I have never had so much trouble falling asleep, but that fish. That damn fish. He stares at me like he’s hypnotized until Hour Two begins. “I don’t need you,” I grumble, trying to free him from my mind.
I think you do, Oscar’s eyes read.
“No, I don’t.” My writing career’s at stake, and he’s making it worse. Damn, Romance! Damn, those who only want to read clichés! There is so much more to writing than clichés! One day, I will prove that to the writing world, and when I do, I’ll ensure writers of every genre are treated equally. That has been my long-term goal for ten years now.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I finally say, sitting and facing Oscar. “I’m just so frustrated right now. How do you fish do it? How do you remain calm?”
I remember when I started writing. I visited a few online writing websites, and when I saw that Romance, Billionaires, and Werewolves were the only stories getting recognized—it lit a fire in my ass. What happened to the books we had in the 19th and 20th Centuries? I couldn’t go to a single website, Target, or Walmart without Romance getting thrown in my face. Even Barnes and Noble and Books-A-Million were slithering down the same path.
From there, I decided to be the “oddball out.” I began writing non-cliché, diverse books and rediscovered my love for literature. I didn’t force myself to write what was popular, and it felt good until I started trying to get recognized.
Here I am now, struggling and stuck in a Marriot with a goldfish I feel connected to. He hasn’t had an “elevator” experience in the past six months, so what is happening?
“I was in the Disney College Program for a year,” I explain, pressing my palms on my bed cover. “I struggled with my writing after graduating, so I tried the DCP to get some money into the bank. I got in an elevator toward the end of my Program at Flamingo Crossing, the housing complex for CPs, and it began malfunctioning.” I shiver with the memory. “Every time I pressed the button, the elevator would close, open, and close again. When I saw no way out, I tried getting out, and the elevator nearly crushed me.” That was one of my worst life experiences. “Since then, I have struggled with claustrophobia but cope through writing. Murielle believes I have PTSD, but I believe it’s merely Struggling Writer Syndrome.”
Do Oscar and I think the same way? At “Struggling Writer Syndrome,” he inches close to his bowl’s glass and seems to smile through his “Glub, glubs.”
“I’m sure you’ve seen bitches like me before,” I guess. I plop down on my front, wave my legs behind me, and prop up my head. “I’ve called that incident the Elevator Experience. Do you have one you’re not telling me about?”
“Glub, glub.”
“You’re a funny fish. You know that, right? I love a good adventure but don’t feel ready for adulthood.” I especially wasn’t sure if I accidentally already had one kid. I guess I didn’t pay attention in Sex Ed class. Condoms. Always use condoms. The worst part is that Murielle’s first pregnancy required a C-section. She struggled, and my fear from those nine months lingered. She tells me this second pregnancy will be better. I can only hope she’s right.
“I love Murielle,” I add. “We met during our Latin class in school and kicked it off pretty fast. Graduation turned into a little too much partying and drinking. Next thing we knew, we were pregnant.” I laugh feebly to myself. “The mistakes we make when we’re young. Anyway, I’d like to propose to Murielle. That’s another reason I’m going to New York. Mom said she’d help me.” After all, Mom knows best. I would ask Dad, but Mom and I get along better. She and Dad divorced when I was young, and Dad moved across the country to LA because he wanted nothing to do with Mom. I’ve always wondered what happened between them, but Mom didn’t like talking about it. Anyway, I hope to give Murielle the love Dad never gave Mom.
Something crosses my mind, and I tilt my eyebrow. “Oscar, I hate to ask you this, but we’re the only ones in this hotel room.” My cheeks flare, and I lower my head. “Have you ever been in love?”
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