IN HER COCOON

The sound of water smacking the rooftop woke her up. Lamenting her situation she whined a little and stretched her body back onto her bed. Under her big soft blanket, Devine relaxed into its warmth- the only warmth she could find. She could lie in bed for an extra hour to prolong the fate of nothingness that awaited her day. Otherwise, she could go to the bathroom and attempt to cough up the mucus left behind from last week’s flu. Neither option seemed too pleasing. Unmoved, Devine continued to leave a lasting imprint in her mattress.

The last week had been horrible. She had caught the flu and had to be in bed and eat chicken soup for 5 consecutive days. She missed her best friend’s birthday party, then found out the man of her dreams had attended it. To make matters worse, the week before her brother and sister had called to scold her for making a huge mistake in her life. Apparently, choosing art school over law school was not good enough for their monetary ambitions. In that same week her father had called to tell her that he didn’t want to hear from her until she applied to med schools. A week before that she disappointedly found out that she didn’t get accepted into any art schools.

After 24 years of painting, drawing, and making pottery; after winning multiple art contests as a child and teenager; after 4 years of being an art major at a liberal arts school; after interning at the Kimmel Center and the Smithsonian; after graduating 3rd in her major; after seeing a future for herself in creative abundance, she was not comparable enough to the other applicants who were accepted. To her this translated into her parents not giving any philanthropic gifts to the universities along with her applications.

Devine lay in bed thinking about her father’s words: you’ll never be a great artist. It happens for so few people and then you can't even feed yourself. You have to be realistic and do what’s right for everyone. She lay in bed thinking of her siblings’ advice: Devine, you had better go to law school. It’s what you wanted to do when you were in high school, so what’s made you change your mind now. Being a lawyer is respectable and you could always specialize in intellectual rights for artists. Be smart, don’t be a painter.

Devine lay wound in her blanket remembering all the hard work she put into becoming an artist. But, now she had to deal with being an adult. She had to consider the economy, her lifestyle needs, and her bank account. She had to consider maybe having a family one day, possibly being a single mother one day, or being the primary bread winner unexpectedly. She had to consider the cost of paint and supplies, the cost of entering competitions, the cost of more networking, more applications, more denials, her waning integrity, and the cost of following her dreams.

As a responsible adult, she had to factor in possible medical costs if she got sick one day. She had to admit she wanted a house and two cars, plus a dog and of course, a Prada purse and maybe a pair of Jimmy Choos someday. So, for the past week that she was in bed recovering from the coughs, chills, congestion, and night sweats from her flu, Devine figured out what she would do.

She decided to ignore her dreams, in favor for some long-awaited security and sacred peace and quiet from everyone else. She would become a nurse. Not all the way, but some of the way. Then instead of working constantly like most doctors, she could go home four or five days of the week and paint. She lay with this idea all week: detaining her heart somewhat. It felt horrible. It felt like the mucus she kept trying to get rid of. It felt like the tears she cried unexpectedly when she thought of what she had to do. It didn’t feel right, but it didn’t feel wrong either.

Devine lay underneath her warm blanket, listening to the rain on the rooftop and sniffing from the cold puddle under her cheek dampening her pillow case. Today would be the day that she would get up to take that step. She had nothing to lose. Her dreams were diluted by rejection letters, a suffering economy, and too many opinions of others siphoning into her own. She had talent, but no support. She had vision, but no more childhood ambition. She had options, but no more faith in The Universe and its plans for her. She had to create another way so The Universe would give her new plans, new ambition, new dreams, and new support. She knew she had nothing to lose, only something to gain.

At her friend’s birthday party, for instance, her crush David Dillinger had showed up. She had been in love with him since high school. They were friends, but nothing else. She had even been so bold once upon a time to tell him she really, really liked him. Funny thing about it, they were friends but he never responded to her statement. He had just smiled, hugged her, and walked away. Now, there was another in the picture. He wasn’t her type by any means. He was suave, stunning and confident. Secure was his middle name. He had a better-than-good job, and he wanted to date Devine. She warded off his cocky attitude for months just waiting for David. Anything for David…

However, Devine had nothing to lose with Suave Secure Stunning. Rather, she had something to gain. She was ready. She was ready for a life she didn’t want, but had to make herself want. It wasn’t settling to her. It was attempting to make her future better than just pining away for someone who didn’t want her and diligently painting with no reward. Devine’s previous life had become very sad to her. They were hard beginnings, but she had to make them. She had to work toward happiness, love given and received, a profession that wouldn’t let her down, and a home for herself.

Though the day seemed to bring nothingness from her heart, Devine identified that it would be a step toward her new goals. Though she had been awakened by raindrops, she knew eventually there would be sunshine. Though she lay in bed for that extra hour saddened by circumstance, she knew she could make something out of nothing. Intimidated, low, and tired as she lay in her cocoon of warmth, she knew soon she would unravel from it a healthier, wiser, and more beautiful woman.

REGULAR DANA AND RENOWNED DIRK

Red is my favorite color. A tight, strapless red corset embellished with cream-colored lace pushes my C-cups up to my chin rather uncomfortably. My grandmother's pearls layer around my neck in creamy tiers. Around my waist and cascading down my dancer legs, white tulle falls in layers. I chose to paint my toes a pearl blue. And my hairdresser gave me a complicated updo that resembled a french twist complemented with pink lilies on one side. This hodge-podge of expensive elegance is only intended to give an impression of beauty and grace on my wedding day.







Yet, the most important aspect of my attire lay in the corner by my pedicured feet. I couldn't get myself to reach for them- my beautiful Christian Louboutin pink four-inch heels with red soles. Alone in my dressing room with the door locked from the inside, I can hear my bridesmaid Jessica knocking on my door intently as the organ begins to play.







It's the most anticipated event of my life but I feel unsure like an uneven cross-stitch. I could call it cold feet, but today I call it waste-not want-not feet. I've been sitting here alone for twenty minutes and cannot come up with one good reason to waste a walk down that aisle in my Louboutins toward that man in particular. Not his beach house in Spain, his yacht, his big name parties, his shiny suits, his bathtub with jets, or his heated flooring are making me reach for my shoes.





My fiance, Dirk, is very good-looking. He stands at 6'3", has broad shoulders, a square chin, a winning smile, and hazel eyes against a deep bronze complexion. He is affluent. His father was a stockbroker and his mother is still an intenrational model. Dirk, himself, owns three five-star restaurants in Manhattan plus real estate developments in Miami, LA, and New York City. For these reasons any woman would feel lucky to have him. I may be the exception because I keep wondering why he would choose me out of so many.





As his friend, girlfriend, then fiance, I have witnessed - with chagrin - many fluzzies' hopeful attempts to snag Dirk through some pretty ugly flirtations. Most recently, Dirk and I have been shopping for a home. When our real estate agent met Dirk to show one house, I walked in late to find her bent over in the shortest dress ever made "showing" my fiance the "cabinet space" in the kitchen. At one point, Dirk half-stepped into a closet and she pushed her way in right behind him. I am quite positive her bra-less adventures that day had her pressed up against his back. All she could say as Dirk slid his way out of the closet was, "Wow! It's tighter than I thought in here!" All I could do as I watched from the spacious hallway was laugh. She obviously was not looking for a commission...or maybe she was.





That was just the most recent case. However, the most memorable incident happened when we first became friends. He and I had gone to eat lunch. While I was parked, a girl named Tara slammed her car into the back of mine. Damages cost over three grand which she paid for in entirety. But, it seemed worth it to her because her crazy antics sent Dirk hopping out of the passenger seat to check out the rear and Tara. It turned out he and Crazy Tara already knew each other. They exchanged numbers and talked until the police and a tow truck came. She even gave us a ride to the repair shop and back to campus. Surprisingly, when she dropped me off, Dirk insisted she only make one stop. Once we went inside my dorm lobby, he apologized for her and threw her number away. Two weeks later they were dating.





Ladies loved him and still do. When we were friends he was always loyal- one girlfriend at a time. He is a one woman's man, so duplicity has never been a worry for me. I just don't know why he even started dating me. No one else could figure it out either. I would hear about people saying I'm "not on his level" and "he should be dating a model, not her". One time we had gone out to a bar, a random drunk guy who obviously didn't know who I was started talking with me. He told me rumor had it that Dirk was with "that regular girl" because he wanted a live-in maid.

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"Dana! Dana open up!" My mother is at the door now. Her urgent calls pull me out of my memories.





"Dana! Everyone is lining up now! Please come out and..."

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I met Dirk eight years ago in a business class. He was a senior while I was a sophomore. We studied in the same group. I had seen him around campus and at parties since we shared some of the same friends. Yet, we never really spoke to each other. At times, I would see him looking at me, but his eyeballing was the extent of our relationship before that study group.

Our study group met before each test. None of us would study, and by the time finals came everyone was studying solo except for me and Dirk. After that class, Dirk and I were together all the time: during lunch, on weekends, and even a spring break in Miami with our friends.

After he graduated, Dirk stayed in the city but we drifted apart. He started business school and worked full-time in commercial real estate. Whereas I was occupied with business classes in the daytime and fashion design classes at night. I only saw him a handful of times for the next two years. For those two years, even though I remained extremely busy, I felt an emptiness that I had never experienced before.
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More loud knocking at the door jolted me from my rumination. Okay. One perfectly ligitimate reason to unlock that door is that I have known him forever. Oh, but the anxiety is still creeping up my back!

"Dana!" It's my mom and my sister.

"Give me some space!" I yell back uneasily.

I really need a minute for this one.
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Tara, the maniac desperada driver, had come into Dirk's life right around his graduation. Her behavior was a marvel to me. I had never seen anyone as hungry and THIRSTY for his attention. First, she hit my brand new car. Two days later, she coincidentally showed up at the same movie as Dirk and I, and she sat on the other side of him. I could understand her appeal. She had flawless skin and a wide bubble butt. She had only dated the finest men on campus, so she was like a hallmark of a guy's gangsta. Once they got together, she clung to him like a wet rag. Needless to say, she put a huge dent in my and Dirk's first months of friendship. One night, after a graduation party that all my friends (and Tara) attended, the depletion on her dependency began.

I was sitting outside on the porch minding my own business when Dirk sauntered outside high as a kite. He had a goofy smile plastered across his face with a peppermint stick hanging out of the corner of his mouth.

He shouted, "Hey, it's my girl Dana!"

Proceeding to hug me ever-so-tightly (and rightly), he started rubbing my back intently. His smile remained on his face while he repeated over and over in my ear, it's so good to see you. As he did this, Tara was walking toward the house to join Dirk at the party. She looked fairly angry.

"What are you doing?" She addressed Dirk directly.

"Hey!" He turned to her quickly. But then he turned back to me and hugged me again.

"Dirk!!" She screamed at him then stormed away.

He went behind her but not before turning back to wave at me. While it was the beginning of their end, it was the beginning of nothing new with me and him. But it did get me thinking about how odd it was for him in his lack of inhibition to choose me over her.

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My corset is starting to feel binding. I hear murmuring outside the door. Maybe I should just go and get it over with. My attitude sucks though. I know I love him because his presence and my thoughts of him warm my soul. Still, I need to know that this is right; that I am who he chooses and this is right for him. Otherwise why waste this red tulle and silk , sexy hot ass wedding dress for something that is not forever?

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Four more years passed of us dating random beauties with bad attitudes and irritating ways. He entrepreneured it up, and I was steadily juggling Journalism School and starting a fashion line. We comforted each other over the phone with every break up. He traveled all over the world to study architecture and cuisine. I traveled to museums and different cities for creative inspiration.

By the time I reached my expected quarter-life crisis, I had relaxed into it somewhat with a gig as a fashion editor for a magazine. Also my first line as a creative director was being distributed in a few boutiques in the city and in London. By then Dirk and I had lost touch. Last I had heard, he was in Miami on a beach somewhere.

...to be continued...