The Stuff that Dreams are Made of

The Stuff that Dreams are Made of

By Kami Bryant

Neil was halfway through his shift when he first saw the trio of strange women. The three were so vastly different looking that Neil wondered at the set of circumstances that brought them together in the first place. The big, beautiful black woman wearing a navy pantsuit and practical shoes looked a lot like Stacey Abrams, with her short natural hair in twists and the gap in her two top front teeth. The second one was an early twenty-something looking Harajuku girl who wore all over sparkly pink and black from her pink and black hair in pigtails, midriff baring cotton candy pink Hello Kitty top, hot pink mini skirt to her pink rhinestone covered platform black boots. The third woman looked a lot like a librarian or Neil’s third grade English teacher Mrs. White.

Neil told everyone that his profession was an actor, though he was forced to work as a waiter to pay the bills. He had a few small speaking parts in televisions shows, commercials that only aired very late at night or very early in the morning on the local television channels and parts in stage productions to his credit. Until his big break came, he worked at a high-end restaurant, his uniform a crisp, spotless, starched cotton shirt, pleated pressed black slacks and a white apron from waist to knee tied around his waist. Neil approached the trio with a wide smile and took their order. As he brought them their cake and drinks, he ran through his lines for the local theater production of To Gillian on Her 37th Birthday. Neil’s own age was closer to forty than thirty, though he insisted that he was still youthful looking enough to play characters in their twenties. Neil had originally been offended to get cast as the father, David, but then decided to make the most of it.

Neil was distracted by a particular juicy scene he was running through his head when the Librarian addressed him as he topped off her black coffee.

“Let’s ask Neil his opinion,” she said.

Neil was caught off guard but quick to play along. Being a waiter was not who he was, but it paid the bills and Neil knew how to turn up the charm to get bigger tips.

“Okay, sure,” said Neil.

“Who is more powerful?” she asked. “Chaotic Evil or Lawful Good?”

“Oh,” said Neil, confused. He had played Dungeons and Dragons in high school, but the trio of women didn’t really look like the type. “Like in D&D? Sure. Well, hmmm. I think chaotic evil is more powerful because chaos can wipe out whole civilizations. Goodness is more of an individual action. One person does something which can inspire someone else and then you have a revolution, but I think evil has a bigger body count.”

The three women froze and stared at him. Neil wasn’t sure exactly what he’d done to provoke their shocked reactions. The Stacey Abrams look-alike stared, and the Librarian began laughing mockingly. Neil quickly grew uncomfortable.

Stacey held out her little tea pot and said, “I think I will have some more hot water please and then we will go ahead and get our check.”

Neil pasted on a glowing smile and asked, “How was the cake?”

“It was good,” replied the Harajuku girl slurping her iced tea from her glass straw.

Neil began to turn. “Oh, Neil,” began Stacey and he turned back to her with a wide toothy grin. “You may be faced with a choice sometime soon and I want you to choose good and do the right thing. Evil isn’t more powerful; it is just easier. Don’t succumb to the temptation.”

Neil froze as the woman grinned her gap-toothed smile. He quickly walked away from the three weird women.

Later that night, Neil was still going over the woman’s words. What could she possibly have meant by that and what gave her the right to even talk to him like that? Really? How dare she? Neil was already upset when his much younger roommate bounced past him to the kitchen. Eric was ten years younger than Neil and was always cast as the romantic lead in his roles which were bigger than Neil’s. Eric wore a baby blue “Free Britney” t-shirt, skinny jeans, and his honey blond hair in two French braids on either side of his head. Neil had to dye his hair to get that shade of honey blond that naturally grew out of Eric’s head.

“I got a call back from that new Netflix show!” Eric cooed, his blue eyes sparkling with satisfaction.

“Congratulations,” Neil forced out, as his jealousy ate at him. Neil had never gotten a call back from Netflix. His last open audition for something so prestigious, he didn’t even get through his entire monologue, the casting director cut him off after twenty seconds and then informed him that he wasn’t exactly the type that they were looking for.

“What do you mean?” Neil had asked her.

“You’re too old,” she’d said dismissing him.

“I am so excited!” Eric squealed spinning on his heel and jumping around in the kitchen. Neil growled at him as suddenly there was a knock on the door. Neil turned to the front door and opened it. Sitting on the front stoop was a brown paper package tied with string. Neil picked up the heavy box and pulled out a small card that read: “To Neil from the Apothecary. It is the stuff that dreams are made of.”

Neil was shaking, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. He took the heavy box with him to the living room and set it on his lap. He unwound the raffia paper twine from the brown wrapping paper and then carefully peeled back the tape and brown paper from the box. He set the wrapping beside him on the couch, he lifted the top off the box and pulled out the object carefully wrapped in tissue paper. It was an Oscar. A statue of a knight holding a crusader's sword standing on a reel of film with five spokes. It looked like an actual Academy Award! Neil read the inscription: Best Actor in a Leading Role, Neil Richards. Neil’s heart beat hard as he held up the heavy statue. Neil stood in his living room, running through acceptance speeches in his head.

“I would like to thank the Academy,” he began.

Eric walked into the living room from the kitchen and froze as he saw Neil standing there with the award raised high. Eric started to giggle. He bent over and held his stomach as he was overcome.

“What?” squealed Eric. “What are you doing?”

Neil frowned as he watched the younger man squeal with laughter.

“Did you buy yourself a fake Oscar?” laughed Eric. Tears streamed from his eyes, and he continued laughing. “Do you think you could actually win an Academy Award? I can’t believe this. You are nothing old man. You are a waiter, and you will always be a waiter playing in tiny back-alley theater productions on the weekends. You aren’t an Academy Award winner! I can’t believe you. Oh my God! I have to tweet this,” said Eric turning away still giggling.

Neil moved without thinking. He didn’t remember walking across the living room carpet to stand before his roommate. Neil’s arm lifted as Eric turned his back to him. Neil watched his arm lift high and then bring the statue down on Eric’s honey blond braided head. Eric fell to the floor at the first blow. Neil’s arm bludgeoned the younger man again and again as blood splattered his face and arms. Neil sobbed as he continued to beat his roommate with the statue.

“Shut up!” shouted Neil to Eric as he beat him and then he hissed to himself, “Stop. Just Stop!”

***

The three sisters stood outside Neil and Eric’s apartment framed by the amber glow of a streetlight.

Lawful Good shook her head and said, “Oh Neil, you should have listened.”

The Apothecary just laughed.

“He could still be alive,” said True Neutral cocking her head to the side as she listened to the blows of the Oscar on Eric’s prone body. “People have been known to survive blunt force trauma and traumatic head injuries.” T.N. continued listening and then finally said, “Nope. Never mind, his heart has stopped. Another win for the Apothecary.”

The Apothecary licked the tip of her finger and drew a one in the air before her. Lawful Good continued shaking her head in disappointment and then turned away from her sisters and disappeared. The Apothecary laughing, also turned away and disappeared. True Neutral was left standing outside the apartment listening to Neil’s hysterical sobs.

“It is the stuff that dreams are made of,” whispered T.N. in her best Humphrey Bogart.

The End