When

There were thousands seated in the theatre, but for just a moment…it was silent. I could hear nothing, not even the sound of breathing, as everyone around me held it. Finally, the silence broke...

"Paul Scotsman!"

It was my name. The previously soundless room filled with roaring applause. Music began playing as those around me stood up, clapping, congratulating me. My colleague next to me shouted, “You won! Go!” It felt as if it took centuries for me to get out of my seat, walk down the aisle, and onto the stage. Once I reached the bright, almost blinding, center stage where the mic stood, I was handed my Oscar.

“I…I don’t know what to say. I’ve wanted to create movies, share my story ideas with the world, ever since I was a child. Like many of my peers, it was a tough road to get here - working as a waiter, an assistant, an HR rep... but it was all worth it because one day I took the risk: I moved out to Hollywood. I handed my screenplay to anyone who would read it, and even those who wouldn’t, until the day someone said yes…”

The “wrap it up” music started to play over the sound of my voice. I readjusted the Oscar in my hand and continued as fast as I could.

“…I guess what I’m trying to say is, even when you think you can’t, just go for it. You might not think so, but you, your writing, your story, might just be what…”

The Oscar started slipping. I tried to grab it, but it was too late. It slipped out of my hand and fell into the tub. The shampoo bottle/makeshift Oscar slid around the tub until it stopped against the drain. I reached down to retrieve it, unable to avoid water pouring down onto my face in the process. It was time to get out of the shower.

The day went by like any other: moderate traffic on the drive to work, meetings that could have been emails, and a cold ham sandwich for lunch. To kill the afternoon, I checked the new office fitness program page we had created. There were still only six participants, two of which were the other HR reps. I kept the page up to appear busy and took the small black notebook out of my satchel bag. I turned to the indented page toward the end and reread the screenplay ending I had written three days prior. After obsessing over the idea for the last 72 hours (and only hating it with all of my being a couple of times) I decided I truly loved it. This was my ending.

I also decided I would get gas on my way home. Each time I filled up my tank, I’d also buy a lotto ticket in hopes that one day I’d win, pack up my dull life in Des Moines, move out to LA, and make all my unrealistic Hollywood screenwriter dreams come true.

My tank was already three-quarters full that day.

At the gas station, I picked an assortment of family birthday dates for my lotto ticket. Back at the car, I paid for my gas, put in the nozzle, and began scratching my ticket while I waited. I scratched and scratched, grey wax getting deeper under my fingernails as I grew more excited, scratching harder. It was happening. I won. CLICK! The tank was full yet again, and this time I had won $20,000.

I had dreamt about it hundreds of times, but this time it was real. I would quit my HR job, move out to LA and try with every bone in my body to break into the film industry. If not now, when?

Once home, the excitement took over and I started searching for one-way flights and LA apartments. The $20,000 would be more than enough to hold me over until I found a job out there. But first, a celebratory dinner.

I bought portabello mushrooms, a bottle of red wine that cost more than the usual $12, and a sirloin steak.

I stared down at my sirloin on the grill, then back at the winning ticket in my hand. I kept checking it as if to make sure it was real. It was. I couldn’t help but picture my Oscar winning speech I had given so many times before. This time, closer than ever.

A gust of wind made up of grill smoke interrupted my speech before I had even really begun. As I instinctively coughed into my hand, the ticket slipped out of it. I saw my dream slipping away from me with that ticket as it fell through the grates of the grill and into the fire. It was gone. All of it.

I stood there in shock; I was grief-stricken. Soon, the steak began burning in front of me. I took it off the grill and placed it on the table next to the mushrooms and semi-expensive wine. I took a bite, and although it was scorched, it was still somewhat good. Better than my usual cold ham sandwich anyway. When I was done, I went over to my computer, clicked ‘history,’ and bought the one-way ticket to LA. If not now, when?