At All Cost

As I lay in bed I listen to the excruciating sound of my wall clock… ticking away at the time I have lost, friendships that have dissolved and the soon to be countdown of my pending eviction. I roll over, place my featherless pillow over my head and scream. How did I get here!!! I had a successful job at a department store, a fiancé, and a countless number of friends…. Well at least I thought they were friends. If I had to pinpoint my demise it would be Tuesday last week. And yes, you might ask as the reader, how did you lose everything in one week. Oh, it’s possible. Let me tell you the story. Well first left me start with my childhood, wait that would take too long to unpack, so let me just skip to the engagement, because everyone loves a love story.

We met on an autumn evening at a poetry café. I was new in town and I saw a sign that said open mic. Once I entered the small but cozy café time stopped. Cadences echoed off the wall and lust slow danced in the air. It was thick with fragrances and hormones. Home is what I felt as I snuggled in between neo-soul and radical beats. The artists were amazing, I knew then I had to touch up my skills to join in next week. Suddenly, he walked in. Everyone in the room acknowledged him and my heart peter-pattered to his breath. Atrayn is what they called him, but Anthony is who I fell in love with. The whirlwind happened so fast. We laughed, argued, had sex. We laughed, argued, and moved in. We laughed, argued, and then we were engaged. Our life played out in poetry venues, over open mics, amongst small and large crowds. I believed people rolled their eyes when they saw one of us step to the mic. For me it was magical. I had someone who stimulated my intellect and challenged me. A matchmade of pronouns and nouns, we were. Now, that I have taken you, the reader on a brief fairytale, let me now destroy your fantasy with last Tuesday!

So here we are walking hand and hand through Prospect Park and suddenly a flyer floats from the sky. Win 20,000 at a poetry slam this Tuesday, the flyer reads.

Excited, I turn to him and say, “let’s do it.”

He shrugs and says, “maybe.”

I skip home and dig through my poetry journals and there it is… my little black book. The book holding all the poems I’ve never read outload. All my heart’s secrets. I know one of the poems in here will be a winner. I practice everyday and night. I tried not to gloat around the house, but I knew I would be the winner. He had not practiced one time from what I saw.

Welp as you might have guessed it’s Tuesday morning… As the reader, brace yourself for the beginning of the end. On this 82-degree day it’s a chilling breeze, the sun plays a casual game of peek-a-boo and the air smells of rain. The phone doesn’t ring with telemarketers and we are not arguing. As a matter of fact, he made pancakes. There was no feeling of doom just happiness. We exit our Brooklyn apartment hand and hand and stroll to the train. There is no wait, there are empty seats. I run through the poem one more time in my head and it still never dawns on me everything is about to change. We arrive. The place is packed. The most seasoned of the poets are in the building. The artistry flowing through the building is beautiful.

Number 43 please come to the stage.

That’s me.

Caressing the mic, I go in... to the reader, I won’t bore you with the gory details but here are some key phrases... I crave polyamory, multiple partners in the sunset and peace from not caring about your feelings. I’m to jaded to love you and if love is an action you are unable to achieve. Passion of a one night stand I crave. Solace of singularity, I see alone in my future.

Mic drops along with jaws. A few snaps, then a thunderous round of applause but Atrayn is gone. Maybe during the poem, I saw a tear fall from his eye. Maybe he grabbed his coat and slammed the door hard. I’m not sure. So caught up in my selfish self, I failed to consider his feelings.

But... I won!!

Twenty thousand dollars, 50 poets and they chose ME! Pulled in a whirlwind of directions I do not get the chance to look for him, I don’t get to talk to my friends or even post on social media the good news. The winning check is placed in my hands and a thousand more pictures are taken. I place the check in my purse, and I step outside.

It’s cold and I’m alone.

The moon is hiding behind the clouds and my once held hand is empty. I walk the ten blocks to my apartment, and I see, and envelope taped to the door. It’s a goodbye and the key. Next to the note is an eviction notice for a noise complaint. And to add insult to injury my plant is dead.

Was this all worth $20,000?