24 February, 2015

Taking a Stand

Here is my entry from the February 20th's Creative Prompt:

She was going to do it. She was going to take a stand and do it. She looked at the snow outside her apartment, her home for three years, and wondered if she really had the strength.


There was no way. She couldn’t make a life for herself. The cost of rent alone made where she was an ideal arrangement.

Three years in the city and she had yet to audition for one play. She had found them, gotten the script, practiced. But then the day of something came up. Something always came up. A business lunch, a list of errands, some other appointment that had to happen just then. No one else seemed as panicked about the timing as he was. The business meetings were luncheons and drinks. She didn’t feel like she needed to be there. He barely paid any attention to her anyway. She told herself it wasn’t intentional.

Sliding off the stool she looked at the script in her bag, a part she really wanted, one a friend had gotten her an audition for. She didn’t tell him about it. She didn’t want something else came up at the last minute. What was she doing?

She looked at the studio again, in the middle of a high-rise, with a great view of the city. She could see the river and the city across it. Would she ever reach this place again?

Money was not a reason to stay, neither was security or comfort. They had been together for so long; she barely knew who she was outside of him anymore. He made all the money, content to let her work at the coffee shop, content to always have her reliant on him for everything. Surely it wasn’t… who was she kidding! It was intentional.

It was intentional how he said he supported her dreams and yet never actually let her pursue them.
It was intentional how he degraded her in front of his friends and then said he was just drunk.
It was intentional that he had the password to her email and yet always forgot to give her his.
It was intentional.

It was. It was time for her intention.

She had been discussing it with her friend for weeks. They only communicated when her shift at the coffee shop coincided with his being at work. Her friend offered up her couch. She lived on the other side of town, in this basement apartment that leaked when it rained and always smelled musky. But it was something, a new start. Her friend was going to help her get a job on that side of town. There was a waitressing job that would give her time off for auditions. Was taking orders really that different from making coffee?

She sat on the stool again, pulling her leg up to rest on the edge. She looked at their apartment, cold and void of anything personal. It was supposed to be their dream. He got her out of Wisconsin, she told herself. And for that she would always be grateful. But they had outgrown each other. Their lives didn’t mix anymore. His friends found her simple. Her friends found him pompous. He wanted the flashy; she wanted the warm and comfortable.

On the couch was her overnight bag packed with the few items she was taking. It would be okay. She could do this.

The snow started again, blurring her view of the city. She had to go. If she didn’t she would talk herself out of it. The city might shutdown again and then he’d be home and wonder what she did to the apartment.

Sliding off the stool she reached for her bag. She left the keys on the counter, they would not be her life raft. She was leaving. One more look. A deep breath. A choice. Turning to the door she saw her future before her and for the first time in a long time was filled with possibility.

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© Amanda Lunday