Day Dream Secrets

It will be five years today since I last stepped out of my home. The date that led to my seclusion will forever be burnt in my mind, like an anniversary but it’s no reason for me to celebrate.

Outside I can hear the muffled sound of the gardeners seeping in through the window; their voices carry just like the grating coos of the crows sitting on the wall above them. They’re lining the driveway with flowers, while the caterers take trays out of their vans and I know any minute now my mother will float into my room forcing me to choose a dress for the evening. Today is my birthday, I’m turning thirty and despite my objection she’s decided to celebrate.

When it comes to my mother the best way to get rid of her is to play along, it’s easier to just agree now and disappoint her later. That woman is made entirely from dopamine and growing up with her level of constant excitement was too much for me to bear.

The dresses do look good but I can’t bring myself to willingly try them on, she laid them on my bed instead.

“I’ll see you downstairs at seven and please put some make up on that face.”

And she left my room already distracted by her next task.

The magic of new dresses wore off because I knew that later tonight I will have to walk down stairs and blow out candles on a cake that reads thirty while judging eyes stare on wondering where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing for the last five years. The answer is too humiliating for me to admit, but in a matter of hours I have to face a collection of people I don’t like but whose opinion and judgment pierce a hole in my soul every time I see them.

I start to rearrange my room, in an attempt to calm my nerves and I'm also hoping to find a place to hide. I have my “I’m running away” letter ready to go, all I needed to do is to stay low till midnight.

Instead I find my journals. I haven’t seen them since that night when I vowed to never leave my home. Hidden in a cardboard box at the end of my wardrobe, buried under the long coats there they are all fifteen volumes. My therapist would hand me a new book each year since I was fifteen, but five of the last journals have never seen a single word written in them. It seems my curiosity is stronger than my will to stay away, I think I almost miss them. After all, they were my loyal companions for a decade. I have to open one up even though I promised to never go there.

You see growing up I was never interested in making friends or going places but I was happy because I had an entire life playing in my head. A life filled with endless possibilities and it was real enough to keep me satisfied, nothing could match my imagination so nothing was worth going after.

I still went to school and all the other places I was forced to go but I never made an effort to join in. I was an odd child so my parents sent me to a therapist. She came up with the idea of keeping a journal, a way for me to write down the experiences I was having in my head. She said eventually it will encourage me to bring my imagination into the real world.

Every night I would lay in my bed with my little black book and place wonder to paper. The first journal she gave me had a black leather shell with velvet smooth pages. I would feel those pages for hours before my pen hit the page. After years of recording my alternate life my therapist grew frustrated at the lack of progress I had made to seek out what she referred to as “this physical world”. I didn’t care, I kept on writing and she kept handing me those books year after year.

My family’s frustration however was harder to ignore. I began working in my father’s firm straight after university, but I wasn’t taking enough initiative in the business and his disappointment in me grew heavier each day.

At twenty three they decided it was time for me to be married, to have someone take care of the world affairs for me when I could not. Before I had time to object our home became a breeding ground for young men wanting a big step in society. I was the sole heiress to my family’s fortunes and future leader of the firm grandfather built from nothing but the gold nugget his father left for him, a nugget that was secretly passed down through four generations. It was dug out of the mines of Georgia and left hidden for over a century. He melted it down and sold it for $20000 to start up the insurance firm in the 1980’s.

As the only surviving child it was now my duty to run the business, and keep the secret of our wealth. A duty that was perfectly suited for my sister Alyssa. She faced every challenge my father placed in front of her and thrived in the business and among the social ranks. She had my father’s intelligence and mothers thirst for adventure. Alyssa was eight years my senior and I happily lived in her shadow up till the accident. She and her husband were hiking Mount Everest for thrills and glory and never returned. When the sadness of her death cleared my family looked to me to carry the legacy forward. Of all the things I miss about my sisters it’s that she gave me the freedom to be ignored.

My mother arranged dinner dates and became smitten with every handsome man that flew in our home but my father had a more rigid screening process. He understood what I needed and knew the challenges I will face as a wife, a mother and the future face of the firm. He had a more practical approach and I didn’t have the energy to disappoint neither of them any longer. As a realist he had to find someone that could survive not just the pressure of the business but someone who could survive being my husband, for all intents and purposes he was simply a sperm donor, with business experience.

A young intern at my father’s firm ultimately won the position. He was handsome and kind enough and I had no skill to acquire any of my own suitors so I didn’t object and we began to date. My father embarked on preparing him for his future as my husband. Two years passed before we were engaged and I couldn’t tell if he were committing to me, the business or my father. His name was Alex and he was my senior at work by the time we were engaged. My mother had the idea that we should announce our engagement before my twenty fifth birthday, a chance for her to organise two separate celebrations.

The night of my engagement dinner my mother instructed me to wear a bright red dress,

“There’s no hiding in the crowd for you tonight my dear”.

Even my father was dressed to impress, had a wide grin and his eyes were filled with life, he was happier than I had ever seen him and he greeted each guest with new found confidence. Alex was famous for working late but as we inched closer to dinner time I could see panic slowly settle on my parents faces. We called the office, his phone and his home but it was like he disappeared into thin air. We kept up appearances and proceeded to make the toast to mine and Alex’s future. By the exit of the last guest I still hadn’t heard a word from my future husband.

We had every security personal out on patrol and my father sat by the phone just as he did the day my sister disappeared out on the mountain. The phone rang and both my mother and I leaned forward in our seats waiting to know the news. I knew something terrible had happened because the colour drained from my father’s face. He hung up the phone, stood up and said,

“I need to head to the office, stay here with your mother.”

My mother who was now rattled and confused rushed after my father wanting to learn what had gone wrong but my father said nothing and just left.

I didn’t sleep a single wink that night, barely able to put together a single sentence for my journal. Looking back I wish I had made an effort to rest, maybe it would’ve changed something. In the morning I got dressed for work. I didn’t know what would be waiting for me when I got there but I had my duties to attend to and I couldn't stay home any longer. My mind wondered on the way as I kept seeing an image of police cars and ambulances while I received the news of my fiancé’s demise. I slapped myself out of the thought a hundred times by the time I reached the office. Upon arrival people’s stares re-affirmed my fears. Not a single person dared to look me in the eyes. I headed straight for my father’s office. All the senior partners and all our firms’ lawyers had squeezed into his suite and with my entry came an eerie silence.

“Someone please tell me what’s going on!”

This is probably the loudest anyone had ever heard me speak but instead of an answer they all looked away. My father slammed a newspaper to his desk. I picked it up and a saw picture of Alex standing with our biggest competitor. My entire body went cold. My fears had come true in the worst of ways. I did lose Alex, but it was something he chose. That day our firm lost more than 90% of our clients. We were bankrupt.

In the days after our bankruptcy my father didn’t speak or look at me. I failed him and I didn’t blame him for hating me. With all the commotion my mother forgot to cancel my birthday party. That day was a lot similar to today, gardeners adding flowers to the garden and caterers ushering trays through the kitchens, only I heard my parents fighting across the corridor. My father wanted to cancel the birthday.

“She doesn’t deserve any of this, l want her out of this house and out of our life”.

Those were the last words I ever heard him speak. The ambulance didn’t make it in time.

For the last five years his words have been haunting my every moment. He was right. I never took the opportunity to participate in this world, despite all that I had. Why should I be worthy to have any part in it? So I’ve been living out his last words like a promise I can’t break, living life like I don't deserve it.

While the world around me crumbled my mother held the remnants of what we had left together. I grew up hating her taste for life, fun and adventure but now I think she’s always been the overlooked hero in my life. Maybe the best way I can thank her is to show up for my birthday tonight. I might not feel like I deserve it but she does.

Downstairs on the gifts table I see a gift with my therapist’s name on it. I knew what it was, my new journal. With the guests facing me ahead all I want to do is to head to my room and start writing again. But first let me give my new journal a story worth reading.