Author: Mike Lee
Mike Lee is an editor and reporter at a trade union with stories published in a variety of venues.
I am on the train to work, looking through an interior design book. While going through its pages is cathartic, this is often fleeting with my realization this is only engaging in daydreaming, a matter of fantastical exercises.
I live alone and while the job pays well, I am past the age of anything better than retirement somewhere in the south, and quite diminished in size.
My fingers touch paper printed in Singapore. My fingers trace Scandinavian chairs and tan and white curtains. Sconces on walls similar to the one I bought.
It is as close to home as I come.
I lived in apartments and houses, but never a place I would call a home.
I was married for several years but never had a wife. This is like having relatives but not a family.
I am all too familiar with the concept of negation. One moment you have someone. The next, you sit at a table in the courtroom, filing papers with my attorney into folders as the other party leaves.
With each page turned, I continued to trace the forms of club chairs and side tables. Sectionals and rugs.
I think about how it would be with me there in these rooms, a yard with a wading pool and live oaks, and a flagstone path to the street. Something modern, a payable mortgage, and good neighbors who say hello when they see me.
Interiors, exteriors, but why does it matter?
I am an adult in childhood daydreams with hopes never attained.
I put the design book back into my bag. I stare ahead until the subway stops at my station. Maybe there is hope in these little fantasies. Hope can be a powerful tool in recovery and renewal.