The Secret Room

I’ve been with Dental Royale for one year. I gave myself four years from when I started to make my dreams come true and leave this 9-5. I have this amazing idea for a novel that I know will put me on the New York Times Best seller list. Like most aspiring writers and artist, I loathe my day job. Eight hours of sitting at a front desk, answering phone calls from rude patients who seem to think it’s my fault that they missed their appointment that they set up six months ago or having to explain to patients why their insurance only covers forty percent of their visit. I seriously don’t understand why people think it is my responsibility to know every detail about their insurance policy. I guess this is the struggling part of choosing to be a writer. Every day when I get home, I reaffirm to myself that this is only temporary. Soon my writing career will take off and I’ll never have to listen to another patient yell at me about things that are clearly out of my control.

I never do.

After three years at Dental Royale, I’m still at square one struggling to finish my novel, but I haven’t lost hope, yet. My job is still as miserable as it was two years ago. but there is a spot in the back of the building that I have discovered. It is quiet pleasant place where I take my forty-five-minute lunch. Those forty-five minutes of freedom I have I use to scarf down my lunch which is the same every day, two grilled cheese sandwiches on sourdough bread with a diet coke to wash it all down. After I finish eating ill usually have forty minutes left to work on my writing. I mainly try to work on my novel, but I just can’t seem to think of an ending that I am satisfied with. Once my brain starts to hurt too much ill switch to reading or work on a different project, hoping for some inspiration.

It never comes.

After four years still working at Dental Royale, I’m starting to think my father was right. Maybe I should have gone to law school instead of majoring in English. Sure, I would have been a miserable lawyer, probably a horrible one too, but I’m miserable anyway and at least I’d have more money. I’ve tried looking for other jobs, but I have become comfortable here. Being comfortable is a dangerous place to be. I hate every minute of every hour that I’m here but, it’s a stable income. I don’t make enough money to move out of my tiny studio apartment, but I live comfortably. There’s that word again.

I still have lunch in my secret spot. At least I think its secret because no one has ever found or interrupted me back here. Still, someone must know of this place because when I found it there was already a small wooden desk and a squeaky rolling chair. The Wi-Fi is slow back here, but I still managed to get work done. That’s all I could ask for. I'll finish my novel soon enough and then I’ll have enough money to buy myself a giant house with an office the size of my apartment alone.

I never will.

After five years I’m still at Dental Royale. It’s still horrible here and I still haven’t thought of the right ending for my novel yet. I planned on quitting and looking for a new few months after my 4-year work anniversary, but the doctor gave me raise. The next day I took out a loan and bought myself a new car since my old beat-up Toyota finally gave out. It was a graduation present from my father. He was so over the moon when I told him I planned on studying business in my undergrad and then applying to law school. You can imagine his disappointment when I finally had to tell him I switched majors and wanted to pursuing being a writer. Anyway, I still work at the same place where I eat lunch in the same secret spot that has still yet to be discovered, eating the same lunch. On the bright side I’ve pretty much learned how to deal with any possible complaint that a patient could have. I believe I’ve heard it all and my brain has carved out its own little section on dealing with incompetent patients. I basically dissociate and let that section my brain do all the talking from 9-5. I think this place is making me lose my mind, I should probably leave soon. As soon as I finish paying off my car loan or finish my novel, I promise myself. Whichever one comes first.

Neither do.

           It’s been six years and I’m still at Dental Royale. I’m still taking lunch in the same secret spot. A while ago, I’m not sure how long because I find it easy to lose track of time here, I started to stay after work in my secret spot to work on my writing. This place has become my safe space so to speak. strangely, I find peace here. The doctors trusted me with a key to lock up since I’m usually the last one here finishing up paperwork anyway. Nobody has found my secret spot yet, so I figured if I lock up there’s no need to tell anyone about me staying here hours past closing.

           I completely scrapped my novel since I could not come up with an ending that I liked. I came up with a new idea for a novel based on this room. Although this place is comforting for me, I will be the first to say there is an eerie feeling in here. The kind that people would normally never come back to. But like I said, it's comforting so, I'm hesitant to leave. What if I never find a place like this again? I can’t explain why but I feel attached to this place.

I am.

It’s been sixteen years and I’m still at Dental Royale. I finished my novel a few years ago but I never even attempted to publish it. I think my secret room would be angry with me if I did. I think it would think I’m abandoning it like a child leaving her mother to be on her own. I should have left when I told myself I would. Now I feel like I'll never be able to leave. In all honesty I stopped wanting to. As a matter of fact, I can’t remember how long it’s been since I left my secret room. I feel, my dreams have grown and died in this room. I can’t leave this place. I am bound to this place.

I, along with my dreams, have also died in this place.