2 Replies to “11.24.2014 Journal Prompt”

  1. I don’t know, but I reckon school just gives you a distorted view of things. They tell you all sorts of shit there, too. Things that life teaches you is just wrong. You can be whatever you want to be, you just got to want it enough. With all your heart and soul. With every fibre of your being. That’s what they said. And they gave examples of all those who’d made it in the world, and behind every one was a story of being knocked down and getting back up again. It was supposed to be inspirational. They didn’t tell you that for every one that makes it, there’s a whole bunch more that just keep getting knocked down.

    I’m old enough now that I understand. I know what’s what and I know that dreams don’t always come true – sometimes don’t never. Like there was these two girls at school. They was really something, you know. They was pretty as fuck and all the boys talking about what they’d dare for just a kiss or a feel of their little titties. They knew they was something, too, and the way they walked, well they was so filled up with confidence.

    The shorter of the two was called Mandy. I got pictures of her left over from them days. She wanted to be a model and she let me take shots of her for her folio. I got a few private pictures, too, and she was ok with that so long as they were just for me. And she coulda been a model. She had the bone structure and the hair and she had a drop dead gorgeous figure. And she wanted to be a model with everything she was. But she didn’t get no break, see. Three months out of school and she was knocked up by this photographer guy down on Dalmont. He was married with kids and so she had to manage on her own. I see her some days and she’s still a looker, but she ain’t no model. I remind her of the pictures I took and she blushes and she says she was silly back then, and we go for a drink and she lets me feel her up in the toilet.

    Then there was Karen. She was tall and stick thin and she was blessed beyond beauty with brains. She wanted to be a dancer and she went to classes all the time and she was always moving like there was music playing, which in her head maybe there was. I never saw anyone try so hard to be something. She used to duck out of school for auditions and she was never down when the call came back to say she hadn’t made it this time. Then she broke her leg. She just fell off the sidewalk – a three inch fall, and she fell funny and broke her leg. She couldn’t be no dancer after that. She’s married now and she’s put on a little weight and her face is pink and heavy, and you’d never know what she once was, not to look at her.

    And me – I wanted to be a millionaire, and have more girls than is decent, and no worries at all. I had a plan, and a direction. I got a shop up on Callie Street. Selling nails and hammers and shit. I worked like a fucking slave and turned it into something. I kept the books up to date and I thought that I’d maybe have two stores one day and then a whole chain of ‘em.

    You can live your dreams, Mr Graham said. He was my teacher at school. You can reach for the stars, he said. Be anything you wanta be. But that’s just shit, all of it. I ain’t complainin exactly. I do alright with what I do. Still got the shop, and I’m married now, and there’s Mandy sometimes. It ain’t how a boy dreams his life to be, but it’s ok. I just think schools could do a better job of telling it like it is.

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