Feed Your Dreams

Dad always likes to tease me that I'm accident-prone. Now here I am, at 24, lying flat on my back on the sidewalk after taking one step out of my apartment complex. It hardly snows here in North Carolina, but it makes sense this would happen on the first day I’m starting my new job. On the bright side though, the snow is still pretty.

The hiring manager said to be at the Library by 8 a.m., but the door is still locked. It’s probably because I’m early. I keep trying to call since someone else’s car is here, but there’s no answer.

Geez’, it’s freezing out today! Please, pick up. Yes! finally, “Hello! My name is -”

A man’s voice interrupts, “We’re closed until 9 a.m. Goodbye.”

I rush to reply, “Wait! I’m the -” ...and they hung up on me. I guess I’ll just call again.

He answers once more and sharply states, “WE ARE CLOSED!”

Before he can hang up, I blurt out, “But wait, I’m scheduled to work today!”

“Huh?” he said like it’s the first time he’s heard about this.

“I’m the new girl, and I’m just locked out of the building.” He hangs up without saying anything.

A few minutes later, a slender, middle-aged man opens the backdoor. With a grim look on his face, he turns and walks away letting the door close behind him. Assuming that’s my cue to come inside, I enter a long hallway with several doors on each side. Already, he is nowhere to be found. I wonder how he moved that fast. As I try a few doors, I finally see him peak through a doorway on the far left.

“Well, are you coming?” His non-verbal expressions are daunting.

“Uh, yes sir. I didn’t know where you had gone. My apologies!”

I walk into his office. “What’s your name?” he asks.

“My name is Aliece Jones. I-”

He interrupts again, “Well, Miss Jones, my name is Daren Perry, but you will call me Mr. Perry. I’ve been working here for 17 years, and let me make something crystal clear. I expect you to earn your keep here and respect seniority.”

“Yes, of course, sir. I am very hardworking.” I smile through the frustration.

He looks at me, eyes squinting, seemingly appalled by my optimistic response, and says, “Well then, I know what your first job will be!” He then leads me to a door and opens a locked room. Inside is a single, dim, pull-string light bulb and several cases of books that appear to be disintegrating. It’s extremely dusty. Clearly, it hasn’t been disturbed in a long time.

“How about you clean this room up for me, eh? It hasn’t been properly cleaned since, well… since before I got here!” Chuckling to himself, he returns to his office. I sigh quietly to myself and begin the search for cleaning supplies since he didn’t bother to show me where they’re kept.

It’s been about three hours now, and I’ve managed to sort through a decent amount of boxes of tethered books and accomplish a miraculous amount of cleaning. As I open up a new box to sort, Inside I find someone’s little, black notebook.

I open the black notebook to a random page, knowing this has been here a while, and I scan through it unapologetically. After reading a few pages of repeated phrases I realize that It’s someone’s old affirmation journal. I’ve read about these before; people use them to create their reality and “manifest” wishes. On the very first page, I discover a name and address: “Vivian Anderson, 515 Melody Drive, North Carolina”.

I set it aside and continue working until it’s about 6 p.m. After I clock out I decide to head to Melody Drive. In the passenger seat, I have the little black notebook. Driven by curiosity, I’d like to know what became of Vivian.

As I turn onto Melody Drive, I arrive at 515 to find an old house that appears abandoned. The mail is piled up on the ground, and the house itself isn’t in the best shape. I figure I drove this far, so I might as well make sure no one is home.

As I stand on the rickety porch and knock, no one answers. I try again after a few moments and hear a man’s voice shout, “WHO IS IT?”

I answer politely, “Hello! My name is Aliece. I believe I may have something of yours.”

A few moments later, an old, shorter man, probably somewhere in his late 70’s, peeks through the door and asks sharply, “What do you want? I don’t have all day.”

“I started working for the library downtown and I came across this notebook. It says to return it to this address,” I explain.

The old man shuts the door saying, “That ain’t mine!”

I reluctantly continue, “It belongs to Vivian Anderson. Do you know if she used to live here?” After a few moments of silence, the man comes back and opens the door fully.

To my surprise, he’s now startled. “Vivian, you say?” His tone and attitude went from being hostile to gentle. “Please, come in.” I enter through the front door into his living room and I find that the interior of his home is surprisingly well kept and aesthetically pleasing. The walls are covered in framed artwork, all initialized “VA”. I realize, too, that he’s walking with a limp and uses a cane. I ask him his name. “William Anderson, but you can call me Will or William”.

He goes on to explain, “Vivan was my wife. We’ve been together for decades but she passed away nearly two years ago to Alzheimer's. She used to love to paint. It was her favorite thing to do, even up until her last few months. So, what is it that you’ve brought me of hers?”

The crackle of his voice makes my heart soften. “I’m so sorry for your loss... I found this black notebook at the library today while I was cleaning. I opened it and found where it said to be returned if found, so I came here. Your home is lovely, by the way, and her artwork is beautiful.” I hand him the book and continue, “I believe it was her affirmation journal.”

He takes the notebook and thanks me. Then he continues to tell me some of his fondest memories with Vivian. I stay awhile, captivated by his stories. He offers to make dinner if I ever want to come to see him again, and ever since that day, I’d continue to visit him often.

He asks me one day, “What’s your dream, Aliece?”

I hesitantly answer, “I guess it’s to be a librarian. I used to want to be a successful writer, but It seems unlikely that I’d be able to make a living as one.” He looks at me with an eager glow in his eyes. “If you feed your true wishes, they will grow, and come true.”

I ask reluctantly, “Did Vivian’s dreams ever come true?”

He pauses for a moment and says, “She dreamt of being a successful artist. She was never famous or rich, but she did what she loved and she did it well. She made connections and memories… Don’t be afraid to chase your real dreams, Aliece, but also, let life unfold and surprise you.” After dinner at Will’s place, I stop at the store and buy myself my very own little black notebook.

The next day, I’m heading to Will’s place for our weekly lunch-in-the-park outing and I find an ambulance outside. I approach the paramedic as he closes the back doors to the vehicle. “What’s happened to him?!” I ask frantically.

“We aren't sure yet. We need to get him to the hospital and run some tests. We will do the best we can.”

I follow the ambulance to the hospital and restlessly wait for news from the nurses. A few hours later, they approach me. “You’re here for Mr. Anderson, is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am. What’s happened?” I ask, trembling, with tears overflowing.

“He’s not well... He has late-stage Pancreatic Cancer. I’m so sorry. You are permitted to see him now if you’d like.”

I stand in the doorway to his hospital room. “Aliece, it’s so good to see you.” Will’s voice is soft.

“I’m so sorry. I should have noticed something was wrong sooner.” I cry to him.

“There’s nothing you could have done, Aliece. I’m an old man. I expected this sooner or later.” He chuckles softly.

“Are you in any pain? Is there anything I can do?”

“No, I’m not in any pain. The nurses are taking good care of me. I’m so happy to see you, Aliece, but it’s getting late, and you should go home now. It’s going to be alright.” He smiles with his eyes.

“I’ll come back to visit you tomorrow, okay? I’ll bring cards, or we can watch a movie or something.”

The next day I visit William in the hospital and we play UNO. On the second day, we watch a funny movie. On the third day, he’s beginning to lose his focus, so I show him some pictures of Vivian and him together. He isn’t saying much, but he’s smiling. On the fourth day, I came to visit to find his room empty. The nurses assure me he went peacefully in his sleep.

He doesn’t have a funeral ceremony since he has no other living relatives. I visit his grave every day for the next few weeks. Daren gives me a few days off to grieve, but it seems I’m feeling it more and more as time passes.

By the end of the second week, a random number comes across my phone screen. I answer, and a man speaks, “Hello, My name is Charles Frankworthe. I’m trying to reach Aliece Jones. I’m calling on behalf of William Anderson, who has recently deceased.” It’s William’s attorney, and he’s contacting me about his will. He says I’m mentioned in it. I meet Charles in person the next day and he hands me a letter.

Dear Aliece,

If you’re reading this then I must have passed on, but don’t despair. You’ve been a gift in my life. My life was full of memories, some of my favorites being with you. When we first met, your spirit reminded me of Vivian’s; the way you both carry light in your hearts. You brought me joy once again. I’m so grateful to have spent this time with you. As a gift from me now, I want you to have this. I won’t need it where I am going. I wish you the best and most beautiful life. Thank You.

Love,

Will

In the envelope, there’s a signed check of $20,000. I’m overwhelmed with sadness and joy as I fall to my knees and weep.

Four years later, I’m walking across the stage to receive my diploma for a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing. I look down in the audience to see my dad cheering for me. As I’m crying tears of joy I think of William and how he made this possible. For the last four years, I’d also write in my black notebook almost every day. Now I see my wishes have come true.

The next day, I take a walk to the old park. I sit down on a newly installed bench, right where Will and I used to picnic. I take in a deep breath of fresh air, listening to the sound of the birds singing as white fluffy clouds roll across the skies and over the water. I say out loud, “Thank you, William.” After a few moments of peace, I turn to look at the bench and gently feel with my hand the words engraved on the plaque. “In Memory of William and Vivian Anderson” was imprinted in the metal. “Thank you, for everything.”