I sat on my computer today and watched the world that I know start to fall. There are protests spreading the country. People suddenly realizing that what we used to stand for isn’t that strong anymore. The American Dream for ‘the people’ has turned. I’m a college graduate. I did everything I was supposed to do, starting early. I went to high school and made it through without failing classes, getting caught up in drugs, or getting pregnant. I even made it through my fathers death my senior year. I was in Student Council, Honor Society. I was in Advanced Placement classes and was a captain of three sports. I volunteered at the MSPCA on weekends. My college application was full. I chose UNH because I believed it had a better education system than UMASS. I listened to others, telling me to pick a broad degree to be more flexible. I took five classes a semester instead of four. I played rugby. Captain again. I worked through my school – work study and simple part time, so I could afford an apartment and food of my own instead of a meal plan. I graduated on time in four years with credits to spare. It’s October and I’m still jobless except for Monster. Sure, I didn’t have an internship, but I wanted to support myself over the summer instead of work for nothing.
My mother is stuck in her profession as a Nursery school teacher that she took to earn a little more money while we were at school and my father was at work. She’s been there for twelve years. The tuition of the school is going up and many families now can’t pay and are pulling their kids. My mother is worried she may lose her job if they pull the Nursery program. The archdiocese doesn’t pay into unemployment. I’m working on fourteen dollars an hour with no set guarantee of hours. My childhood pets are older and getting sick. Medication is expensive. I’m pretty sure the only reason we still have our house is because we paid it off when my father passed.
The only jobs I can get are promotions where I post my pictures along with my resume. Sex sells even in an economic collapse.
I don’t want millions. I don’t want to be rich. I don’t want anything but comfort. A life without worry.
I want the original American Dream.
I think we’ve lost sight of it.
A couple hours ago I was nervously bumbling through the isles of Market Basket. I hoped that somewhere magically nestled in between the fajita mix and the canned tomatoes there would be something that would magically cure the cancer running rampant through the body of the woman waiting in the car. Honey for her green tea? POM juice with anti-oxidants.
“She told me the other day that now they’re finding out that anti-oxidants cause cancer,” my mother sighs. We leave with a roasted chicken, applesauce, and popsicles. Jean thanks us under her coughs. The oxygen tank hisses by her feet. I sit in the back and look out at the clouds.
It’s more anger than sadness about anything at this point. That even after the Pan Mass Challenge has raised over $270 Million alone, our lives are bent and broken with the loss and heartbreak of cancer. We’re doing something wrong here. Something is causing this and we haven’t found it yet, even with the billions of dollars spent on research. After seeing her today I wonder what is worse, learning that someone is dying and watching them slowly struggle, or the shock of losing someone in a matter of hours. Both hurt. I don’t think there’s a winner either way. But seeing someone in that position makes me want to stop complaining about silly things like my boss being a pain and start smiling that I can run outside, spin in circles, sashay around in pretty dresses and smile because I’m still in my prime at twenty-two. But in that same instant I want to curl up into a ball in the middle of my bed and cry until I don’t have any tears left.
Life is bigger than all of us and small enough for us to control.
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