A Dream is Just a Dream

Good morning beautiful new day.

Today is the day that I finally get that deal. That long awaited book deal that has been driving my every word since I was twelve. This is that day no other day could ever be as bright. I just turned 38 and it has been a very long journey, but the trip was not in vain. Most people at my age have already made it if they are going to that is, so yay me! I have so much to do to prepare. I best get a move on it before the day gets away from me……

The smell of coffee, half café, energized the air and woke it up as it made its way to the second story of the meek townhouse of five. Steam came from the bathroom as steam so often does clouding the mirrors in the room adjacent to it as well as the one in the bathroom. Children could be heard tinkering about in their prospective rooms. Two boys and two girls to be precise, miraculously both twins. The boys were the oldest 15 going on 16 and the girls the youngest 9 going on10. Their mother and father long divorced stayed separate but amicable. On this day a regular Tuesday this mother of four, divorcee was going to find herself in a world that she had not anticipated.

The door to her bathroom opened as she emerged wrapped in a royal purple towel with her wet hair clinging to her shoulders and back. She wiped the mirror in her room to clear away the steam as she had done millions of times before this day. She stared at herself for a moment in a daze not wanting to continue from that particular moment in time.

 Four weeks had gone by since her book went out to the public and already it was making its way up the New York times best sellers list. So, for a moment she just stared knowing that this person this version of herself could only exist for a moment and she would relish in that moment forever. Her curls began to dry as they lifted from her back and shoulders. Obviously, she had stayed in the moment far to long. Putting on the clothes that she had laid across her bed. Which earlier she had decided went good with her mood of the day. Tuesday, an eggplant blouse with acid wash jeans. Acid wash jeans had made a comeback. As she pulled her blouse over her head her curls bounced almost fully dry now and that was a mistake. Anybody with curls knew that the best time to manage them is when they are completely hydrated.

The news sounded in the background as she continued her morning routine blissfully unaware of the sadness going on in the world. Until she heard, “in local news a rising new writer right here in our hometown, Vashti Valentine has somehow blasted the competition out of the water with her novel The Strangest Dream rising to the number one spot on the New York times best sellers list…..”

Vashti dropped to the floor in pure amazement, no longer worried about her curls or clothes.

“mom…..” She heard a faint noise in the distance, “mom,” she turned to see one of her sons as she passed out.

When she came to, both of her sons where holding her and calling to her to wake up. She sat up and they in unison slouched back in relief. “What happened mom,” Noah asked with deep concern in his voice and on his face. She looked at him then at his brother Asher who shared the same concern and question on his face. She shook off the last of the daze that threatened to knock her out once more. She opened her mouth to speak and the doorbell rang. “Mommy, Mommy,” Noemi and Neriah proclaimed, “a lot of people are at the front door.

           She got to her feet and made her way down the narrow hallway, then down the stairs to her living room where the front door resided. She stood stunned looking at the many bodies she saw shadowed through her living room window. Afraid at what was about to unfold she called to her children, “Kids go to your rooms and lock the doors.” They did so, quickly, hearing the fear in their mothers voice.

She reached the front door and cautiously opened it only a crack. As she opened her mouth to say hello a flash of light hit her eyes. Then a parade of mouths all moving at once began asking question after question. One question caught her attention.

“What did you say about Oprah???”

Now she was asking the questions as she flung the door completely open and stepped outside into the cool autumn air still damp from her shower. Again, she repeated,

“hey you,” pointing at a reporter, “yeah you, what did you say about Oprah?”

The rest of the cackling reporters fell silent. She stared at the lone reporter,

“Is it true that Oprah Winfrey has read your book and you are on her short list of book club interviews?”

Vashti’s knees got weak,” O-Oprah Win-“ her knees buckled and she fell to the ground outside her front door. One of her many neighbors who had been watching stepped in and caught her before she went face down.

“Child get on up, you can’t be out here on the ground with all these camera’s watching.”

Vashti stood up and looked at her neighbor, “Thank you very much for helping me Ms. Kay.”

Immediately the crazed reporters began asking questions of her neighbor.

“Did you know she was a writer.”

“Are you two related?”

“Do you live with Vashti Valentine?”

“What Is your name?”

“Who are you to Vashti?”

The question they asked the most the one Vashti and her neighbor got most often was, “are you her mother.”

Vashti Valentine stood at a mere 5’2, brown eyes, dark brown curly hair with freckles under her eyes. She was indigenous to the Americas and Africa through years of twisted ancestry.

Kay Green stood at a mere 5’4, hazel eyes, dark brown relaxed hair with a large mole on her left cheek. She would tell you she was black.

Really the only similarity they had, which no one could ever see past, was they both had a caramel colored skin tone. Ms. Kay politely declined to make any comment on the matter. She helped Vashti back to her house just as Vashti’s phone began to ring. The crowd outside her front door went silent, of course in anticipation, to see if they could hear the phone conversation no doubt. As they waited Vashti took her phone from her back pants pocket, swiped the little green phone icon. “Hello.” Vashti said nothing else.

Nodding, “Vashti girl they can’t hear the marbles rolling around in your head.”

She nodded at Ms. Kay and said one word, “Yes.”

Vashti swiped the red phone icon and placed her phone back into her pocket. Slowly she turned around to face the horde of reporters eager to hear what she had just heard. Vashti looked at the reporter who originally asked the question about Oprah Winfrey. Wide eyed she asked,

“ma’am how did you know?”

 With that  one question all of the reporters knew, unequivocally, she had been contacted by Oprah Winfrey’s people. They began another question assault this time only asking about the phone details.

“Did they Oprah’s people just call you?”

“Did you get a date for interview?”

“Will this air on OWN?”

“Do you have anything to wear?”

The questions went on and on as Vashti headed back inside of her house. Guided by Ms. Kay who opened the door and closed it behind the them both as quickly as possible. She sat Vashti down on her couch and sat down beside her as well. She could tell Vashti was still processing everything.

Vashti let out a sigh, “I can’t believe it Oprah freaking Winfrey, the New York times best seller number one.”

Ms. Kay smiled, “well I’ll tell you something girl I can’t believe you never told me you even wrote a book. I had to find out on the 5 o’clock news,” she paused, “I am hurt truly hurt,” she said sarcastically.

Vashti looked at her neighbor and chuckled just a bit, “thanks, I needed that.”

Ms. Kay got up to leave,” one last thing girl, don’t forget about all us little people when you living in some fancy mansion.” Vashti shook her head, “never Ms. Kay,” she chuckled again as Ms. Kay left through the sea of reporters still on Vashti’s front porch.

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Wow good evening

I have zero clue how to process all of this. What do I do first? Move? Get a freaking car? All of the above? I guess I need to go see Oprah first. Her people have given me a week to get ready for the interview. How the hell do I get ready for the interview? I checked my email like they said for the plane tickets. I guess I need to clue my mom in so she can stay with the kids. My mom that’s what I need to do first tell her. She isn’t an emotional individual, but this might just crack her shell. Good thing mom doesn’t have cable or internet I still have time to be the first. Well I figured it out tell mom and the rest will just sort itself out.

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Good night my beautiful dreams

Until morning when I wake

To behold my dreams as reality

Good night my good dreams

Tomorrow you step into the light

With my wake

But, for now sweet dreams

Good night.  

Vashti’s mind played horrible games with her as she slept. At the end of this, this deep almost medicated sleep, she would wake up to her reality.

Her eyes opened and the memories of the last 22 years came crashing down upon her. The only word she could utter was, “Crap.” Vashti sat up in her tiny one, bedroom apartment.

That dream again, she thought, reminding me of all I could’ve been.

Sweat and tears mingled on her cheeks. Now 60 years old no children running through the house, nothing just her and her empty dreams. Dreams that could only be found deep inside of her. Dreams that haunted her sleep like the ghost of regret she could not bare. Dreams that had only ever been dreams. For many years she dreamed this dream, but never once lived in it as reality.

If only I would have stopped dreaming and started living, she thought sorrowfully. These horrible wishes, turned dreams, turned nightmares when I wake to my reality, she sighed heavy. If only I’d never slept, I would have never dreamed, My damned dreams are what kept me from living. She punched her pillows in frustration.

As if she knew someone would hear her she spoke aloud from her bed,

“Dreaming is for sleep, I should’ve been woke.”