The City of Dreams -- Part 26

[There ought to be more coming today. We'll have to see how well I deal with fatigue. I got a rejection letter for Fat Tony yesterday--a really, really good rejection letter--but my body and emotions still kicked into mourning mode, and I didn't sleep last night. On the up side, it lasted less than a day and I'm writing again. On the down side, I have to sleep eventually.

[If only I could write in my dreams. And download it. But only post it after very careful screening.

[Yeah. That'd be cool.]



Counseling wasn't bad.
"What did you think?" asked Dad on the way home.
"It wasn't bad," I said.
"Glad to hear it," said Dad.
That was all we said. I thought that was probably enough.

"How was counseling?" asked Tamara, walking into my room without knocking.
"Not bad," I said. I was sitting on my bed, staring at the piles around me.
"What did she say?" Tamara sat on the bed next to me, pushing my backpack onto the floor to make room. I don't know how I'd managed to sleep with my backpack on the bed, but apparently I had.
"Not much, actually."
"But...isn't she supposed to counsel you?"
"Apparently I go in, talk about myself for forty minutes, and then she says 'see you next week.'"
"Was that it?"
I shrugged. "Pretty much."
"Huh," said Tamara. "And how much are Mom and Dad paying for this?"
"Just a co-pay. Insurance covers most of it."
"Right."
I looked around my room more.
"I'm thinking of painting this place," I said.
"Whoa," said my sister. "Where did that come from?"
"That wall," I said, pointing, "will be green. Something pale. That wall will stay cream, because I don't want to paint the closet doors. That wall will be blue, and behind us will be pink."
"Pink," repeated Tamara.
"Or yellow."
"And the ceiling?" she asked.
"I'm painting the moon on the ceiling," I said. "A great big, beautiful moon."
Tamara and I sat in silence for a little while.
"You're nuts," she said. "But I like it. Maybe the co-pay is worth it."
"Yeah," I said. "I think it is."

I didn't dream that night. I didn't know why.

Church went by slower than usual the next day. I always spend my time doodling--Mom doesn't let me bring books--and even pay attention sometimes, but not that day. I wanted to get home.
After lunch I told Mom thanks, since she actually makes lunch on Sundays, and ran upstairs. I stopped in my doorway and looked around.
"It's time," I said.
I plunged in.

"Wow," said Cindi from my door. "You were right."
"No kidding," said Diana. "He's gone nuts."
I looked over at the trio of my sisters. "Cleaning your room is not nuts."
"No," said Tamara. "Just unprecedented."
I oh-so-maturely stuck my tongue out at them and ducked back under my bed.
"Don't you need a hazmat suit for that?" asked Diana. "I swear, I lost a date under there once. Haven't seen him since."
"Why would you bring a date into my room?" I asked, my voice muffled by the ratty blanket that was somehow wedged between the wall and a box filled with something unknown but heavy.
"Didn't you know? It's a popular adventure course. We go in with nothing but a flashlight and GPS, and try to survive for six hours."
I yanked the blanket free and backed out, sitting up. "My room is not that bad. Just unorganized."
"Right," said Tamara. "Pompeii was more organized after the volcano buried it."
"Are you going to just sit there making fun of me, or are you going to help?"
"I vote for sitting here," said Cindi.
"Agreed," said Tamara.
"I'll help," laughed Diana. "What do you need?"
"All that is garbage," I said, pointing to the stuff against the wall by the door.
Diana's eyebrows went up. "All of this?"
"Yes."
"Some of this looks like it's in good condition. Don't you want to save it?"
"No."
"At least we could donate it to Good Will."
"If you want to worry about that, it's fine with me," I said. "I just...I can't. I'm buried in here. I have to dig my way out."
"Like a zombie from its grave," said Tamara, joking.
"Exactly," I said, perfectly seriously.
Diana's smile became less amused and more gentle. "I'll take care of this stuff for you," she said.

Four hours later and my room was...manageable. Not perfect, but at least there was less stuff. Getting rid of some of the things had caused serious twinges, like my collection of miniature wizards, elves, dwarves, rangers, warriors, and the occasional woman in a plate-mail bikini. (The female miniatures were actually pretty easy to let go--who would EVER wear armor like that?) For some inexplicable reason, I also had two of Tamara's T-shirts in my closet. She accused me, but honestly, I would never wear them. One said something about hating boys and the other had a pink cat on it. Paint my wall pink? Maybe. Wear a shirt with a pink cat? Not even when I'm thirty and don't care what people think anymore.
I sat on my bed and looked around again.
"Not bad," said Dad. "Mind if I come in?"
"Sure. There's room on the bed."
He sat.
"Tamara says you want to paint it."
"Is that okay?" I asked.
"It's fine. Actually, I think it's great. You sure about the pink, though?"
"I sort of said it as a joke at first, but the more I think about it, the more I like it."
Dad shrugged. "Whatever you want is fine with your mother and me. We talked about it, and we'll even pay for it--as long as it's not black with skulls."
"I'll cancel my order at the Goth shop then."
"You do that."
Dad smiled and I smiled.
"So," he said. "New room, new life?"
I bobbed one shoulder. "It doesn't feel like it will be that easy."
"No. It won't. But I'm proud of you for doing something."
I grimaced. I knew it was a grimace, because I felt my whole face scrunch up, which is the very nature of a grimace: everything inside scrunches up, too, when a person grimaces.
"What's that for?" asked Dad.
"None of this is going to fix stuff with Brie, is it."
"Oh," said Dad. "Something went wrong with Brie?"
"Yeah."
"You talked on the phone?"
"Sort of," I said, deciding that explaining was more work than I wanted to go through at the moment.
"I've had conversations like that," said Dad. "Sort-of conversations where nothing really works. Was it like that?"
I shrugged. It wasn't that I didn't want to tell Dad about the City, but I didn't know how to. I figured he'd believe me if I told him, but, well, there it was. I didn't. I was feeling better in some ways, but not THAT much better.
"Did she break up with you?" asked Dad, after I didn't say anything more.
"Come on, Dad. We weren't even going out."
"Oh."
We sat for a minute.
"So did she break up with you?" he asked again.
"I think so."
"That sucks."
I smiled.
"What's up?" asked Dad.
"You said 'sucks.'"
"Don't forget who your talking to, kiddo. I study internet slang. I could have even said that it 'suxorz.'"
"Yeah," I said. "That wouldn't have been weird."
"Exactly," said Dad. "So watch out, or I'll go leet speak on your behind."
"2 scary 4 me," I said.
"Darn straight. I'm a teenager's worst nightmare." Dad looked around the room again. "It really does look good. Not Taj Mahal good, but good. This was a smart plan, Perry."
"Thanks."
"What's your plan with Brie?"
I looked at him.
"You came up with one solid plan. I was wondering if you had another."
I looked at him more.
"I didn't think it was THAT much of a stretch," he said.
"Cleaning my room hardly counts as a plan."
"Cleaning and painting," Dad corrected me.
"Oh, right. Adding that extra step makes it a plan."
"I think Alexander the Great's plan was to conquer the world. Same with Napoleon."
"Sure, but there were lots of little steps in between."
Dad tipped his hands palms up. "Agreed, but the overall plan was simple to express, and you have to admit that it has a certain amount of flair. In fact, that wouldn't be a bad answer for scholarship interviews."
"Yes it would," I said.
Dad thought for a second. "All right, yes, it would be a bad answer, but it shows flair, drive, ambition, and purpose. Even if the person saying it is totally nuts, there's still a lot to admire about it."
"Dad. Are you telling me to become an evil dictator?"
"Your mother and I have always wanted to support our children in whatever they want to do. If evil dictator is your calling, then be a good one."
"Dad?"
"Yes?"
"You are strange."
"True. However, I'm also a man with a plan. Admittedly, mine involves a 401k, retiring when they pry me out of my office with a crowbar, and biking home every day until I'm ninety so that I can make dinner and smooch my beautiful wife. Not exactly sixteen-year-old dreams, but still, I have a plan. What's your plan?"
"Whatever it was before," I said, "it definitely involves smooching now."
"And you'll call it smooching when you do it?" asked Dad.
"You can count on it."
"Good. I'm off to make some kind of snack for dinner. You have any requests?"
"Something with peanut butter."
"Right," said Dad. "Cheese and tomato sandwiches it is. It's amazing how we're on the same wavelength." Dad squeezed my knee and stood up, then paused to look at me. "If she's worth it as a friend, Perry, then get a plan."
He left, and I sat, thinking how much I wasn't Napoleon or Alexander the Great.