stand still for anybody. To chase your dream, you know the one, the one you cant feel alive without yet is perpetually suffocating. To love someone to the point where you would sacrifice that very dream just to see them smile. Love someone for how they see this world, who cant help but make you fall in love with life, over and over again. 

But what if I can’t make it, what if I can’t make it. What if I don't deserve this life, a life with the freedom to breathe, sometimes I don't believe I even deserve to breathe in let alone out. I turn the corner, streetlights now flickering on, off, on, off. Brought back into reality as my imagination loses itself, a fleeting memory, a nostalgia, of a dream. Feet aching, no longer holding my dress off the ground it begins to trail, snagging on the side of a brick, wait no, it’s being tugged. I look down to see a weathered old man laying underneath a tarp draped between two garbage bins. Through rotten teeth he asks,

“Do you have any money, food, please?”

I take my finger and pull away the diamond engagement ring.

“Here, you are sir,” as I pass the jewel to him, “It’s worth a lot, just not to me.”

Before I stand up and walk away I hear a faint thankyou. I look up at the moon staring back at me. Is it time to go back now? No. In the distance if I squint my eyes, I can make out a neon sign, train station. I can't go back home, if I do my last choice I will ever make will be to become a ghost of who I could have been. I take a step, then another, until I make it to the train station entrance. 

“Excuse me Miss, can I help you?” 

I approach the ticket booth towards the man addressing me. 

“Yes, one ticket please, no return.” 

One ticket, I’m petrified. One ticket to freedom. One ticket to dream. One ticket and I’m free, to succeed, free to fail and everything in between.