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It was noisy outside the kitchen. Many people talked outside the house. Their laughter and glass clanking; it started as a dampened sound from a distance, but eventually became uncomfortably nearing. I felt the wooden floor, but it was soft as opposed to… wood. I began to feel my surroundings while my eyes were shut. The kitchen was cold, but I was blanketed with something. The smell was not the smell of my kitchen. Any part of my aunt’s house never smelled of tobacco and Hennessy. A whisper woke me up, then, with wide eyes, I saw everything. I was in a room packed with the beautiful, the famed, and the successful. The longer I looked around, the more I recognized each face. Actors and actresses, comedians, athletes, celebrities, and every human being that I only saw on magazines or billboards, all smiled at me when I gave them a glance.
“Shit,” I uttered under my breath. I slept on the job? And in front of the most esteemed guests?! I bet boss would be happy to see me. Panicking, all I thought about was my impending doom. I immediately tried to escape the scene. But as I got up from the unbelievably comfortable couch, I was pulled back to it by one of the guests.
“Don’t leave me again, my dear. Sit back down… relax. You must be tired hosting one of the greatest house parties in the world.” A young woman with a white dress coyly said, sipping her drink.
It’s over. I’m screwed. I’d surely miss my salary after this. I didn’t look at her at first. I only listened to her as my whole body froze. My shoulders tensed, back straightened, and I looked straight down at my shoes, which… was incredibly shiny.
“Your back must be sore from all that standing, and mouth dry from all the speeches. Say, this environment is not conducive for your recovery. Shall we continue this conversation in your bedroom?” she whispered close to my ear.
“Ha?” I unintentionally said. She had such a domineering aura. I flinched back, but she pestered. I cleared my throat and mustered the courage to talk to her.
“That is wonderful of you to say, madam, but I’m afraid I am but a janitor at this fine restaurant. Now, if you will excuse me I—,”
The woman hysterically laughed. “Janitor? Restaurant? Oh God, your humor is quite the odd one, Mr. Coldwood.”
“With all due respect, madam, I don’t know who you are and I don’t know how I got here. I’m still trying to work that out, and you are providing more reason for my boss to fire me.” I said while still looking at my shoes.
She might be offended, but I didn’t care. I’d be fired anyway. In the corner of my eye, the woman only smiled. My whole body shook and my gut trembled. I didn’t notice how gorgeous the lady was until my periphery captured most of her image. Getting fired became the least of my worries. I’d be getting punishment from a beautiful woman—I managed to talk to her too. I’d kick myself out, as long as it’s her complaint. At least I’ll be off with a smile. Hehehe.
“Mr. Coldwood,” my head shuddered as she said my name. “The man who caused bankruptcy across every casino he entered by winning each machine he played; the man who stirred the curiosity of every news outlet, the FBI, and made the whole world question if he was indeed a fraud, only to find out that he was the real deal. The man who’s privileges is beyond fathomable, who’s best friend is the president; the man who can touch the untouchable paintings, can visit any country with a quick handshake, and can bed any lady he oh, so, desires” she recited, while her head slowly leaned on my shoulders. “The man that they call God’s Favorite, the man anointed as the Luckiest Being Alive, the man that I am referring to… is you. Shall I further boost your ego, again, Mr. Coldwood?”
I looked down on my hand to see hers holding mine. I heard the choirs sing. My body melted, and my heart fell. Her perfume reminded me of someone. And everything about her in that moment felt perfect. I cared less of what she said. I was too preoccupied with what she was doing. She was so kind to me, I didn’t know why. But besides that, I noticed I wore a watch; a watch that could potentially buy five luxury cars. My outfit—a white suit customized to have my initials on the vest—was crazy bright. I sat on a burgundy couch laced with authentic gold lattice. Its style followed the theme of this place. The room was decorated with paintings, one of which looked like a portrait of a woman posing a mysterious smile; stone statues that somehow looked like me; and chandeliers above high ceilings that dimly lit the mansion. This was not Crab City.
I murmured to myself, “Where are we?”
“Can you stop asking these silly questions? You are Mr. Coldwood. Can’t you recognize your own home?” she answered. The crowd that blocked my vision revealed the rest of the house. The lady stood up, invited her hand, and smiled.
“Come. I’ll play along with this little game of yours, and help you remember everything, if that is… the name of the game.” The lady playfully said.
I followed her lead towards an enormous space in the mansion.
“Is… is this… mine?” I asked her.
“All of it, darling”
“This too?” I pointed to my watch.
“Every single one, my love.” she said, turning her head towards me.
I didn’t believe her. This wasn’t real. Even what she said earlier about me being best friends with the president… She must be messing with me. There was just no way I could've done all that and afforded any of these—even a single thread of this tie would cost me my whole wage. But she sounded so confident... I didn’t know what to do. So I just went along with it.
A campfire kept the place warm, the people mingled between standing tables, and waiters offered whatever that was on the tray. Men and women across the floor were just as important as the next guy. And there I was, in the center of it all, holding hands with a lady I just met two minutes ago. Their eyes darted towards me, followed me everywhere I went, and the place felt incredibly packed despite the fact that they avoided my path. Same old, same old, I guessed. The woman’s hand was soft while we walked. I kept my eyes on her red high heels and blonde hair to keep track where she was going. Then, the shoes stopped walking.
“This is what you named ‘The Big Room’,” she said.
I cautiously looked around me. The room was wide and long enough that the walls were only the size of a toothpick. And it was high enough that the chandeliers looked like mere light bulbs.
“Is- Isn’t ‘big’ an understatement?” I stuttered, while admiring the size of the room.
“I only know that nothing satisfies your standards. What is small to you is the universe for some.” she smirked.
“Sounds nothing like me.” I mumbled.
The lady giggled.
“Mr. Coldwood!” someone called out from a distance. I didn’t know him. Well, I didn’t know anyone. But, he knew my name. That’s a start. “Hahaha! How are you, my good friend? Is life treating you well?”
As he got closer and closer, I began to recognize the man. I saw him once from somewhere; I just didn’t remember his name.
Before I could say anything stupid, my date interrupted “Glad to see you again, Mr. President.”
“Ha?” I said unintentionally.
“Hahaha! I told you I was busy. But then someone told me to ‘live a little’. Hahahaha! That was you! You said that,” The president said aloud.
“I did?”
He nodded
“I did.”
We continued our conversation about our new projects, where I have little knowledge about. All difficult questions were answered by my partner. Good thing she was there.
“Well, shall I live a little for myself tonight, Mr. Coldwood?” he then left with a hundred bodyguards following him.
Then it hit me.
Everything was true. My friend was the president. I owned this watch, this tie, and that painting—all of those paintings. I bought this mansion, these statues, and those wines. This was no Crab City, this was my house. My date wasn’t lying. That man she was referring to… that was me. I was a billionaire. I did it! Talking to the president taught me a thing or two: I made it and I made it big time.
We were about to move to the different parts of the mansion: the pool, the bar, upstairs, and to a bigger room where richer people mingled. And I was itching to abuse this new found confidence of mine. I could talk down on them like they did to me; order them around to fetch me some coffee or cocktail like they did to me; and yell at them if they got it wrong like they did to me. I just couldn’t wait. So I talked to one of the butlers, and saw if I could intimidate him. But as he neared, my stomach turned violently. My body recoiled.
“Everything all right, sir?” the butler politely asked.
“Uh—Yes, I was just about to—uh… fix your bowtie, please. I need you to look neat for my guests.” I stammered.
“My apologies, sir” he left.
Pathetic. I couldn’t do it. It didn’t feel like me at all. My new found confidence was immediately lost. I couldn’t make eye contact, talk fluently, or even stand up straight. The whole night was just a battle. As we went through every hall and opened each door, I gradually felt the urge to vomit. The lighting was too shallow for me to see. My suit started to feel tight, almost suffocating to a point where I’d rather be butt naked than choked. But I had no choice but to endure everything for the sake of my sudden godlike reputation. I was still recognized by almost all people that I didn’t even recognize, but claimed to have known me. They approached me even though my eyes never left the floor—eyes on floor meant “I don’t want to talk”, I thought everybody knew that. Also, they wouldn’t dare talk to a black man like me. But it appeared to me that they’d talk to anyone as long as they got a fat wallet. I was greeted with a hundred waves and smiles, firm handshakes, and familiar hugs and kisses: all of which were obviously faked. Who knew maintaining a smile was this difficult? Maybe them, but this was all news to me. I couldn’t keep this up until midnight. The only relief that I got was in between those awkward greetings—when I’m silently accompanied by her. But they kept at it.
“What’s down there, Mr. Coldwood? Interested in my leather shoes? I might give it to you, but you have to guess the number I’m thinking,” the man that I was talking to said and burst into laughter.
I nervously laughed, “I don’t know about tha—”
“Mr. Coldwood, it’s so nice to finally meet you in person.” Another old lady called to me and gave me a peck on the cheek as she interrupted my sentence. “The paintings you bought from Italy will absolutely be 100% taken care of. You are, after all, our most esteemed customer.” She seemed enthusiastic.
“Sir Coldwood, would you mind joining us in the theater? The seats are almost full, and they are eager to see you and hear you talk.” A man with a top hat calmly invited me.
Everywhere I go there would be at least five of these people pestering me. At a certain point I was almost ready to give up and die. But then—
“I think Mr. Coldwood needs a bit of air from all of these exciting activities for a moment. Am I right, darling?” the lady I held hands with intervened with the audience I attracted. I nodded as a response and the crowd parted for us to leave.
My date and I grabbed a drink at the bar and removed ourselves from the crowd. I became comfortable with her; enough for me to speak normally. We stayed on the balcony, where only stars illuminated our faces. I finally had the time to relax my cheek muscles from all that smiling. I sighed with the wind, and loosened my bowtie.
“Thank you,” I said, still avoiding eye contact. “I forgot to ask your name,”
“Cylvia,”
“Thank you, Ms. Cylvia,” I repeated.
“It seems that you’re not that good with names,” she said, sounding like she was still playing along with my ‘little game’.
“I’ll try to remember yours, Ms. Cylvia.”
We fell silent while sipping our wine with the jazz music playing inside the house, killing the crickets. In my attempt to avoid her eyes, I failed to notice the outside world. I noticed that my house was near the lake and was the only building here. There were no lights, lampposts, benches, restaurants or any sign of civilization—only here. The place was surrounded with cedar and oak and fragranced with the salty breeze. But in that moment, I felt real, like I had been there already under that one particular tree by the shore. It was very nostalgic. And it gave me time to breathe deeply the homey air and smile—genuinely this time.
“May I enter your thoughts?” Cylvia asked, somewhat more genuine rather than flirty.
“I think I’ll like it here,”
“Well, who wouldn’t?” she exclaimed, looking inside the mansion. “This place is a literal museum of the world’s greatest and best. I’m sure someone would sell their soul to live in this paradise. There is nothing quite like it.”
“Yeah, there is nothing like it,” I repeated, looking at the shoreline.
“Why do you act this way? Like you have lost your memory?”
“I don’t have a direct answer to your question. All I can remember is that I had a bad dream, and that’s it.”
“What was it about?” she asked, sounding more concerned.
“I dreamt of being down there, sitting on that shoreline. And uh…” I tried to recall. “It was about… I had a uh—”
“Come on, don’t be shy,” she said with a laugh.
“Sorry, I forgot.” I gravely said, while I fidgeted with my wine glass.
“You don’t have to be so serious all the time, darling. I forgive you,” Cylvia softly said, slowly closing the gap between us. She caressed my hand with her petite fingers. I felt her presence beside me, but it was no longer domineering. Her fragrance won over the breeze, and her warmth gave me the confidence to finally look at her. My eyes crawled from her arm to her neck. Her body reminded me of the waves of the ocean, like the way her dress flows with her curves. “As long as you keep your promise, I’ll forgive you,” she continued.
“Well, I might have also forgotten that too,”
Her hand erotically climbed up to my face. She proceeds to guide my chin with her fingers, drawing me near to her face. I kept my eyes down, but she bent her head to meet mine and smiled. Finally, I saw her. Her eyes glistened with the universe and as deep blue as the sea. And much like the ocean, I continued to fall deeper and deeper without touching rock bottom. From then on, I was all hers.
“I’ll take my chances.” she whispered.
We kissed under the peak of the moonlight. Her lips were as soft as butter and at the same time as hot as freshly baked bread. My hands gripped and stroked wherever it felt right, to which Cylvia seemed to like. Her moans made my knees tremble, but I clung to her ever so passionately. I couldn’t stop but to feel every inch of her. She squealed a delightful sound as I lifted her up to the balcony’s railing. There I continued to please her with everything I’ve got. It was all a magical experience, until I heard a shout from the coast. In the corner of my eye I saw a silhouette by the lake. I felt myself freeze while we kissed, but she grappled me tighter, placing my hands under her waist. I looked again in my periphery, and the figure was no longer there. I returned my attention to the kiss, and surrendered to the feeling once more, giving a moment to feel her.
To some, this was the climax, the epitome of love, and I should be drowning in happiness by now. I wasn’t expecting this to happen, but at that moment, after seeing that silhouette, I felt empty. My mind was too busy thinking that it forgot to feel. That scream, that shadow... The shout, although I didn’t understand quite well, sounded liberating, and the silhouette, although it wasn’t recognizable, felt familiar. I would give up everything just to be that kid. With that in mind, I remembered how dreadful this evening has been. The kiss began to shift into a different feeling. The more we stayed as one, the more I felt lost and breathless. Her arms a leash, this balcony a display, and castle a golden cage. I broke free from the embrace by pushing her away. She was left speechless, which made me realize that I might regret what I’d have to say.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do this. This suit is too tight, I can’t breathe. It’s just too much for me, you know. This house is not my house. What I need is a home… and if you think you can make it into one… I say give up, because I never felt anything special from our kiss. You may look beautiful, my suit and mansion too, but I regret every second that I spent in this made up world. I wished I had spent it down there along the shore, not here above everything that felt real. Then, and only then, I can truly say that I’m happy. I’m sorry, Cylvia.”
I walked out of the balcony immediately, trying to save myself from a world of hurt, hoping I wouldn’t see her tears, but then, already fell as I said those last words. A heavy spasm burdened my chest, but I kept walking, feigning the unimaginable hurt that my heart barely endured. I paced hurriedly through the crowd, into the dining room, past the kitchen, and inside the bathroom. And there I was, finally alone. My mind was troubled. But the reflection gave me somewhat of an answer. In the mirror, I saw someone that resembled my face. The man that I saw was a more mature version of me, with graying hair and mustache. I felt I had seen this man before. Although I am that man: Coldwood, the black man of Harrison, Arkansas, there was another image behind it. This was the man that I dreamt of becoming. And now that I was him, I hated myself and everything that I had accomplished. This wasn’t what I wished for. I wished for peace, but I was surrounded by chaos; I wished for abundance, but I suffered from excess; I wished for love, but all I had was lust. The reason why this world felt untrue was maybe… just maybe… I didn’t earn this life… I bought it.
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