A STORY FROM AMERICA


The life I’ve always wanted
I guess I’ll never have
I’ll be working for somebody else
Until I’m in my grave
I’ll be dreaming of a life of ease
And mountains
Oh mountains o’ things§


He would be working till 12, sometimes even till 2 in the morning. He didn’t want to go home, nobody was waiting for him. His home was a small apartment in an old, ramshackled building near the slums. It was cold as ice with no warming in the winter. In the summer you couldn’t stand the heat. So nothing held him there, he didn’t even bother to call the apartment a home.
His wife left him 7 years ago. She said she couldn’t stand his bitterness and depression. He never forgot those words, ‘cause they hit him so hard and left a bleeding wound in his heart, he never got over it. And he hasn’t had any other girlfriends or loving female contact since. They never had any children either.
His family didn’t sent him any letters, Christmas cards or a phone call. His father had passed away last summer, and his brothers didn’t even bother telling him that. He heard it a half year later, when he accidentally ran into an old friend from his hometown.
And at last, he was nothing but an office worker in an insurance company with bad working conditions and a low salary. The rest says itself.

Are you sure, you’re gonna be alright? the secretary looked at him with worry in her eyes. Go home John, it’s late. I’m gonna be just fine, Judith, he was angry and disturbed. The secretary sighed, took her coat on and said goodnight as she walked out the door. He was finely alone. Now no one could prevent him from doing his job, even if he would sit in his office until the dawning.
But tonight, he didn’t feel the need to stay in the poorly illuminated office with the grey walls and the old furniture that smelled like cheap perfume and cigarette smoke. He wanted to go out in the streets, meet people, talk to them. Or maybe just look at the busy and locked up souls rushing through the avenues. He almost got afraid of his own thoughts. He had never thought this way before, and the newborn ideas just scared him. But he decided to listen to his heart, and got up to take his coat on. The time was 11:13 pm. Walked out the door, locked up the office and started his journey into the night.
After walking for about 5 minutes, he stopped at a bar. It was one of those bars, that New York is filed up with, where the cigar smoke and slow jazz music are filling up the little room. A place, where lazy people sit and sip to their drinks, lonely men without a goal in their life. John fitted perfect in the yellowish and depressed atmosphere.
He walked trough the brown wooden door and into the little room. A jazz singer with tired and painted eyes sang an old slow song, with fake fur on her shoulders. A few old men sat and played poker by a corner table. One younger man with a moustache and a grey suit sat at the bar and talked with the bartender. Their conversation was uninteresting, something about the young mans wife or girlfriend. John walked towards the bar, sat down right beside the young man and ordered a glass of whiskey. Very boring night, don’t you think? The man beside him looked at John and their eyes met. John would have been uncomfortable about such move a few hours ago, but now it did not bother him at all. Something was happening inside of him, but if only he could tell what it was! Yes, it’s such a bad weather. John looked back at the man and a smile passed his lips. The man smiled too and drank a little from his glass of beer. Hubert Brown, nice meeting you. he put his hand out and John shook it. John Cramer. John drank from his glass and looked around. The jazz singer had stopped singing and was now heading towards the bar, where the two men talked. Good evening Miss, would you like to have a cup of coffee? John was surprised over himself as he heard those words coming from his mouth. This isn’t me, I’m not like that! Confused thoughts were spinning inside his brain. The woman smiled and sat down beside him. I’d love to!One coffee for the lady please! John ordered the coffee and looked her in the eyes. I’m John Cramer, and this is my new friend Hubert Brown. Hubert nodded at the woman and again started talking with the bartender. Nice meeting you gentlemen. My name is Cornelia Croft. She thanked for the coffee and began drinking it. The scarlet lipstick on her lips faded away as she drank the coffee, till the colour turned light red with an orange glow. Are you from New York? John asked. No, I’m from Tennessee, I stay in a hotel here called The Golden Star. It’s not the best, but it’s okay. Cornelia smiled as she talked and looked at John with interest in her big green eyes. It’s a nice place. You should come and visit me sometime. I’ll be here the next 4 days. The offer sounded tempting with a little note of flirt. Why shouldn’t you take the chance and spend a night with the lady, John? After that, you would probably never see her face again! Cornelia looked at John from the corner of her eye trying to find a reaction. But he just sat there and sipped to his whiskey. Something in him was dying. Something was trying to ‘escape’ his soul, and he was letting it go. Sure, why not? he looked at Cornelia and a dirty look entered his face. Why not now? I’m not doing anything tonight. Alright, let’s go then! Cornelia picked up her fur and began to walk towards the door. John followed her and soon they were out in the drizzle. There were almost no people in the streets, only a few homeless and street-sale’s. The couple moved across the street, and stopped 3 blocks away, in front of a hotel entrance, where there were written with big shiny neon sign that said The Golden Star. The ‘o’ in the word golden was replaced by a yellow blinking star. People walked in and out of the door, a lots of different people. Fancy ladies with long glittering evening dresses, respectable gentlemen in black tuxedoes and long black coats. Ordinary people, like women in skirts and men in worn brown and dark grey suits. The hotel was so alive, it looked like an anthill full of hard working ants day and night. Cornelia walked in front of John and into the big hall, also full of rushing people. She continued and walked up the wide, fancy stairs with a wine red carpet and turned left. A few steps, and she stopped in front of a door that said 013. She turned the key around in the hole and walked in, with John right behind her. Threw her fake milk white fur on the bed. A lady with two puddles walked past the door as it slammed and her dogs began barking at the invisible enemy.

The next morning, when the sun was rising and shining through the window, John was thinking. About the last night, about his former lifestyle, just thinking things through. He looked at Cornelia sleeping right beside him, and just couldn’t stand the sight of her pretty red lips and soft skin. He stood up, put his clothes on and walked out the door without making a sound. And as he walked down the street, he thought about that strange feeling he had last night at the bar. And suddenly he realised, what the new feeling was. His human feeling for any kind of moral norms had died that night. And his depression too. He was no longer the slave of time and money. Not a slave of the depression that was raging the United States. He was a part of the new generation. And he was free.





Ieva Mikelyte
31/01/03



PS. Found this on my PC not too long ago, An old novel, I liked it so I thought Iød share with the rest of U.

Enjoy!