Catch that dream

By Conray Guallar Blignault

We entered through a narrow arch into a majestic room with a grand staircase. Center of the room two colossal African blackwood tables with thick glass, and on those tables, plants I have never seen before, that almost touched the high ceiling. This means money.

“Just wait here, Joanna is seeing someone,” Said Ykey, a guppy cheeked, red head in a grey pencil skirt and white blouse. A bombshell--hardly--rather a librarian fresh out of a beauty parlor. Why she has a name like that still boggles me. I notice her face. She was in the Sunday Times, just the day before. The most read paper thickened with crime and sports pages. She must have gotten a tremendous amount of exposure. The phone hasn’t stopped since we got here, and she played android like Elton John plays the piano.

From where my sister and I sat on an old vintage couch with carved wood armrests and heavy embossed fabric, through an archway, we could see a backdoor and next to it a fridge, so it is obvious there is a kitchen. On the fridge with a bulky Eiffel Tower magnet, a sign reading make yourself something, while waiting. I could never—but my sister would not let that sign invite her twice—

At Ykey’s desk another woman mumbled something, her word lost within the great room, unable to hear her question. Ykey stood up and walked over to an enormous pile of paper on a table next to her desk. Slush pile. I thought. She pulled what I believe was a manuscript from it. Babbled something whispery, and the woman left with sagging shoulders, a long face and tears. Someone who doesn’t know what happens in a place like that, would think that she just got news of death. The woman exited out the back door before Ykey could see her out. That is when I saw a tall man—or more of a boy—walk in, channeling Harry Styles. But his curls were a deep black, glinting. He must have seen my sister when we arrived.

“Who is that you’re with?” he asked my beautiful and busty sister.

“My brother,” she mumbled through a bite, the mayo dripping from the sandwich. No man can intimidate her, not even a gorgeous one.

I couldn’t help myself. “Is mine in there?” I whispered unprofessionally to Ykey. Pointing at the pile, she pulled the other woman’s manuscript from. She politely propped up in her chair and wheeled over in the chair like a ballerina.

“Dear, if you’re asked to wait, then it is a good sign. The ones from that pile don’t get to see Joanna.” I didn’t know whether my heart was pounding in my chest or in my ass, but my legs noodled. My hands moist. I breathed short deep breath, trying to keep my pose. “Thank you” I smiled. “Bathroom?”

In the bathroom, once the door shut, I realized—I wasn’t just a writer, inside of me I had contortionist. Nearly broke a mirror. Screamed silently a few times, and forgot to pee. When I entered the grandiose room again, a bulky woman with thick black rimmed reading glasses and a high coif, was sitting at the foot of the grand staircase.

Ykey moved me along with her eyes. “Go” she whispered by use of ventriloquism.

My hand was so moist that I pretended to forget to greet her by hand.

“Sit” my manuscript in front of her. Took me back to a day in grade 6, when I failed an exam paper. This one however is scribbled in black. Do they even do that,  I thought to myself.

“You are definitely a writer,” she says with a light smile that perfectly presented her large veneers, rubbing her hands together, I could smell the perfume on her wrists as she moved. Citrusy and fresh notes, a scent that calms me.

“I want you to feel the scenes more.” She explained passionately. “Like here” she points with the pen. “Where the priest enters, it has to be vivid, heart felt. Spread her manok. You know what I mean?”

“Yes definitely” of course I would agree, so far I got way more than expected.

“This is a great story. A five book story. They will upload it as a 5000k file and we will get 30%.”

“Five books?” I wondered, but didn’t say a word. Ill give her ten if she asks.

I couldn’t feel what I was doing, smiling, flabbergasted. Eyes stiff in my head, shot to tears I couldn’t hide.

“It is perfectly fine to get overwhelmed, this is a big day for you. Let it out.”

My vest was already moist. Finally this day has come. I felt warm.

The  I realized the fan was off, and the 8am sun was already taunting me through the wide sycamore branches outside my window. This only felt real, but imagine my disappointed when I woke up and it was all just an amazing dream or could it be a glimpse into the future.