Big Dreams

1: Disconsolate

I've never been one that can keep my mouth shut. I pay attention to words, how they affect people. I say the first thing that comes to mind and figure how they make people feel second. Words can be concocted into something beautiful, hurtful, murderous. It depends on how you use them.

In some ways, I've always been terrible at expressing myself through words. Words have been my curse, leaving me to be the victim.

Entitlement. A word that can't be used to describe me or my family. We have no reason to think we deserve more than we have. My father is lazy, committing to a boring office job. My mother wishes to live an expensive lifestyle, but only manages a manager job at a local clothing store.

They want things they can't have. My father wants an eventful marriage, he'll never receive with my mother. My mother wants riches and a presentable family and not a disappointment. Everyone wants things they can't have.

I want a life without a curse. An unscathed tongue. Spitting fire from my thoughts and watching people burn with agony. The sensibility of my issue doesn't exist. My sharp tongue needs to be dulled immensely.

"Stop picking at your plate, Faye."

Mother doesn't like it when I think absent-mindedly at the dinner table. She finds it despicable and unruly.

"Faye I said stop picking at your plate."

I drop my fork, causing a loud sound and looked up. The disturbance of my thoughts is irritating.

"Am I bothering you again, mother?"

"Don't be so candid."

Candid. Such a good word to describe me. I should respond with retaliation and make her storm from the table with anguish. We will never be enough for her to stay.

I twisted my head and took a bite from my array of choices. It all looks like slop. The food is bland, showing all of her emotions. Tired, annoyed, bothered. There are more grand words to describe her emotions, but they wouldn't be fitting for her.

Of course, she wants a grand life but does nothing to earn it.

"Father?"

"Yes, dear?"

Awe sympathy. Wonderful.

"How do you feel about work? Anything new? I'm tired of the silence." I look at my mother, welcoming her looks of shame. Shame she believes I should have, I refuse.

"Nothing new, it's the same as it always is." He picks at his food. If gloomy was a person he would fit the physical criteria.

Of course. Ordinary because both of my parents chose to stare at their dreams while they're miserable.

"Why don't you ever cook?"

A valid question, considering it's what he's passionate about. I take in my mother's gaze, knowing I've disappointed her further.

"Don't tempt your father."

"Okay, then." I turned to her instead. "Why haven't you pursued the fashion industry? Wasn't this job supposed to be temporary?"

The frustration is oozing off of her. I can tell she's disappointed by my antics, but reminding them of what they could have instead of wasting their potential is generous.

"Sometimes, I wonder why I never beat that mouth of yours out of you."

She departs from the table, leaving me to stare at my father. Her words hurt, but why would I let it reach the surface? I look at him a long while. He doesn't check on her or talk me out of my next outburst he just stares at his plate.

"If you aren't going to chase your dreams you will continue to be miserable and out of control." I picked up my plate as well as my mother's and went to the kitchen.

Miserable. The only way to describe our family. We have no direction or purpose but we exist. We live-giving little to no contribution and it's smothering.

The daylight floods my room, just as the moonlight did. The same routine. Get dressed, watch my parents move with no purpose, and go to school.

School is boring. It dulls the imagination until you think and surround yourself with unimportant knowledge. I stare at the clock, as he begins another math lecture.

"Ms. Smith, would you like to join us in the discussion?"

"No, thank you."

Some students erupted into laughter. Others looked at me with disgust. You can never win in this town.

"Then you'll have no problem leaving my class."

I looked at him, uninterested. I shrugged my shoulders, gathered my things, and followed suit. I have no problem being in trouble or making people uncomfortable. It's inevitable.

School is uneventful as always. I write and sleep then wake to write again. I have no friends because my venomous words have broken them to no means of repair. I've conformed to writing my thoughts, scribbling them on paper, so they can't hurt anyone.

No one catches my eye and no song takes me away from my misery. I could've been born into royalty or been a spy in some distant land, but I'm skipping art class again and staring at an old oak tree.

It looks ancient. It could tell a million tales. Spew a million words, but also crush you to oblivion.

"Why are you staring at an old tree?"

I look to see a boy. He is light... no he is darkness. His features are dark, making him look mysterious. His hair dark like coal and clothes to match. All in all, it makes him look beautiful in a way.

"It's not just a tree."

"But it is. It has no meaning and no use. It looks like it's rotting away."

I look at the tree with his insight. The wisdom of the tree has grown wicked. It looks like it would wield nightmares and plant them into a child's head after tucking them in good night. I could do nothing but sigh and look at the ominous tree, I once saw as wise and a beautiful piece of art.

"You've ruined my perspective of the tree." I turned to him, but he is already looking at me. Eye contact is no danger to me. I welcome it with open arms. Wishing for someone to summon my wrath. He looks away first but looks back with a smile.

It feels like a rainbow after a stormy night. Warm and even though you've seen it a million times, nothing could compare to the sight.

Breathtaking. Beautiful. Aghast. What word could I use to describe how I feel at this moment? A million come to mind but none could fit my exact emotion.

"How so?"

I turned away to ponder his question. "In many ways." I look away from his smile to solidify myself. I've become the morning dew enveloping nature. I have to collect myself to give insight into such an open-ended discussion. "I saw the tree as wise and hopeful. Now, the only thing I can see is ominous and grey." I capture his gaze again to huff into the warm air. "Completely ruined."

"Who are you?"

I returned his question. "Why should I give you more than you've given me. I've given you a look into my thoughts and you ask for my name in return." He laughs, a hearty laugh filled with emotion.

"I can tell I'm going to like you. My name is Bleau Blackwell."

"Nice to meet you, Bleau."

I get up, collecting my things, leaving him on the grass alone. "Where are you going? You haven't told me your name."

"And you haven't given me a piece of your mind."