Butterfly Dreams

                “Audition today!”  She set the book on the coffee table and mocked up the will to enter the real world of noise and motion.  One step, two; she turned her head for a last glance at the cozy living room.  The blanket on the couch retained the impression of her body.  She felt its call.  “Come back to me.” “Let me caress you once again.”           

                “No,” she bellowed and then looked around to see if anyone had heard the outburst.  The siren call tempted her, but resolve pushed her on.  One two; move the shoe.  Three four; shut the door.  Free!  Well, maybe.                 

                Once inside the elevator she sighed both in relief and panic.  For a week, she had only vacated the sofa to collect food and use the toilet.  Even when she forced herself to shower and dress this morning, she didn’t know if she would actually go.  Ever since he left that pathetic farewell text message; “Need space-moving on”, she had burrowed into the cocoon.    He didn’t even care enough to use proper punctuation.  “I deserve good grammar and punctuation!”                                                               

                The elevator door groaned as if reluctant to release its passenger to the streets of Manhattan.   She stepped into the lobby and nearly walked into the remnants of someone’s upset stomach.  She held her breath to avoid taking in the lingering stench.  “Ah yes, the real world!  Now why is this preferable to my cocoon?”

                Even before she reached the lobby door, city sounds assaulted her; a cacophony of horns, sirens and shouts.   Still, she moved on reaching for the door.  She opened it while a sense of triumph over apathy energized her cells.  Then, she merged into the aggressive world of New York streets. 

                Every New Yorker knows how to push through crowds instinctively maneuvering through the spaces at near marathon pace.  One could spot the tourists and new comers.  They identified themselves by their slow lumbering steps and soft expressions.  Residents acquired hardened ruthless “get out of my way” faces or returned to their safe little homes elsewhere.  Our heroine gave an obscene gesture to a taxi driver who nearly ran her down; never mind that he had the right-of-way; this was New York.  The right-of-way belonged to the daring.  He gestured back and screamed something she didn’t hear as she descended into the street cave that housed a metro station.

                She thought about the audition.  A jilted angry young woman; perfect.  She could nail this one.  She lived the part.  She would play it subtly feeling the anger but only letting it reflect in her eyes while she calmly voiced the words.  She cloaked herself in anticipated victory as she approached the casting agency.  This part belonged to her.  The universe owed it to her.  It would serve as the catharsis she needed to move on.  She approached the door and unconsciously arranged her hair with one hand as the other reached out for the doorknob.  The door opened with a squeak.  “Don’t any doors in this city open quietly?  But then, New York isn’t about quiet after all.  Is it?”

                Other young women with similar features and coloring looked up at her before reburying their faces into the scripts that each clutched with clenched fingers.  Some murmured their lines while others merely looked downward lost in their private thoughts.  The young woman announced herself to the receptionist.  Then she took a seat with the others.  She didn’t glance at the script that lay inside her handbag; no need to.  It was her life printed on the pages; her tragedy.  She looked around and smiled at the pinched worried faces that surrounded her.  Finally she heard her name.

                She stood confidently before the directors and entered into the anger she felt after her own rejection.  She breathed fury into her character.  Then she executed the lines with understated passion.

                “Thank you; next!”

                “What?  Just thank you, next?”

                “Yes.  Please leave.  Next!”

                She walked into a bakery.  Sweet seduction filled her nostrils and activated a flow of saliva.  She chose an array of gooey chocolate confections.  The expressionless sales girl filled a pink bakery box with the baked goods which she traded for cash.  Perhaps she dreamt of flying out of her own cocoon.  “Don’t do it!” the twice rejected woman wanted to tell her, but of course, didn’t.  She carried the box into the subway, up her street, into her lobby, sidestepped the vomit, and finally, collapsed back onto her sofa.  After she opened the box of cakes, she reached for her book on the coffee table.  She wrapped the blanket about her body while burrowing into the overstuffed sofa cushions.  Outside, the city shouted, pushed and cursed; a world now far beyond her sensibilities.