The way I’d devised to open up to Gray relied on an MP4 file in my laptop. One that contained footage of me that my dad had filmed more than fifteen years ago. I told her to get comfortable on our couch while I booted up the old video I’d already watched thousands of times.
In the grainy, pixelated home movie, I was tinkering with a hand-me-down from my dad. A clunky camcorder. From behind the lens, he asked me what I was doing. Laser-focused on the device in my small hands, I told him I was ‘reviewing clips.’ The phrase coming from ten-year-old me’s mouth in such a no-nonsense tone caused him to laugh.
“You gonna make your own movie, kiddo?”
Up to now, after all this time, that question said in his voice regularly rang in my ears. At all times of the day. Unpredictable and unavoidable.
“Yup, just like you, Dad.”
“Well, if you’re going to make your own movie, that’s not what I do…” He reminded me. “I’m just a cameraman, remember?”
Younger-me shrugged, clearly not grasping the difference. I proceeded to boast to him how I was going to write, direct, film and even act in my own movie. I then informed him that I’d be casting him and ‘Mommy’ as well as heartthrobs from the boy bands of yesteryear.
My outlandish claims made Gray laugh beside me. She scooted a little closer. Our sides touched. “You’re adorable.” I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “I’m serious, look at you-such a little cutie.”
“Sounds like it’s gonna be a star-studded cast… Mom and I will be willing to work for cuddles and kisses, but you’re gonna need some serious cash if you want to hire all those celebrities. How will you pay them?”
I rubbed my chin in thought. I brushed my choppy red bangs away from my face. “I’ll be rich.”
I might’ve been a naive idiot but… I wasn’t even eleven when I’d made the preposterous false prediction. This video was shot way before I’d learned how common it was for life to force a person to choose between ‘making their dreams come true’ and ‘making ends meet.’ How common it was for fantasy to get pitted against reality.
“Seems like you have it all figured out. Well, what happens once you finish this movie of yours?” My dad asked. “After you make your dreams come true, what will you do? In stories, nothing comes after ‘The End,’ but that’s not how it works in real life… So, what will you be doing during your ‘happily ever after?'”
“I, um- I’ll-” I stuttered before looking down, unsure how to answer the loaded philosophical question. “I don’t know.”
“Nothing’s wrong with having big dreams. But you know what your goal should be? What you should work toward? To live a life that’s so fulfilling, your dreams are left with no choice but to mimic your reality… You think you can do that?” He asked and I nodded, yes. I initially looked nervous, but my face broke into an excited smile when he said his next statement. “Good. Don’t worry though, I promise I’ll be there every step of the way. Cross my heart, Cassidy.”
After his (now-broken) promise, the way-too-short video ended. It was only when Gray placed my laptop on the low glass table did I realize tears were dripping down my face. I tried to bite back the emotions, but I couldn’t. My roommate leaned against the inside arm of the couch nearest to her. She pulled and positioned me, so I was reclining against her chest.
“No, no, don’t hug me or I’m not going to stop crying.” My words were broken up by hiccups and sniffles. Despite my instructions, I wasn’t trying to get away. On the contrary, I was holding on to her colorful forearms that she’d wrapped around my middle. “Gray, I-”
“You don’t have to stop,” she cut me off. “It’s okay to cry.”
I didn’t cry often. But whenever I did, I always gave myself a time limit. An urgent deadline for when I had to pick myself up and put my mask back on. But Gray’s last statement gave me permission to feel everything I constantly shoved down. And with her holding me tighter than tight in Apartment 202, feel everything was what I proceeded to do.
. . .
Opposites attract. I could’ve used that two-word phrase to explain to Gray why my dreamer-dad fell for my pessimist-mom. It would’ve been clean-cut, but it also would’ve been dishonest. Since it was only when she’d lost my dad did my mom lose her ability to dream, too.
When I was a little kid, both my parents were my biggest fans.
Understandably though, my mom was beyond broken after my dad’s unexpected passing. She’d met the love of her life at twenty then lost him by the time she was thirty-five. And she had no choice but to build herself completely anew… Unlike me, she’d grieved, let go and moved on. Refusing to wallow in the past, she’d crafted a new version of herself. Remarried just two years later, gave birth to two boys one after the other. Her ‘fight responses’ had swiftly led her to building a new life that was by no means identical to the one we had but happy nonetheless.
A life I didn’t fit into-a life where I’d always be the black sheep. Despite how strained mine and my mom’s relationship was, I knew that we loved each other. But I also knew that it hurt her to even look at me since I reminded her of someone that was long-gone. I not only resembled my dad, but I also still wanted to be just like him. But he was a superhero in my eyes, so why wouldn’t I..? Anyway, this might’ve just been me, but I’d always felt like ‘forgetting’ and ‘not remembering’ weren’t synonymous. Like I couldn’t force myself to ever forget anything, but I could actively avoid reminders of things I no longer wanted to think about.
So, yes, I’d left home at eighteen because I couldn’t forget my dad, but I also left because I didn’t want to keep reminding my mom of him.
In Apartment 202’s living room, I continued telling Gray my life story. After she’d grabbed me a drink earlier, she plopped down on the green chair adjacent to the couch, so we could talk face-to-face. My voice was weird and my eyes were puffy because of how hard I’d cried in her arms, but I didn’t feel self-conscious. It was just the two of us anyway.
“I used to go home for the holidays… But when my brothers got bigger, it got harder to be around them. Like when they were babies, they were just cute and kinda gross,” I said and my roommate chuckled. “Then suddenly, they’re talking in full sentences, telling stories about a home life that should be familiar to me but wasn’t. Pair that with how insufferable my mom can be in person, how hard she tries to get me to admit that I’m wasting my life.” I rolled my eyes. “Just so she can tell me: ‘I told you so, Cassandra.’ And fuck, I couldn’t keep doing it.”
“Yeah, no, that sounds rough.”
“But I don’t know, Gray-” I tucked some hair behind my ear. “The older I get, the more I worry that she’s been right all along… Maybe I just haven’t thrown in the towel yet because of ‘the sunk cost fallacy.'”
“What? No, that’s bullshit.” She adamantly shook her head. “I know it’s hard ’cause she’s your mom, but you don’t need to listen to negative noise from anyone. You’re young, you have your whole life ahead of you.”
“Sure, according to most people, I’m young. But at twenty-five, my dad was already a whole-ass parent. My mom? Even younger at twenty-two… Meanwhile, here I am, pushing thirty with nothing to show for it.”
My biggest fear was dying ‘young’-dying before I did something meaningful with my life. Look, I knew there was no point in speculating about whether or not I’d make it past thirty-eight because not even tomorrow was promised. However, in case I wasn’t going to either, then I was running out of time with each sunrise and every sunset.
“Pushing thirty? Cass, you’re like not even twenty-eight yet. Also, that was such a different time… People are having kids way later nowadays.”
“I guess.” I’d always felt like the ‘different generation’ excuse was such a cop-out. “But like this is my life and ‘it’s ending one minute at a time.'”
“Damn, that’s depressing… Deep but hella depressing.” Her mouth formed a frown. “Did you just come up with that?”
I shook my head. “No, I wish… That’s from ‘Fight Club.'”
“Yeah? Oh shit. Fuck.”
“Huh? What’s wrong?” I was alarmed by her unexpected panicking.
“Like full disclosure, I haven’t seen the movie… But I at least know that you broke the number one rule by answering my question just now.” Pretending to be nervous, she glanced over her shoulder. Of course her improv skit cracked me up. “Don’t get me wrong, Cass, I’ll be here if ever you feel like crying again, but I definitely prefer seeing you laugh.”
“Thanks, Gray.” I looked away. My ears suddenly felt hot. “Anyway, what was I saying?” I cleared my throat. “Oh, yeah, um, I’m just tired of how stagnant my life has been. Since I graduated, I haven’t accomplished anything.” I was now being transparent with her about my fraudulent ‘professional life.’ “For so long, I’ve just been making ends meet and coasting, really. Experience-wise, I barely have any projects under my belt. Like my ‘reel’-” I made disparaging air quotes with my fingers. “Is absolute shit… But I don’t have funds to produce my own stuff or work on indie projects ’cause I need to pay back my student loans and keep a roof over my head.” I groaned at our ceiling. “I’m sorry, I’m just venting. I know life’s hard for everyone… I’m being such a whiny little bitch.”
“You’re not. It’s perfectly normal for anyone to complain about being caught in a ‘Catch-22 situation,'” she consoled me. “I’ll let you in on a secret… No one our age has everything figured out.” Like a smart ass, I brought up Pink Ranger and her girlfriend. “Fine, no one in their twenties has everything figured out except for those two lesbian cyborgs,” she amended. “I sure as hell don’t.”
“But you have Scope and you guys are killing it.”
“Scope was born during an LSD trip… It wasn’t the culmination of some lifelong dream. We were supposed to come up with a great invention a la ‘Shark Tank,’ but we couldn’t stop talking about clothes,” she informed me, laughing. “And yeah, fine, it’s doing well and I’m glad, but I’m not making any money from it yet ’cause everything we make goes back in. All things considered, at this point, it’s still a passion project.”
I gaped at her, surprised. “Really?”