Nice Dream

Success simply was what her student had been telling her: an abstract noun. Impossible to define, agree upon. It was only an indelible picture in her head- she was mute to its description. Just bright colors. Just a feeling of fullness, of being sated, of god- being happy. Those moments were rare now. They felt like quick painful little orgasms that she could feel for only fractions in her stomach.

How did the world appear so ugly in so little time? Sally had never held a gun before, but now there were pictures of them everywhere. Everyone on tv had one. Even the republican presidential candidates boasted of their loaded ak 47s and rifles that they would shoot quail with. One even contended that guns were important for family tradition and values. Perhaps, in his upper middle class Bostonian upbringing, tradition did not mean a son getting killed by a drive-by just as his teenage father had been years before. Such ugliness and such beautiful teeth. That was a politician: all smiles and shiny skin. Someone needed to give those men at the podium oil blotting paper.

So why was she watching those debates? Did she want to learn something? Ha. As if, one could expect to learn anything from liars, except how to lie well. She was watching, because she cared. She did care about the state of the world. Not that she would have much invested in the future. No children, no great big families relying on the reduction of global warming and energy consumption. It didn't matter much to her.

These days, Friday nights were of the utmost priority. Going out and getting drunk and wearing expensive shoes that girls would silently desire in bathrooms. Sparkly, pretty 4 inch heels that made her 5'10 and feel like she was someone worthy of something so pretty. It was Los Angeles after all. There weren't many options beyond that. You were either pretty or not. Beauty was the standard. Anything else, and you were reduced to the "nice" one, devoid of personality.

She knew too many of those people. Ex friends, ex colleagues, ex peers: everyone was an ex of some sort. All these boring people sipping vodka 7s hoping that they appeared as cool and undistracted as the glasses they were clinking with five minute friends. The ice was always cold. It was the only thing that made sense in the whole distraction.

She steps out of one of these reveries. All eyes staring, not at her, but wondering when they would follow. Cigarette break? Some air? Something to linger for? All these potential reasons to throw your soul out the window, but she comes back in. It's strange to be alone in LA when everyone is at a party.

She's thinking and thinking. And its useless. Is there something in particular she should be thinking about? Maybe the fact that she needs drugs. Or a man. Or a new orthopedic mattress. She needs a lot of things that she's not going to get. What's the difference about today? Today, she is determined to do something.

So she does it. It's quiet and silent and full of relief. It's being sated. It's lying down and having nice dream and feeling completely content, because finally-- she wont have to worry about being anything but herself, completely at peace.

Next to her, we find a note. It doesn't say anything. It's just a happy face drawn inside a tv. She always wanted to be on television. It's a hard life. It's always been a hard life. And it's never been fair. Some can't even handle the easy ones.