Creative writing piece, based on a couple of books I've read recently:
It was all you dreamt of, when you were younger. The symbolism of normal. A semi-detached, with underfloor heating in the conservatory and a little garden out back. A devoted husband who liked to buy flowers, and a cat to sleep on your lap. A job that you enjoyed, that paid the bills, that meant you were giving something back. Gym memberships, magazine subscriptions for cooking and home decoration. A group of good friends and family who you saw often. The symbolism of normal; all you dreamt of, when you were younger.
You sit there now, in the conservatory of that house. Everyone envies you; you're the person they wanted to be. Everything they dreamt of, when they were younger.
Your husband's not home yet, though the air smells like flowers. He's sent three bouquets- one for each day he's been away. Somerset, on work, he said. You said nothing. He'll come back wearing fancy aftershave that doesn't quite mask the smell of perfume; his phone will be clear of messages and he'll be almost guiltily attentive. Somerset, on work, he'll say. You'll say nothing.
The magazines that arrive so regularly are read like clockwork, pages torn out and stuck to the fridge. The rest of the papers are recycled, just like everything else. There's only one piece of correspondence you care about- one reason you rush to check the post. You're waiting for the doctors' letter; a test your husband doesn't know you had. He doesn't want to 'expect', to have yet more ties. It's you who needed that test- needed to know why you can't have the one thing you want more than anything else.
You still see your friends, your family. They think you're perfect, admire your strength. They can't feel all you go through when presented with scans, pictures, news. They moan on, unthinking. You'd love the sickness, the stress, the pain. You'd give anything. But they, the lucky ones, congratulate you on your 'decision' to focus on your career. Some decision.
Focusing on your career, however, is the one thing keeping you going. The one place you can succeed, where you can be happy and not have to think about everything else. The cramped, busy office you share with five others is far superior to your spacious, comfy house- it isn't empty; it's full of life.
Is this it? Is this worth it? Is holding onto your dreams worth the heartache? You don't know anymore, curled up on an empty sofa, hugging a cat that's trying to wriggle free, thinking mixed thoughts. How can you have got all you ever wanted- all you ever dreamt of- yet feel as if you've chased the wrong dream?
Everyone else thinks your life's perfect. They walk past your closed dooe and sigh, because you've got all they ever dreamt of. Who cares about the world behind those doors, the woman behind the charming smile?
The symbolism of normal. It was all you dreamt of, when you were younger.