Aren’t dreams crazy? Not the aspirations ones, the night-time ones. I mean, think about it. Your brain just sits there, making up all these random plots to entertain you at night! I remember once, a night before a test, i dreamed i was stuck in a locker dressed as a clown just trying to get to my classroom. Where does the mind come up with theses things? Is it bored, sitting there at night? So it just decided to take random memories, hopes, fears, thoughts and mix it all into some frightening tequila to dunk on me? Whatever way it works, it’s crazy. Sometimes frightening. Yet, those psycho dreams gave me the chance to get out their and taste my dreams; the aspiration ones. Now that i think of it, my dreams gave me…my dreams! Both ways! Wierd, huh? I guess I owe it all to those dreams; the ones that make you wake up confused and wondering where you are. And the ones that make you scream or laugh in the middle of the night. But, yeah, i do…i owe it all to my brain for getting me out of middleofnowhere, Nebraska. Who woulda thought?
See, it all started the last day of senior year. I can remember every little thing about that day leading up to that night and that dream–oh, that dream–is forever seared to my brain with no hopes of removal. But i’m down with that. My room was orange. It had been my brother’s before he left to some auto-part junk yard; to ‘get his fortune’ was what he said. I think mom kicked him out. She never talked about it. Anyway, it was that horrible prison-suit orange. With brown comforters. It’s a miracle i ever fell asleep in that electrified room. I swear it could have been seen from space. But I’m getting sidetracked.
That night was when mom and dad were screaming again; this was before their divorce. They were fighting about…condiments i think. Yeah, she wanted yellow mustard, he wanted brown. I was down with ketchup, but they didn’t seen to notice me. But they were fighting so the wrinkles were past stressing point. Once my parents went on to what sort of pickles to buy, i was done. I fell onto bed exhausted. And it’s those nights; the ones where you could poke your eyes out for being so tired, that you can never seem to fall asleep. No joke. So it was tossing and turning, throwing my heads in the deflated pillow and trying to count the curses flowing from the other room. I couldn’t keep up. It was probably about two that i finally fell asleep that it finally happened. Duh.
It was simple really, i was standing on the school lawn and everyone was in the school staring at me. Which was uncomfortable. So i finally yelled, “What do you want?” and then, in unison, they all closed the windows and turned their backs to me. It made me so mad, i remember it. I was wanting to scream but it wouldn’t come out. Then, right there on the flag pole, i exploded. Not literally, no worries. I just started kicking and screaming and cursing about everything. Homework, people, parents, school, Nebraska, politics–everything. Even scrambled egss. And it just went on and on until one single window opened and this kid, who i didn’t even recognized, yelled “Shut Up!”. Then another window opened and one of my teachers (that psycho Mrs. Grennery) yelled “Grow Up!”. And every time a window closed another window opened and something else was yelled, becoming more and more personal that were yelled by strangers. Finally i couldn’t take it. With hot tears running down my face i just turned around.
That’s when i woke up. And that’s when life changed. I was late. My alarm hadn’t gone off and my mom and dad were too tired and mad to notice. So, it wasn’t until like lunch time that i got to school. I couldn’t find any friends to sit with, not that i had much. But still. The last day was not enjoyable. Most seniors were gone; the rest were sophomores who finally felt worthy to look at me. Boys were screaming about summer plans and girls were scouting out the best summer boyfriend. I think there were two fights by the end of the day. And there I was, recognizing faces from my dreams! I wanted to go slap them and argue about what they’d said. but of course, it wasn’t them really who said it. It was me. I realized that, that day, sitting in the bathroom as the bell rang. I just stared at my self–my short, freckled self–and wondered why my mind would make up such horrors for me. And that is when my life-changing epiphany came to pass. In a school bathroom. After every other student had gone home. That is when i realized i was destined to be invisible. Now, don’t worry. This isn’t some self-pity story where i burst into tears and flush my head down the toilet. It’s just, i finally got it. My life, just like my brother, was gonna dissapear into history and be meaningless. Unless i changed.
Let me tell you something about me. I’m a quiet girl. And not just shy, i just am careful; careful about trusting. I think it has something to do with my parents; how, when i was three, they got me a book. Well, no, it was more like a magazine. About finances. I think it haunted me. Especially since it was like the last birthday present i ever got. I don’t even think my parents really knew when my birthday was. But, yeah. That magazine showed me how some people–especially the close ones–just don’t care. That we’re a pretentious people who only care about ourselves. In high school you see it everywhere. the cliks, the labels, the rumors and gossip. Nobody cares. So i decided to not care…about not caring.
I think i knew one person i’d call a best friend. Her name was Sheila and she was put into foster care when her parents died in a car accident. I don’t know where she went, but she went away. that was in elementary. But i knew people. I’d go to parties, i laughed at school. They just weren’t…friends. Sheila was in my dream. I can still remember. She was the little girl i knew, poking her head through that window and yelling at me. But, she was different than the rest–she smiled. And i don’t remember what she said, but i can remember that smile. And it played a part; it changed my life.
But, in that bathroom i changed. I forgot the old me. It was a whole new ball-game. I was finally free. Looking there, letting those words from my dream rush over me, i smiled. i truly smiled for the first time. Then i picked up my bags and went home. Mom was burning dinner again; i could smell it as i stood at the front door. I knew dad wasn’t home yet, he didn’t get home till late. Maybe that’s why i did it. If dad had been home i could have never pulled it off. But it was just mom and she was in a crabby mood. So i went in, walked to my room, packed my bags and then walked to the kitchen.
“Mom,” i said, not daring to look at her, “A couple friends and I are going to…California for the week.”
“What about school?” was all she said, completly concentrated on scraping the burnt rubble off the pan.
“I graduated mom. Today was the last day.”
“Oh, oh yeah. Now that you say that…sorry.” but she wasn’t sorry. “Don’t you have some sorta ceremony to go to? To get your diploma?”
I was getting slightly angry. Or maybe sad. You know, i find it funny. Mom and dad had never been in any of my dreams. Thinking about it, i wonder why. But that doesn’t matter. I made up some lie about how it had been right after school and now we were celebrating. The sad thing is she bought it. And i was out the door. I don’t think it even registered to her that there was no car out front, no laughing girls. Just me and a duffel bag full of clothes.
I brought my phone, but she never called. Two weeks in, it died and i was somewhere in Kansas. Those weeks on the road were exciting. Creepy, cold and sufficiently frightening; but cool. I met more people going then i ever had staying. Some people i wish i’d never met, but i did and i lived. My dreams got me through. I never had an exact repeat, but phrases from that dream would pop in. In a sad way, they motivated me.
I’m sure i looked like some harley-riding man by the time i got to Texas but, man, that smile on my face was huge. This must be confusing. Looking back at what i’ve written, it seems like i turned more invisible, more useless. But my life seemed to glow with opportunity and seeing that Lone Star waving over cities and over plains was amazing. You have to understand, coming from a town with a population of 1,000 and being thirty miles from the closest walmart can choke a girl. Especially one with dreams. So getting out and seeing different kinds of people; all different kinds, let me tell ya, was amazing.
I got a job in Austin as a secretary to some small Lawyer. It took me a while to secure it; he said i didn’t have the ‘credentials’ but i had the ‘character’. I didn’t argue. While he was in court or doing something out of the office, i’d sit his desk, pull out a pen and start writing. I’d sit there and imagine being on some talk show; dancing with Ellen, crying with Oprah and being celebrated for some work of fiction. Those were daydreams. And they were great. But my dreams were better. They tasted more real. Even when they included me dressed as a clown.
That year as a secretary was great, but I was restless. So i said goodbye and moved on to be a radio talk show host, then i became a private assistant for some unpronounceable designer. By now i was hot, not physically, but i was up top. There were things i did in that city that i’d never heard of up in Nebraska. Not bad, just different. I bought a pair of designer jeans and got some heels to match. They cost $500. It didn’t take me long to learn that was nothing. I made friends, got boyfriends, broke and made relationships, met people–famous people, i even made people–i actually had a life. But then i met Greg. He was a homeless sixteen year old. No family, no schooling. I took him in. Some people called me crazy, but, after life on the road, i knew crazy and crazy wasn’t Greg. I taught him and helped him get a job. No handouts–i made him earn his keep. And, when he turned eighteen, he had my old job–with the lawyer. before parting ways he told me something, something i can still remember being shouted in my dream. It was weird hearing it in the flesh after dreaming it constantly. But he just looked at me and said, “You’re worth somethin’”. I guess i was.
That’s when i really lived my dream. I quit my job, bought a house slightly out of the city and started the Lost Boarder’s. I turned my house–it was massive–into a safe haven for those cold, wandering teens. At first there was a counselor on hand, but after hundreds of late-night visit’s to my room i took a step of faith and started relying on my own knowledge and thoughts to teach those kids. I helped them get settled, realize their dreams and aspirations; i showed them they were worth something and they could reach what they wanted to. I had over 100 boarders that first year. It was a lot of mouths to feed and board and help, and they were required to work for it. Hours were spent at a neighboring farm helping harvest and plant. I developed a plan to get some experience in them; ‘Internship’ was what it was called. They could go and find someone willing to teach them their trade and give them a sort of job. At first it was just that radio and lawyer, but soon many people started taking them in. Girls got department stores, boys could get into the police department. It was just a few hours a week, but it showed those kids a whole new world. And people started to notice. Donations flowed in, interviews were given, adoptions even sprang up.
I was living my dream, you know. There is nothing more amazing then that. I could step out onto my lawn, next to a giant flagpole, and have random teens pop out and say things to me. This time it was nicer. And this time i recognized every one. And when i looked in the mirror i always smiled. It’s a good life; a recognizable life. I’m not invisible. I made something of myself and I’m proud of what it’s become. Because, even when i go, these people will remain–maybe this place will even remain. Either way, i did leave a legacy. A legacy and a dream. Which is more than i could have ever asked for.
Oh, and you know what? I’m reserved for Oprah next month. I’m sure a few tears will fall, if only because i get to share it. i get to share my dream.
