Fuel Me, Break Me, Love Me

Chapter 8: Big dreams

Dalon

“Oh yes, right there.” Jane moans. “Oh, that feels so good.” I tighten my grip on the bottle I am holding, causing the jelly liquid to spill over the top. “You can go a little harder, you know. You really have to get it in there.” I look up at the roof, praying for my thoughts to be purified. It is bad enough that she is only in her bikini, which is practically underwear.

“I am really trying to keep my thoughts clean and not think anything inappropriate, but I am going to need you to shut up for me to do that.” I say through clenched teeth and Jane bursts out laughing.

“I am so sorry, I didn’t realize how it sounded.” She says, a blush staining her already red skin. Her ears turn a darker shade of red, and I can’t help but smile, even if other parts of me are currently in pain. It doesn’t help that she is sitting between my legs as I try to run the after sun into her poor, fried skin.

“As long as you don’t go running around in the sun again for hours, I won’t be mad.” I tease, but honestly, I hope she learned her lesson.

“Are you kidding me? Then you might as well hate me because I will be out there every day that I am here. I have freedom out there. I have the time to connect with God and creation and to find pieces of myself while I am out there. I mean today, I felt like I was dying and there isn’t even a river on the map, yet just when I felt like I won’t make it all the way to the town, there was this river with beautiful clear blue water. I was in there for literally an hour and I felt revived after that.” She says, sounding amazed, as if the river was just suddenly created.

“That river has probably always been there. It was luck that you passed it.” I tell her, not one for believing in miracles. I was raised Catholic, but honestly never understood it.

“I know it has probably always been there, but I wasn’t on a trail anymore. I was lost and felt really close to a heatstroke. I never planned on heading in that direction. You might see it as luck, I see it as the Will of God. There was no reason I should’ve gone down the path I did, yet I ended up at the place I was supposed to be at just the right time. It isn’t luck Jack, it is a blessing.” She says and even though I never understood religion, I can see why she would see it as a blessing and not luck. “Have you ever felt like all hope is lost and that ou couldn’t get out of a situation all on your own?” She asks, and I try to think of a time I had ever felt like all hope was lost.

“No, not really.” I say truthfully.

“I am not sure if I should call you blessed or cursed in that case.” She says, and I stop rubbing the jelly liquid into her skin.

“Why would I be cursed for never having felt like I couldn’t get through anything on my own?” I ask her, feeling like I am under attack for reasons I can’t understand.

“When you deal with loss and pain and frustration, that is when God finds you. It is when you are at your lowest, that you get to feel His grace. It is when you feel like you have nothing left, that you truly get to see wonders happen in your life.” She says, sounding like she is far away, no longer in the present and I wonder if she is thinking about her boyfriend that passed away.

“How does that work? Why would a God that you love so much, place you in situations where you have to suffer?” That concept makes no sense.

“You really think God wants you to suffer? In a perfect word, everyone would worship Him, love Him and there would be peace. There would be no hunger and no fear. The thing is Jack, we are in a world where God has blessed us with free will. Some use that free will for bad, while others use it for good. I can’t control the ways and way of thinking of others. I have very little control over what other people do. I do, have power over what I do, though, and how I react to situations.” She sounds like my mother when she is scolding me for acting out.

“You should be a teacher, you sound just like one.” I joke, but seriously, what happened to the woman that was moaning just seconds ago. I want her back.

“I had thought about that at a time. I even tried to teach bible study at my church’s Sunday school. I think I lasted three, maybe four months until I decided that I just couldn’t do it anymore. That is not my calling, and as much as I someday want children, I can’t handle all the different personalities and morals that comes from different parents with their children.” She shivers as if the memories of what she had to endure at that time were disturbing.

“So what do you do then for a living?” I ask her, wanting to know more about the woman I should want nothing to do with.

“I would ask you to guess, but I don’t think you would ever guess it right.” She says with a laugh.

“A writer.” I tell her, remembering the typewriter in her closet.

“Well, you got a part of it right, but that is more a hobby that I am lucky enough to get a little money for on the side.” She says, and I try to imagine what else she could possibly be doing for a living. She is clearly creative, so probably something in that direction.

“A graphics designer?” I ask.

“No, very far off. I might be creative with my writing, but that is as far as my creativity goes. I am horrible when it comes to drawing, and I have tried to create my own book covers and, let me tell you, that has never turned out to look really good. I should probably take a course in that though.” She says, more to herself the last part than to me.

“Well, are you going to tell me or are you going to leave me to keep guessing?” I ask her.

“I guess not. I am in accounting, or at least a portion of it. I have worked myself up from bookkeeping to manager of the team. I am currently busy with my studies to become a qualified accountant, but honestly, between my duties and my studies, I almost wish I had chosen to stay as a senior bookkeeper and not become the manager.” She says and honestly, she is right. I never would’ve guessed that.

“You study, you write, you work full time, what else do you do and where do you ever get time for yourself?” I ask, wondering how one person could keep up with all of that and not feel constant anxiety.

“I don’t have time for myself. I did however, take this trip two weeks before my exams start, so I guess I made some time for myself in the end.” She sounds sad rather than proud.

“Do you enjoy what you are doing?” I ask her, curious as to how normal people think. For me it has always been racing. I did love to DJ, but it is just a hobby, never an option for a full-time career, as for golf, it has always been a way to relax, nothing more. Racing has been my only true passion, and I am lucky enough to be able to pursue that passion.

“I do love the challenge it offers, but it had never been a dream to be an accountant. I always wanted to travel the world, climb up the steps of the Eiffel Tower, not that I am sure it is possible. I wanted to walk along the Great wall of China, see the Big Ben in London, do the big swing in the sss. I wanted to eat tacos in Mexico, pasta in Italy, something I can finally take off my bucket list. The point is I had all these big plans of seeing the world when I grew up, but I haven’t done any of that. Being an accountant is a stable job with a stable income, but it is also long hours, sacrifice in time and peace. It is late nights, and early mornings. That is never the life I imagined for myself. The saddest part is everyone in my family is so proud of what I have done with my life, but I am disappointed in nearly everything they are so proud of.” She suddenly stands up and turns to me. “What would you do if you were me?” She asks, and I stammer. What would I do if I felt trapped in my life, yet didn’t hate my life? I have been living my dream, but I know I am one in a million that had the opportunity to choose this.

“I wish I could tell you. I really wish I had the answers for you, but the best I can offer is to tell you that you need to hold onto those dreams, because without them, who are you?” I tell her and she seems to think that over.

“I appreciate that. Thank you.” She goes to her closet, pulls out the box that she had her typewriter in and places it down on the desk that is near the window. It isn’t the biggest desk, but the typewriter seems to fit just fine. Jane doesn’t say anything, just starts to type, the click of the keys as she presses it, fills the room. I sit there and watch her get lost in writing and accept that it is my time to leave. She doesn’t even move or turn around as I get up and make my way to the door. “You aren’t too bad with words, you know. Maybe you should consider writing someday.” She says, but she doesn’t stop typing and I can only laugh and shake it off. I should start my exercises anyway.