Table for Twelve

Strange Dreams

“Money doesn’t bring happiness, but if I had it I could at least be depressed in Paris”.

He remembers these words so vividly now, leaving his mouth followed by a light chuckle. His grandfather. He died when Enrico was a teenager, the old man was always in a really good humor. At the end of his life though he regretted not having enough money to give all the best to his offspring, but what a beautiful life he had.

It always hurt him in a way to see how well his father related with his four siblings. Even when they argued, it was fun to watch as they’d soon apologize and go back to good terms. He missed that all his childhood asking for a little brother or sister, but his parents were in such a miserable financial condition that they decided to have just him and give him all the best they could give. They only didn’t give him the best he thought he deserved: company in that big empty house while his parents were out working their butts off to keep everything they had.

He was taught to look for a job, for money, for success, so he wouldn’t face the hardships his parents endured. Sitting now at a table on the corner of a run down bar, he looked through the fogged window at the rain pouring outside. What he had done with his life? Working in a big city with no prospects of having a life, his own family, too absorbed in earning money and not getting enough.

He pulled a notebook from his backpack and sharpened a pencil. He looked through the window again and started writing. Beautiful landscapes, beautiful lives of people who followed their dreams crowded his mind as he wrote about these fascinating characters. He wished he had enough courage to do that. To follow his dream, to dedicate himself to build a family, not a famous career… And maybe be a proud grandfather as his were. It was not a common dream in men, but it was his dream. Shouldn’t he fight for it?

The bell over the door rang warning the people inside of another costumer coming in. He snapped his head at her, getting distracted from his thoughts. She was blonde, shivering in cold and closing the drenched umbrella. She sat at the bar and asked for a hot drink. He placed the pencil under his chin, reflective, and quickly touched the paper with it, his hand moving fast.

He was so caught with it that he didn’t notice her coming close.

“I can’t say I’m not used to men getting inspired by me but.. I must say I’m quite impressed at how I seem to have an impact on you.”

He shot his head up, surprised. There she was, staring at him with a small smile on the corner of her lips. He started mumbling, nervous and embarrassed. She had noticed him watching at her and writing. He offered her an awkward smile.

“I look like a creep right now, don’t I?”

She nodded playfully while taking a seat in front of him. “A cute creep though.”

He blushed, not knowing what to say or what to do with his hands. A stranger was really hitting on him?

“I do know you actually.” She seemed to read his mind. “I was from your literature class last year. You don’t remember me, right?”

He guiltily shook his head no.

“I don’t blame you. Too many students and we never talked before, but I remember your poetry. You were awesome, got everyone’s attention.”

He shyly scratched his neck. “I’m not that good actually…”

“Oh come on, you were great. I want to be a writer too but…” She sighed. “I still have a lot to learn.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great.” He tried, getting a smile from her.

“Trust me, you’ll be famous one day with your writing.”

He suddenly looked gloomily at the window and she noticed that change in him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh nothing.” He hung his head low. “It’s just that it’s… It’s not my real dream.”

“Oh… And what is your real dream?”

He looked at her thoughtfully. Should he trust her? Would she laugh and try to persuade him out of the idea? Well, she was almost a stranger anyway, her opinion shouldn’t count, right? He decided to tell her.

“I want to move to a small town and build a big family”. He said, analyzing her features, curious at how she’d react.

Her answer was a small smile. A mocking smile? He couldn’t say.

“Really?” He nodded. “Can I see what you wrote?”

He looked surprised at her and then at his notebook. He gave it to her with an uneasy smile. “I guess I can’t deny it now that you caught me getting inspired on you…”

“You’re right.” She smiled widely.

He waited for what looked like hours for her to finish her reading. She began to read it with a smile on her face, then she was serious, and then smiled again. He was dying to know what was going on in her head. When she finally finished, she nodded at him with a pleased expression.

“I guess your big family will love your stories.”

They talked the rest of the afternoon, and though they haven’t given each other their numbers, they managed to see each other three times – by accident as they both believe it – before they finally decided to plan their meetings.

He fell in love with her, a little before knowing her big dream besides being a good writer was also to have a big family. It looked like the heavens had sent her to him, she was perfect. The only thing not so perfect about all this was the dreaded time to tell his parents about the change of plans.

As he had predicted, they were against him throwing away everything he had conquered up to now to live in a small town with a writer for a wife and a bunch of kids. That’s what hurt him the most. You could say anything you wanted about him, but not about the woman he loved or his future family. A huge argument came next and he left his parents for good.

They both started working to raise enough money to move in together to a small town. As soon as they got it, they got married and moved to Sunset Valley – a small town Emily, that was her name, always wanted to live in since she heard a lot of stories about it from her grandmother.

With everything packed and their hearts showing them the way, they embarked on a bus to their new life.