The Color of a Dream (3 page)

That’s when I met Angela. She, too, had
decided to take a year off after high school and she was working as
a waitress in one of the airport restaurants. Just like seeing
Bentley for the first time, it was love at first sight when she
approached me in the staff parking lot, needing help because she’d
locked herself out of her car. I called AAA for her and waited for
them to arrive, but when she finally got into her car, the engine
wouldn’t start. So after arranging to have her vehicle towed to a
repair shop, I gave her a lift home.

Three weeks later, we were seeing each other
every day and I was head over heels in love. I hadn’t had much
experience with girls and I never imagined it could be like that,
but everything about Angela suited me. She was a bit of a math
geek, like me, and she hadn’t had much experience in the dating
scene either. I couldn’t understand why, because I thought she was
the most beautiful creature to ever walk the earth. Her hair was
jet black, cut in a shoulder-length bob with bangs, and she had
giant brown eyes and a soft, smooth ivory complexion. She was very
petite at five-foot-three and went to yoga class three times a
week. Every time I saw her, I felt like I’d been run over by a
truck. She was fun and sweet and incredibly kindhearted. Bentley
loved her, too.

Before long I started thinking about moving
out of my parents’ house and getting a place of my own. My parents
didn’t approve, of course, because they still wanted me to go to
university and make something of myself.

When I brought it up at the dinner table one
night, my father’s bushy eyebrows pulled together and two large
vertical creases formed between them. He set down his fork and
knife and leaned back in his chair.

“How will you ever go to a good school if
you’re tied down to some waitress here in town, struggling to pay
your rent every month?” he asked.

“Maybe I don’t want to go to a good school,”
I defiantly replied. “Maybe I just want to keep working at the
airport.” My mother fidgeted uncomfortably and her eyes pleaded for
me to walk away from this one.

He scoffed at me, as if I were a fool.
“Believe me, when the shine wears off of this exciting new
relationship and you’re stuck in a dead end job, arguing with that
girl about how you’re going to pay the phone bill, you’ll feel
differently, and you’ll wish you had listened to me.”

“Maybe so,” I replied, “but it’s my life and
I’m not a kid anymore. I’m nineteen and you have to let me make my
own decisions.”

He and Mom exchanged a look, as if they were
carrying on a mental conversation I wasn’t privileged to be a part
of.

Then Mom leaned across the table and clasped
my hand. “Jesse, it’s not that we don’t like Angela. She’s probably
a very nice girl. But you’ve had so little experience in that area.
How can I say this…?” She paused, then continued. “It’s important
to try on some different styles and sizes before you make a
commitment you can’t get yourself out of.”

She was so much gentler than my father.
Nevertheless, I frowned at her. “It’s not like we’re moving in
together.” Though the idea wasn’t far from my mind. Angela and I
had only been seeing each other a month, but I figured—and
hoped—moving in would be the next step. For now, I just wanted a
place where I could have my privacy to be with her.

My father still hadn’t picked up his fork.
“Your mother’s right,” he said in that deep, reverberating voice
that made everyone quiver. “You should be dating lots of girls
before you settle for just one.”

“Like Rick does?” I tersely asked. I set my
fork down and leaned back in my chair. “He dates all kinds of girls
and manages to have a whale of a time. Do you want me to be more
like him and break lots of hearts?”

“That’s not fair,” Mom said. “Rick has
always worked very hard at school and sports. He’s incredibly busy
and doesn’t have time for a serious relationship, that’s all.”

“And look where he is now,” my father added.
“In the MBA program at Anderson Business School. He’ll have his
pick of high-paying jobs the minute he steps off that campus.”

I took a deep breath and let it out because
I knew this conversation was pointless. My parents wanted me to be
a great “success” like Rick, but when it came right down to it, my
definition of success differed from theirs. I didn’t need to make a
million dollars. I didn’t want to have a series of superficial
relationships with girls I had nothing in common with. I’d already
found the girl who was right for me and I just wanted to be with
her. It didn’t mean I was going to give up any thought of doing
something more with my life. I just wanted her at my side, no
matter what I chose to do.

“It’s my decision to make,” I said, pulling
my napkin from my lap and tossing it onto the table. “Excuse me,
Mom. I’m finished now.”

My father stared up at me with displeasure
as I carried my plate to the kitchen. “Fine,” he said, “but don’t
expect any help from me when you can’t pay your rent.”

“I’ll remember that.” On my way upstairs, I
picked up the newspaper from the front hall so I could check out
the classifieds.

A week later, I signed the lease on my first
apartment, which came cheap because it was a mile from the airport
and the roar of the planes flying overhead turned off most
prospective renters. It was convenient for me, however, because I
could reach work in ten minutes by bicycle, and Angela could come
and stay over anytime she liked.

My dad was true to his word. He didn’t help
me with anything. He didn’t let me take any of the furniture from
my room—not a single item—so I had to purchase a bed and a table at
yard sales. My mother couldn’t stand with me on this, but I
remember the lump in my throat when she quietly slipped fifty
dollars into my hand on the day I moved out.

It was Angela who helped me shop for plates
and kitchen utensils, bedding and a small television set, all of
which we found at second hand stores. Her parents gave me a sofa
they wanted to get rid of anyway.

Ironically, the one thing my father let me
take from the house was the only thing I really wanted.

He let me have Bentley.

* * *

I didn’t call my parents or speak to them
for over two months. I wasn’t trying to punish them. I just had no
interest in being lectured about why I was making the worst mistake
of my life. So I waited it out and thought maybe, eventually, they
would accept my decision and let me choose my own path.

The way I saw it, even if I
was
making a mistake, it was
my
mistake to make, and I was ready
and willing to learn from it—and all the others I would likely make
in the coming years.

Wasn’t that part of life? To follow your
heart? Explore the unknown and engage in a little trial and
error?

Angela, for the most part, agreed with me,
though she worried about me losing touch with my family. She
certainly didn’t want to feel responsible for that, so when a third
month passed and there was still no communication, she suggested I
pick up the phone.

“Call when you know your father won’t be
there,” she suggested one evening while we were out walking
Bentley. “How much you want to bet your mom will be thrilled to
hear your voice and she won’t even tell him you called if you don’t
want her to.”

I considered that. “If she wants to hear my
voice, she could call me any time,” I said. “I’m in the book.”

“No, you’re not. You won’t be in the book
until the next one comes out.”

“When will that be?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” she replied with a
chuckle.

Bentley paused briefly to lift a leg and pee
on a telephone pole, then continued on.

“I’m sure Mom knows the number for directory
assistance,” I mentioned.

Playfully, Angela shoved me into the
chain-link fence that ran along the sidewalk. “You’re impossible,”
she said.

I bounced off the fence and returned to her
side. “Yep, and that’s why you love me.”

“Is it?” she replied with mischief in her
eyes. “I thought it was for another reason entirely.”

I smiled and wrapped my arm around her. We
walked on, our steps in perfect unison while a giant Boeing 767
passed over our heads—taking off for some exotic location, no
doubt.

The thought of what unexplored territories
were over my own horizon filled me with hope and excitement. I felt
like one those jetliners, finally lifting off the runway.
Everything in my world seemed new and full of promise.

It’s a shame that feeling didn’t last
longer. Two weeks later I was forced to come down from the clouds
when my mother called with some news.

Suddenly, I was back on the ground, living
among the pressures of my old world.

The sound of her voice on the phone caught
me off guard because I’d just stepped out of the shower. I was
dripping wet and wrapped in a towel. Angela was asleep in my bed,
tangled in the sheets, wearing my flannel pajama bottoms and an
oversized T-shirt.

As I carried the phone out of the bedroom, I
had to drag the long cord over Bentley on his giant green pillow.
He lifted his head and tilted it to the side as he watched me.

“Mom, it’s nice to hear from you,” I
said.

It was a polite response, but it was also
the truth. The sound of my mother’s voice in my ear reduced me to
my ten-year-old self, to a time when she was my whole world. Yet
that seemed like a lifetime ago.

For some unknown reason, I felt a sudden
rush of panic. Had there been some horrible family tragedy? Did
someone die? Was that why she was calling so early in the
morning?

To this day, I don’t know why I thought
that, but it woke me up to something. I regretted not picking up
the phone sooner as Angela had so often encouraged me to do.

“I’m so glad I caught you,” Mom said
cheerfully. I let out a breath of relief knowing no one had died.
She simply missed me. I could hear it in her voice.

“How are you getting along?” she asked. “Are
you eating enough vegetables?”

I laughed. “Yes, Mom. I’m eating well.”

“And how’s Bentley? The house is so quiet
here with both of you gone.”

“I imagine it is,” I replied. “Bentley’s
doing great. I come home for lunch every day, so he’s never alone
for too long.”

I waited for her to ask about Angela, but
there was a long noteworthy silence.

“How’s Dad?” I asked.

“Oh, you know, busy as usual. His
receptionist is retiring next month, so he’s looking for
someone.”

“Ah.”

There was another pause.

“You should come over for dinner sometime,”
Mom said. “Bring your girlfriend.”

“Angela,” I mentioned.

“Yes, Angela…” Another pause. “Is she still
working at the airport pub?”

My mother was doing her best to sound
friendly and accepting, but I could hear her disapproval and
disappointment not far beneath her cheerful façade. No doubt she
and Dad would have preferred me to date a law student. Or even a
flight attendant, for that matter. At least flight attendants wore
heels and blazers.

“Yeah,” I replied. “She’s making great
tips.”

Bentley appeared at my feet and panted up at
me. I reached down to rub behind his ears.

“That’s wonderful,” Mom said.

A plane flew overhead; there was some static
on the line, and I wondered if my mother was still on the other
end.

“Rick’s coming home for a few weeks over
Christmas,” she said, breaking the silence at last. “Will you be
coming home, too?”

It seemed an odd question, and I combed my
fingers through my wet hair. “You mean like…to sleep?”

To wake up Christmas morning and open
Santa’s gifts as a family?

“Your room is still here,” she said. “You
can come home any time you like.”

I nodded. “That’s nice to know, Mom.
Thanks.”

Maybe I was being too presumptuous, assuming
that my parents expected me to fail—even
wanted
me to—so
that they could say ‘I told you so’ and wrestle me back onto the
right track.

Was it possible they had changed their minds
and were ready to accept the choices I was making?

That would be nice—if they could simply pick
me up and dust me off if I stumbled, instead of insisting that I
not stumble in the first place.

“I don’t have a lot of time right now, Mom,”
I said. “I have to get to work, and Bentley needs to go outside.
Maybe we can talk later. When is Rick coming home?”

He’s flying in on the fifth,” she replied.
“Maybe you’ll be the one to haul his suitcase off the plane. That’s
what you do at your job, isn’t it?”

I closed my eyes and tipped my head back
against the wall. “Yeah, Mom. That’s what I do.”

I said good-bye and hung up. When I finally
made it to work and began loading baggage onto a Bombardier
CRJ-200, I glanced up at the pilots in the flight deck windows and
imagined for the thousandth time what it would feel like to fly
such an incredible machine.

Perhaps a career in aviation was in my
future, but I was nevertheless determined not to let my parents
pressure me into any career before I was ready. Even if it was a
career of my own choosing.

Though I didn’t speak to my father at all
over the next few weeks, I did hear from Mom who called to tell me
Rick’s flight number and what time it would arrive on the fifth.
She asked if I would meet him at the gate because she and Dad would
be at work. She also asked if I wanted to come for turkey dinner on
Christmas Day.

“Bring Angela, of course,” she added.

Encouraged by the fact that she had
remembered Angela’s name this time, I accepted her invitation.

I wasn’t scheduled to work on the day Rick’s
flight came in, so I was able to meet him at the gate. After we
found each other in the terminal, I asked him about school and LA.
He then asked about my job and the new apartment.