Finding Her

And it was the end. A new love was blooming. The most recent one had come and gone. Yet, what happens once is sure to happen twice-- they say. The one she once loved grabbed her by the heart and squeezed it into a misshape bigger than it had ever been.

Joachim had done her justice, though. He made her realize she had patience. She had loved him for 10 years in hopes of a wedding ring. She knew of her own determination. Before they were together, she took all the right steps to lure him to her, regardless of her friends who said it would never be. She prayed for him everyday. She cried for his safety in uncertain times, rejoiced for his successes, and pleaded for him to be genuine to himself. These things made her aware that she had a bit of goodness inside.

This goodness extended further to an outward show. She had domestic inclinations. She cooked every other night. She washed his clothes and cleaned his floors and kitchen. She had social finesse. She got along with his parents, made his friends laugh, and co-hosted memorable parties. She had a soft demeanor. In crowds. She had honesty and comfort. Between the two of them. She had heart. She spoke her mind and had no problems with putting nay-sayers in their place. However, she missed two things.

When Joachim met Dee, he fell so far in love. She was beautiful. She had long brown curls and a big, round booty. He could see her face. It had a tight, hardened and spacious look. A look he was used to. Dee came from a good family, so he took the right steps to approach her. It wasn't too difficult. She was approachable. She always winked or smiled at him coyly. What impressed him most was that she was bold enough to tell him she wanted him. She spelled it out for him, and he liked that.

Dee spelled it out for him for the next few years to his recollection. She would tell him what she liked, wanted, needed-- when, where, and how. He would buy her things. She kept the peace. Their relationship was low-key and satisfying. She was always the right medicine for a long day or a headache. She would rub his back and his head when he was tired or sore. She washed his clothes those days and cleaned up after him other days. Even though they broke up and got back together continually, it worked for them. They were happy together.

Then, she started asking him. She wanted to know when they would get more serious. She wanted more and needed more. She was being needy. It affected the relationship. The break-ups were more frequent with Dee. The happiness was waning. He felt pressured to marry her after ten years. He didn't want to be completely tied down though. Joachim had a decision to make. On one hand, there was the love of his life who he had been with for ten years. On the other hand, there was the fling.

Inez had missed it. She knew something else was taking up his time, but knew not what could be more significant or more treasured than their relationship. She believed they were in love. She felt secure in it. All she had noticed was that at times he would have more business trips and go to see his family more often. Inez didn't understand why after ten wonderful years, Joachim did not easily recognize that a life-long commitment should be made. In her late twenties, Inez felt if he didn't want to be with her, she would and could move on.

The other thing Inez missed was herself. Everything revolved around him. As she packed her things from his home, what she did understand was that the relationship had been beneficial to her. She had witnessed her character and her quality. And as she drove her car down his driveway to head back to her own home, she understood that it was the time to find out who she was without him. And as they say-- if it's love, she knew it would come back.

And as Joachim watched Inez drive away from his window, he could only think of her patience, determination, charm, finesse, assertiveness, softness and care. He could only remember her intelligence and her stubborn will. Though he felt all these things, he was left wondering why he immediately felt empty. Why Dee was fleeting and not ever enough. Why they never stayed together. Why he never felt the same with Dee as he did with Inez. Joachim began to pray for himself. As he began, in her car Inez whispered a prayer for herself.

Have

I lay there by the decomposing fried chicken in the corner. The fleas, maggots, and an occasional mouse invaded the chicken’s remnants that lay by my uncomfortable palette. I began to wonder where my next meal would come from. The last one was two days ago when a nice passerby gave me a ©Big Mac from McDonalds. I was too hungry to show my gratitude but managed a grunt and a mumbled thanks between bites. Since then, I have been eating whatever I can find in urban nature. Usually I find half-eaten candy bars and crumbs at the bottom of bags inside trash cans. Outdoor food courts and parks are the best. I filtered through the garbage but never ate the scraps from rotted food- that’s disgusting.

I heard someone approaching. The footsteps were slovenly, like Drunken Larry’s but made a click-click sound like the heels on Crazy Dave’s old, beat-up Oxfords. But Crazy Dave only had one shoe now. He had used the other to bust open another guy’s face who came around our block and tried to steal his bags. He didn’t have anything valuable in them except for his son’s baseball jersey. Sadly, Dave’s house had burned down the day he was let go from his job. He had managed to salvage a few special items in his hurried frenzy to evacuate. Out of those things, all that hadn’t been stolen, lost, or left behind in the past year was his son’s jersey and two photos.

I could hear the footsteps coming closer in the abandoned building’s basement where a certain number of us slept. I started to worry because they sounded unfamiliar. I grabbed for my blanket and anything within arm’s reach. While I turned to pick up more of my random collection of belongings, I could feel the guy breathing on my neck and could smell his dog breath and the stench of pee. My legs began to tremble and my heart raced as I turned around. He immediately lurched forward and grabbed my crotch. I swiftly took my lost and found-in-the-park pocketknife out from my side and sliced his arm down and deep below the elbow. On an empty stomach, dehydrated, exhausted and scared, I ran outside to daylight as fast as I could.

Outside, I saw a few of The Haves walking and some driving. They probably had nice jobs, dependable parents who cared about them or even a decent future. I had none of those things. Two months ago, down to my last dollar with no parental support and in between jobs, I had no friends to turn and tried shelters. But shelters had a waiting list as though I had contact information and a way to call in. I met a girl who was new to the homeless game and seemed nice enough. So we set out to living off the street as amigas. It worked out a few days until I found out she shot coke. The bug hit her, and she invited me to stay in a black hole of a crack house. It’s shelter, she said. She was only seventeen. I declined and prayed for her as I walked away. I begged for money to buy food and mace to protect myself. Luckily I found the pocketknife early on. It took a couple weeks, but I finally found an abandoned building where many of us stayed. No cocaine. No being turned away.

I washed myself with rainwater. The torrential rains were the best, but also the best at causing a cold. Outside, today, it was all sunshine. A couple Haves walking went around me like I was a gaping hole in the middle of the sidewalk. It made me sad not to be recognized as a person or as a woman. But I understood. I was unsightly, dirty; I smelled and hadn’t brushed my teeth or combed my hair for weeks. I represented the dregs of society. Not a criminal. Simply a Have Not.

It seemed worse than being a criminal. It was like being in prison the way I fought everyday and slept with one eye open every night. Except out here there were no showers, no expected food, and no regulation. There were no doctors when someone fell ill or was victimized, no preacher to keep us motivated, no visitations from family. Some days I thought about robbing a store with my little knife just so I could be put away. Then I would remember that the advantage is my freedom to do as I please when I please. And being outside I could see the oasis of opportunity- opportunity to find food and a new place to sleep.

Outside, I witnessed and experienced the real love and the real pain. Some days, the love was easy- people gave me a bag of food or a ten dollar bill. Other days the love was hard- people thought twice before giving me a quarter or a child would talk to me but his mother would pull him away. And the pain was there when I saw a cold body of a homeless person or someone being helplessly raped or beaten in an alley. The pain was there too when someone threw things at me, spit at me, and called me names. Being ignored by the cops, the social workers, and the medical providers as I walked the streets was even worse. Every now and then, I would see a nun or a Good Samaritan. They never ignored me. Sometimes they even touched my arm or my back and spoke directly to me. That was nice- the human connection, warmth, love. Once or twice they would pray for me. So that’s what I did everyday. I prayed. I prayed outside, inside, with one eye closed and one open, until I could pray at my bedside with both eyes closed again.

PASSION FLOWER

He was born right out of passion flower, rooted in dark soil, strong from dew and rain. He sprung from purple, yellow, pink petals into the space between Earth and Heaven. A child from the Divine, he blossomed with beauty and talent. His parents kept him grounded during his growth, while all of nature was abuzz awaiting his maturation. His eyes were the color of both the aloe leaf and bark. They could heal and protect with only a glance. They harbored his intention ensuring it was never lost and never stolen.

His pigment was bright and abundant with life due to his reflection of sunshine. When he danced from petal to petal and leapt through the air, flowers sang and spirits opened up to catch a glimpse of his energy. His talent was untouchable. Only he could make the breeze feel good when she was down. Only he could hush the bees and cause the birds to sing sweeter melodies. His adventures spread word of his passion from mountain to sea. Yet, he wore a shield over his heart to protect it. For in his heart lay a lone seed.

All of nature was attracted to his irresistible passion. Yet that one seed matured as he did, and eventually he longed for something special. She had to spring from passion as well. When she came, he would know. But as with the breeze, the birds, the bees, he could not stay. His passion was too great. His seed was just for her, but his beauty and talent was for many. His connection to her passion made him want to stay enwrapped in her leaves forever. He enjoyed the added life she gave. She was pure, life-giving. Between the Earth and Heaven everything grew ten-fold. The seed from his heart was stronger than his passion alone. A good breeze would stay up, the bees would hush longer, and the birds’ melody could soothe the biggest beast.

Yet, his passion was his poison, so he left from her leaves. But every now and then a seed would form in his heart for her. The breeze would stay longer, the petals sing louder, and the spirits open wider for their union. Then he would go again to follow his passion - his dance and his leap, to spread his beauty and talent for all of nature to see.

The Juxtaposition

I reached into my pocket and found an old gum rapper rumpled into a mixture of paper and a sticky wad of green-gray-white. I couldn’t figure out why my brother was still in the building. He had gone inside to talk to this major player named Cooper. Cooper wasn’t one to be played with. However, my brother had seen him pushing up on his girl Angela the other day.

I had warned T, my little brother, to be cautious of the words he chose, stay alert to his surroundings, and carry something real with him. He assured me that he just wanted to find Cooper and tell him Angie was his girl, period. I guess T had decided he and Angela were going to stay together even after high school. Whatever. No broad was going to make me risk my face against Cooper. But that was T- always did what he felt was right no matter the consequences.

I imagined the worst Cooper would do was beat him up. Thing about it was if Cooper wanted a girl, he got her. The chicks couldn’t resist his charm and his loot, I guess. Plus, my thoughts are if Angie was letting him talk, maybe she wanted to listen. Then again, curiosity can be a bitch. I told T it probably was no big deal and just make sure Angie didn’t go in and out our building when Cooper was hanging around. But T, smart quiet bookworm bee-bopping idealist, was quick to insist that he speak to dude man to man so there is a distinction between his girl and the other girls who come around.

T, charismatic with his words and skilled in self-defense, said he would be in and out of Cooper’s building, easy. I wasn’t too worried. It’s just that he’s my responsibility. I guide him. He learns from my mistakes. I push him to be better. I make sure he’s on the right track. He is my little brother. I haven’t gone to college and don’t plan on going. I haven’t fallen for no broad and can’t see that shit happening. I wasn’t an A student in high school and could care less. But T is going to college to be an engineer and engineer city plans to get us out this hood somehow. T is serious and good and doesn’t play with his future. Playing with this Cooper guy is risky though. Cooper runs things around here.

He had gone in the building nearly 10 minutes ago. To me that’s not in and out. To me that’s enough time for the worst and more to happen to T. I had my baby revolver strapped to my lower leg and my nine at my waist. So I made my way into Cooper’s building. I was ready for whatever. When I got to Cooper’s mom’s door, it was already opened a crack. I pictured my little brother with a busted face in the corner barely breathing or even worse my little brother not breathing at all.

I listened at the door for a hot second, but didn’t hear anything. I had one hand close to my nine as I slowly pushed the door open. I saw a sneaker on the floor, but it wasn’t one that T had been wearing. I walked further into the apartment and saw a used white sock. I peeked around the corner to see the apartment empty except for Cooper and T. T had me blown by what I saw. Cooper was sitting on his own couch like a rebuked little kid, while T stood over him, one foot on the couch looking like he was schooling Cooper. And yes Cooper was missing a shoe and a sock on one foot. I stepped back a little so they couldn’t see me.

I could hear T say with a tight voice, “Hopefully there won’t be a next time with me dragging you across your mom’s nice floors. I won’t tell anyone what happened. It’s between you and me. Everyone knows what’s mine is not theirs and what I treasure is not theirs to burn, pillage, or fuck with. You respect me and I will respect you. We clear Mr. Cooper?”

“We clear?” He repeated.

“We clear.”

“We are clear, what?”

“We are clear, T. I know the rules.” I heard Cooper say.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I walked out before it was all over and waited by the stairway.

A couple minutes later, T rounded the corner.

“Ay man, what’s going down?” T asked with a big grin on his face.

“What happened?”

“I heard you come in the apartment. I know your steps. So you saw what happened?”

“No, T. What was that about? You done this before? What’d you mean by everyone?”

As we walked back toward the outdoors, he explained.

He had hidden when he knocked on Cooper’s door. When Cooper went to push the door closed and turned around, T headlocked and strangled him from behind and dragged him kicking to across his mom’s apartment to the couch. Scared his ass so bad that he started crying. Not a good look. I had forgotten T was bigger and stronger than Cooper. Apparently, T had the whole block on lock. Come to find out the whole block was scared of my little brother. This had happened multiple times since T was a kid. From the first time a little mu’fucka tried to steal his new sneakers off his feet to his first serious girlfriend, he’s been schooling dudes on what he finds unacceptable. He told me how he has been beating big and small dudes up since he was 11. He had been trained in two two types of fighting by then and had excelled at both. He was always into training, what I had always thought was his hobby. But it was truly his defense. He told me he protects the whole family. He speaks, they listen. He threatens, they hear him. He told me they respect him because he’s a role model for their little brothers and sisters coming up. He told me how they fear him too because he’s never backed down and he’s always won every fight and altercation. And no one has ever tested him and come out the winner. He fights better- quicker, stronger.

I told him, “I thought you had lost it, man, going after Cooper like that.”

He said that’s why he let me come along, but had insisted I stay outside because there aren’t any problems when things like that stay between two people. It’s an understanding, he said.

That night at home, I passed by T reading some dictionary-sized book with Angie curled up next to him. He looked so kind, innocent, like all he had was his charisma, his smarts and his girl. It made me understand. I had done my job with him, and he was schooling me.

Dreaming

I had a dream last night that he gave me all his love. All his love came in an email. It was crazy- 10 pages long including mad pictures. He told me about his family, his job, his summer shenanigans. Yes, even the shenanigans. He told me about his grandfather and how his father was his caretaker. He calls his grandfather his “Paupa”. It was sweet!

I hadn’t heard from him in months. The weeks seemed like years and the months seemed like decades. It had gotten to the point where I no longer believed he had any feelings for me at all. Though the email did not express his love explicitly, it was indirect yet long-windedly obvious. He once told me love is like a corporation. It’s an investment of your care and your time. He showed me it was an investment of your senses, your faith and - my favorite- your degree of involvement.

In brief moments we had spent time together. We made our memories talking, laughing, dancing, and eating together. Brief moments- only minutes, if that. We had talked about our plans for our future. We would have a house with a fireplace and eat apples from our own apple tree. We would have three kids and travel to distant places together, Brazil, Fiji, Bangladesh, Egypt, and Sierra Leone. And we would laugh about how ludicrous we sounded. And then he would remind me that he only required my okay. Before parting ways, we would dance to our favorite artists, intimately, slowly.

I gave him my okay one day. One day too late. I expressed my feelings to this man and he smiled in my face, kissed my cheek, and walked away from me. At first I thought he would be back in a moment. But, no! No response. This was the last time we had a moment together. Afterwards it was the most informal and impersonal way of communicating- brief texts replaced brief moments. I suppose he needed more than my okay. I figured maybe he had a closeted secret, so to speak, or he was being facetious with his words and his actions.

I retreated. I actually went on a retreat. It was a weekend retreat for singles who wanted to reach deeper self-awareness in order to heal from being lonely and dejected and possibly meet a man who feels just as pitiful. It was otherwise known as the singles retreat sponsored by the church. I read books and watched movies for awhile. My music didn’t help because it all reminded me of him. He was jazz, reggae, rock-n-roll, and any other derivative of soul all rolled into one.

After my retreat into greater self-awareness and the avoidance of past reminders, I picked myself up and went back out into the dating world. And what a world it is! Duplicitous, jobless, uneducated, fathers with multiple women, post-incarcerated, pre-incarcerated, selfish creeps were the men I met. Each seemed to be more of the same. No variety. No center. No direction. Just lost clones with a low attention span.

So, I moved on from dating. I decided to focus on my dreams and stop working for a paycheck alone. I wanted to work for a paycheck and a plan. The first step into me was buying a mortgage. When my lease ended, my job transferred me from the boonies to an office in the city closer to my new home. Once I settled into my new digs, the second step was getting a consulting job. That was around the last time I heard from him. We had texted a conversation to each other. Updates and congrats were given back and forth, back and forth. I silently missed him, and as usual he was a busy bee.

With my last step of renewal I wasn’t sure if it would be to visit my mom in Dallas or visit my dad in Argentina. But something told me that I needed to visit one of them and let them be matchmaker. I was getting older not younger. Meaning my chances for three children were sadistically waning and my looks needed even more creams and potions. It was either to let my aging and eager parents play matchmaker or adopt a child from somewhere, like Kenya.

I chose to go to Argentina and visit my dad and my grandparents, whom he visited each year. My grandmother was ready too! She had two eligible men to introduce me to. I was not too excited, but I knew from my father and mother that the men were genuine and honored their women. Why not, right? I had my passport, my bags packed, and gifts to bring everyone.

The week before my trip in my tiny backyard, the first apples from the lone apple tree began to ripen. I thought of my past friend, the love I had that had never been there for me in return. I took some apples and went inside to wash them. I took out a small bowl and placed them inside. Those were for me. I took a Polaroid of the apple tree, wrote a brief memory on the back, and put that in an envelope. I wasn’t sure where he lived. It had been a few months so I addressed it to the last address I had for him. It would be forwarded. My last gesture. I mailed it that day not knowing or really caring if it would reach him.

Then, the night before my trip I went to bed ready to embark on new relationships. However, I woke up ready to continue with the last one. I had received a long-awaited, detailed email so I excitedly pulled out my laptop to read it in its entirety.

Oh, but it was only a dream.

REGULAR DANA AND RENOWNED DIRK (cont'd)

...
My feelings for Dirk had evolved over the years. From thinking he was good-looking when I was a freshman to realizing, as his friend, that he had better attributes than just his aesthetic. Dirk had what few guys had: prowess. His intelligence tended to sneak up on people, for instance. A former girlfirend of his once commented to me that he was dumb as rocks. She recounted their college orientation class, saying that he could barely read. In our study group my sophomore year, he would never open his book. It must have been because he is illiterate, I had thought. By finals I finally dared to ask him.

"Dirk, why don't I ever see you open the book?"

"I don't need it because I have notes from class." He said with a dimpled smile.

"This whole semester?"

He pulled out a deck of index cards from his bag, "Plus I have these. They're my notes from the book. I finished them the first month of class."

Who does that? Impressed and slightly amused, I slipped in, "People are going to think you can't read!"

He laughed, "The less people know about me, the better." Then he pulled in closer and whispered, "And between you and me, I may not be the smartest guy, but I'm determined to accomplish what I set out to."

Our continued friendship had me falling in love with his charm, his wit, and his integrity. When Dirk stopped all contact with me so abruptly, I decided not to freak out or to hate him. Besides, I couldn't hate someone I loved so much. He was a great friend for significant years in my life. I gathered he had found whatever he sought in Miami: maybe a wife, a house, good work. My mind perused through the possibilities. Regardless, I dated a few men to abate the nostalgia I had for him.

I had turned 26, and it had been two years of attempting to preoccupy my thoughts with work and boys rather than him when I heard a rumor from our friends that he was back. We met at a cafe up the street from my apartment. I guess we looked much different than before because he looked stunned I was definitely surprised at his appearance.

At the cafe I met a new Dirk and he met a new Dana. He looked dapper and well-groomed. His hair was cut low and he wore grown man clothes instead of Girbaud's and Air Forces with a curly fro. I used to be the hoodie, graphic tee, and designer jean queen with my hair cut short to my ears. Now my hair was down my back in waves. I had started working out regularly by then so I had a legitimate canvas for my clothes. I wore designer heels, white shorts, and a red blouse to show off what I could legally.

With his huge, dimpled smile he said, "Wow Dana! You look beautiful."

He got up from his seat to hug me. I had missed his hugs.

"You look great too!"

We took three hours to catch up. I found out that he had established a resort and some residential real estate while in miami. he enjoye dthe weather, the beaches, the women, but he always knew he'd be back to the city. I asked him why we didn't keep in touch.

He responded, "I had to focus on business. If I had kept in touch, I would have thought about not being here and not being with you all the time."

He asked why I didn't call.

"I didn't want to bother you," was my response.

He found out I had grown with my design work and was still writing. Then he asked point blank if I had a boyfriend or a husband. No I didn't. I inquired the same.

"No, I was focused on my first ventures."

Then with absolute confidence, he reached across the small table and grabbed my hand.

"Now I'm focused on a new one and the most important."

"In the city?" I asked hoping he'd be staying for awhile.

He smiled and looked at me intently, "Dana, you've always been a good friend to me. But since college, I have wanted more. If you see it how I see it, there's no time like now."

I quickly pinched myself under the table. It hurt.

"What the...where is this...what are you saying Dirk?"

"We should go on a date. Because ever since the day you walked into that business class, I cannot get you out of my head."

We dated one year before he proposed.
----------

Now, the wedding is here. I'm clothed, but my Louboutin heels are still in the corner. The organ in the church has stopped playing, and the knocking at my door has subsided. Why am I questioning this? He's arrogant, desired by many, and is a glutton for success, but he's also smart, loyal, and patient. He knows what he wants. He has never let me down. He takes his time with whatever he's serious about.

I hear a knock, "Dana?"

It's my groom.

"Dana?" He calls out again nervously. "Dana, unlock the door. Let me talk to you."

"You can't see me before the ceremony."

"Why won't you come out?"

I hear him sliding against the door. I guess he's sitting now.

"Dana, it's us. It's me and you."

I stand up and walk to my shoes. They're beautiful. No one will be able to see them due to my extra long dress and the crazy layers of tulle, but I know they're there. I sit back down to slide them on when I suddenly hear a snotty sniff and a fist bang against the door.

"Baby, if you don't want this, why not just say so. You're honest so I know you want this. You want us. If you are questioning my intention, don't. Before we even met, I took one look at you in some red tee shirt and knew you were for me. Your eyes said the same about me it seemed like. You'd smile and brighten my day. You're sexy with that walk, and those sexy ass heels you always wear now. You're beautiful. You're so brilliant and love me for me, not my money or to get ahead....I just love you and I want you."

He falls back a bit when I open the door. He jumps up looking sexy as ever in his tuxedo. Tears start rolling down my face.

"I'm sorry baby. I didn't mean for you to think I wasn't coming."

He embraces me tightly and I wrap my body into his warmth.

I sheepishly mutter, "I was into you since that red tee shirt day too."

We laugh.

He wipes my face and kisses me gently.

"You'll be my wife?"

"Always."

"You look beautiful." He whispers something irrepeatable into my ear. We kiss again and again.

In between, he murmurs, "I bet you didn't know red's my favorite color."

I whisper in his ear, "Mine too."
-------

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.