Don woke up and stared at the ceiling...the same old stucco ceiling he stared at every morning. He knew the ceiling well. He had the popcorn sized bumps memorized and some even named. This morning, however, his view was different. This morning, Don looked up at a picture of a sail boat. Plastered on the wall with wide strips of packing tape that had one or two of his dog's long hair trapped beneath was the 20 foot catamaran of his dreams. He sighed. It was so beautiful. With its masts opened and stretching along a perfect horizon, and the bow skipping easily over pristine and crystal clear blue water, she was a dream. A second sigh escaped from his lips ..a big pathetic sigh coming from the bottom of his heavily congested lungs as yesterdays cement dust realigned itself in clumps along his constricted airways. He coughed. Disturbed by the noise his 10 year old Sheppard rustled in the bed beside him and looked up at her Master. He ran a hand over her head without removing his eyes from the ceiling.
On the stern of the boat a couple could be seen. A young man stood holding on to the boon with confident strong arms that the upturned sleeves of his denim shirt clung to with affection. His face was tanned and happy while his white teeth sparkled like the little diamonds in the water below him did. He did not remove his eyes from his destination to look down at the petite and lovely brunette who sat at his feet applying suntan lotion to her already perfectly bronzed flesh. He didn't have to. He obviously already had her. He had everything. He had the affection of beautiful women, the freedom of the sea beneath him, wealth, success and happiness in his grasp all because he was the captain of this boat. Don wanted that boat. He sighed again.
Last evening, before bed, bored and lonely Don sat before his computer doing what he did every evening. He surfed the net to numb and soothe his tired mind and body until sleep called. He came across the image in an advertisement for a five star resort in some expensive and exotic location he wouldn't even try to pronounce for it was a place far, far away from where he was or ever would be. The boat, however, called out to him. It was so similar to the one his 12 year old self vowed to own as he stood in front of it in his hometown marina so many years ago. His 12 year old self wanted a lot of things back then...and was not afraid to ask for them. His 56 year old self, however, had learned the hard way that wanting and expecting led to disappointment. Yet the boat continued to call out to him and before he knew it he was pressing the print button and downloading his childhood dream onto something he could hold in his hands. He would try the manifesting thing he read about and seen in a documentary on Netflix months ago. He would try it just to see if it would work. He would take the picture and put it somewhere he couldn't help to see it and he would look at it as often as he could just in case he could make it happen. He heard his ex wife's voice in his ear then as he did this morning...telling him he was nothing but a foolish dreamer for wanting things he would never have. Little did she know that he had stopped wanting years ago.
The alarm buzzed in his ear the annoying way it does every morning. He reached a long arm over to snap the snooze button on top shutting the demands of the real world out for just a little while longer. He closed his eyes. He pictured himself on that boat and imaged he could feel the wind on his face, taste the salt water on his lips and smell the sweet scent of coconut from the suntan lotion his woman was putting on her bare arms. He felt the boat moving and rocking beneath him, soothing him, telling him everything was good, he was good, he deserved it all. Then Buzzzzz...the alarm went off again and startled, he opened his eyes to see the last few moments of his life stuck to the ceiling above him. In the annoying buzzing of the alarm he once again heard his ex wife demanding him to stop dreaming, to be practical and go out into the "real world" and make some money for his family. He sighed again. He turned toward the waking machine, shutting it and his wife off with one click of the button.
"The bitch is right", he said out loud into his dog's curious ears, "I am not meant for such things. It is time to get back to reality". He looked out the window to see the rain belting down from the sky. "Figures!" His reality still sucked.
After slowly lifting himself to the side of the bed, he fought to get the breath he needed to start his day. It never comes easily but the cough does. Huge rasping rumbles of thunder rolled from his chest taking any bit of air he was getting away. Wheezing, and coughing and spewing he stood on his sore feet and rubbed his sore back. The years in concrete construction were talking back in every creak and crack his body made. He knew there were another 12 hours today to endure of the same crap and complaining was not going to help. So he got on doing what he did everyday.
He let the dog out. He let the dog in. He poured a big heaping cupful of Iams for Large Breed into her bowel and filled her water dish. He drank a cup of Nescafe Instant coffee and chewed on toast and peanut butter as he rifled through the flyers that get thrown at the end of his driveway everyday. He made three bologna and cheese sandwiches and put them in his metal lunch can with a couple of Joe Lois' from a box on the counter. He filled his thermos with more instant coffee. He washed his face and brushed his teeth before getting into the cement dust stained clothing he wore everyday to work. He sat down on the kitchen chair to tie his heavy steel toed boots, not one bit worried about the white mess he left on the floor. He rustled his dogs head affectionately before heading out the door like he did everyday.
As he was driving down John street in his ten year old Dodge Ram, Don didn't hear the phone ringing inside his house. But his dog did. She perked her ears up as the voice of an excited woman announced over the answering machine that dear old Don was one of the big winners in a hospital lottery draw he would only vaguely remember applying for. He would later briefly recall some pleasant older woman sitting at a table on the other side of the revolving doors of the big city hospital he routinely visited for his lung specialist appointments. He would remember her voice reciting that some of the lottery funds would go to building a better wing for burnt kids and handing over the 20 dollar bill he had rolled up in a ball in the front pocket of his Levis. He would see evidence that he did indeed sign his name and scribble down his address and phone number on the piece of paper she handed him. But he would not recall, no matter how hard he tried to remember, hearing that one of the prizes was a twenty foot catamaran sailboat and a new life of believing.
The end.
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