Walking down the stairs, I couldn’t help but think about a certain story that’s waiting for me back at home. The story about someone climbing a mountain, or even at the very least reaching it, intrigued me. Not just because I could turn it into a piece of good fiction if written right, but I couldn’t help but feel like I’m undervaluing its potential. 

I never went to college and got a degree in English studies or at writing which made a lot of snobs think I’m a hack that just so happened to get lucky with my readers. Well bitches, listen up. I got a publishing company to take my work in only two mother fucking attempts. Even the most famous authors are usually told to revise multiple times, unless they make billions, but that doesn’t matter.

What I’m trying to say is that I’ve worked my way up here. Before I even wrote my first book, I self studied. Turns out, the writing community is actually very helpful when sharing tips between each other. Especially when those authors have a platform, they’ll give free advice on YouTube, which I found helpful as fuck. 

Do you know how much money I saved from just listening to a college lesson a professor posted on the internet? I didn’t go into crippling debt during my first year of writing, so that should be enough to award me a medal. That doesn’t mean I didn’t go into debt though. It just wasn’t crippling.

One of the many things I learned throughout those videos, and the advice I searched up the most, was advice pertaining to symbolism. In a story derived of little plot to speak of, outside of connecting point A to B, symbolism is an amazing tool to perk up a story.

I remember reading The Great Gatsby in highschool, and I thought that shit sucked. It was just party after party, then the rich guy dies. Spoiler alert, I guess, but that’s an old book with two decently respected movie adaptations. By this point, getting spoiled isn’t a factor anymore. 

However, on a second read-through, I could spot a good amount of symbolism here and there pertaining to a certain thing called the American Dream. It’s a concept that’s as old as the founding of America itself. The idea that as long as a man can work hard, and keep up the work regularly, then even a poor man with nothing to their name can make it to the top.

What a stupid idea it was.

The idea of that forgone dream may have started out with merit. The Gold Rush is a testament to that. But, as time passed, the people realized what a hack that dream turned out to be. A phrase used to inspire the poor working class quickly turned into a way to blackmail them into working in awful environments cause, after all, you’ll move your way up in time. 

Still, after all these years, even after all the books and movies and plays that came out denouncing that dream as nothing but false ideals spun by the people towering over them, there were still people grasping at that concept. The idea still stays strong. Maybe it even grew in power, and there are many victims thanks to its enticing whispers in our ears.

As I walk down the stairs, I can see that mountain that’s in my dreams. I can see that mountain that’s on the page. I can see the mountain, because I’m currently walking down it. I can see my dream just within reach. If I write this, then maybe I can finally accomplish my American Dream. I can become someone that lives past my body’s expiration date. 

However, how can this story excel? Symbolism is the answer to this question. If The Great Gatsby, a mediocre book with a mediocre story, can become a classic beloved among a ton of people, then I can be counted amongst the greats such as Mary Shelley and Shakespear.

But first I need to come up with the story before anything else. Without the story, I can’t put in the symbolism that’ll realize my dream. 

As I’m thinking about the story, I hear someone call out to me. I wake from the depths of my mind and look around. I was standing in front of the first set of stairs. People walked around me as they began leaving as the park was closing for the day. The sky shined with an orange hue as the sun set behind the horizon, letting the night take the spotlight. 

“Ty.”

I look to my right and see Miranda waving me over. She’s leaning against the plateau walls, watching traffic pass by and cars leaving. The lighting of the sky turned her blond hair into a yellowish orange that looked as if a painter just mixed the colors together without care for the end product.

I walk over to her and lean next to her, watching traffic stop at the red light that was nearby. It turned green as soon as I spotted it and cars began moving and stopping as the other sides turned red.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“Jessica asked if I mind her smoking. I said no, but I walked away anyway. I’m not a fan of cigarettes.”

“But you’re a fan of ripping people off?”

“What are you, the ethics police?”

“Aren’t all police the ethics police?”

She laughed and stretched her arms out, groaning from her muscles pulling. I think I heard her back snap and crack as she stretched it as far as it could go. 

“You seen Karina? I asked her to not bother you.” Miranda asks.

“Well, that failed cause she came right to us.”

Miranda sighed like a mother coming to terms that their child did something wrong and they’ll have to think of a punishment for them. I can’t really imagine her as a mother, though. Something about her just told me that kids and her don’t really mix well. She probably had a few of her merchandise broken by a few children, and I wouldn’t blame her for not liking kids if that were the case. If a snot-nosed brat broke something I could sell for a hundred dollars, I would definitely hate them as well.

“I’ll talk to her later. Sorry about that.”

I waved my hand to let her know it didn’t bother me. “Don’t worry about it. She didn’t do much except try to flash me.”

“That isn’t the first time she’s done that. Usually it takes her getting drunk for her to feel confident enough to do it, but her doing it while sober isn’t new either.”

Now that the main person is here, I can finally ask a question that’s been bothering me for a while answered. 

“Why are you two friends, anyway? I don’t mean to be rude, but you are two completely different people. And don’t give me the opposites attract nonsense. We both know that’s bull.”

She looked at me wryly. “You ain’t gonna add a shit to that bull?”

“What?”

Miranda shrugged. “I don’t know. You just seem to have a foul mouth. Ever since I met you, I’ve heard more cussing in a day than I have in a month.”

I don’t have a foul mouth. Do I? I mean, I never really hear it myself, but I don’t listen to myself either. I could just be cussing in my mind and never even realized it cause I do that shit so often. Anyway, I’m not going to let her slide from this topic. I’m genuinely curious as to how these two got together.

“Can we get back on track?” I ask.

“Alright.” She leaned back against the plateau, snuggling herself close to the rock wall. “It’s true that we went to the same highschool. We didn’t go to Juxten High like most people here. Me and her actually went to an all female high school just out of the city.”

That familiar description rang a name in my head almost immediately. “You mean Juxten Peak School?” 

I remember hearing about that school before. It’s a private school built to only house girls from kindergarten all the way to highschool. The place is also decently cheap for a private school, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t expensive. The rich people of Juxten would send their daughters there as soon as possible. 

It’s also possible for a person to get into the school if they pass a test that is handmade by the teachers to challenge anyone that wants to attend. I don’t know what’s on that test but I’ve always imagined it having stuff like that stupid infinity sign in calculus and algebra. 

“Yeah, we went to school there. I got in via entrance exam while Karina’s parents bought her way in when she was in kindergarten. We both met in what you would call freshman year of highschool. For us, it was just grade nine.

“Karina was the same back then as she is now. She would cause ruckus, wreak havoc, but all with a stupid grin on her face. Most of the girls there were actually terrible around men, but Karina would speak to them frequently. There was a guest speaker that came to the school who was a man. Nobody wanted to talk to him, except for Karina. Most of them only grew up around other girls and we were taught sex education in, to put it nicely, pretty unorthodox ways which made a lot of us distrust men.

“Karina was the exception to everything, so it was only natural that I gravitated to her. I came from public school and couldn’t relate to everyone else, so Karina being there was honestly a delight.” 

“So how was young Miranda?” I say as smugly as possible. To add in a bit of annoyance, I even raise my eyebrows and grin as smugly as possible.

“Oh, I was just as wild as her. If I didn’t make friends with her as quickly as possible, I’d have been kicked out of that school in no time. My parents aren’t rich, so I don’t have any money to threaten them with like everyone else did. It was Karina that kept me out of trouble. 

“And now that we’re grown up, I want to return the favor. Don’t tell her I said this, but she hasn’t grown past her teenage days. She gets drunk, goes to parties, and will make everything about her. She had to bail me out of trouble as a teenager, so I’m trying to bail her out of trouble now that we’re adults.”

So that’s what’s happening. That brought up a few more questions, but just from her description alone, I could tell that they look after each other much more than any other friendship I’ve seen. It made me somewhat jealous that I’ve never had a friendship that ran that deep, but that was silly talk. I don’t need to be jealous of something like that. 

“Why not have her work at your place, then?” I ask.

“I’ve tried, but she always refuses when I bring it up. She’ll say that she’s just fine and doesn’t need help.”

Why not get that easy job, though? I’m just as confused as Miranda is with this. If I were in Karina’s position, I’d have taken the job right away. The pay is good, she’ll work with someone she knows, and there’s not much traffic coming in and out, according to Harmony. The more we talk about her, the more I realize how I don’t really know who Karina is, and I don’t even think this is the end of it.

“I think it’s about time to go now.” Miranda looked at her wrist and I noticed she was wearing a watch with jewels embedded in the rim. “Seven thirty. It’s the perfect time to head out.” She began walking to the table where everyone else was sitting, and I followed behind her. 

During our talk, the sky transitioned to a dark purple with only a fraction of sunlight still shining from the edge of the horizon. Street lamps turned on and the headlights of cars passing by bathed the city in a new, man made type of light. It’s the type of light that reeked of false prophecies and ideals. The same way Jay Gatsby chased that green light, I couldn’t help but stare at the top of the plateau.

A realization came to mind. We’re all chasing dreams. It’s our expectations and ambitions that’s holding us back.

***

We’re going down the road again, the goth duo of Hellen and Heath were discussing the recent events in local news. Apparently their station is based in Juxten too, so that’s something I’m going to live with for the rest of my life.

“Have you heard about that serial killer the news is talking about?” Hellen asks. 

I have! I yell in my mind as I metaphorically raise my hand in my brain. I like to think I’m participating from time to time.

“Yeah. Scary.” That’s all he had to say about it. The new generation of news is truly breathtaking. “Up next is I Hate Heaven by Gerry Olly. Enjoy.”

What do you know, the song that plays over the speaker sounds exactly the same as the last two. It’s by a different dude from the last ones, but I swear that voice sounded completely identical. Lesson in life: It’s hard to tell apart people’s voices when they’re screaming at the top of their lungs.

Miranda looked ahead, Karina rocked her head to the beat, Jessica and Harmony looked out their windows, and I sat uncomfortably in between them. It’s as if everything that just happened never occurred, like waking up from a dream and forgetting it instantly. The difference between that and this, however, is that I can remember the trip to the park. 

“It’s up here.” Miranda said. 

We stopped at one last red light and I can only imagine what they were bringing me to. What could all this anticipation even amount to? A long car ride, a break in a park, and then another car ride has to show for something. However, somewhere deep inside me, I knew it wasn’t going to be anything spectacular. 

The light turned green, and the car moved forward once more. Then it turned into a small but crowded parking lot. Miranda found a good place to park and stopped the car. Everyone’s doors opened, and they began climbing out. I had to wait a bit longer for Harmony to hop out before I could leave, but when I did, I looked at this restaurant that’s apparently the best they’ve ever visited.

My disappointment is immeasurable. All it is, is a crummy restaurant and bar in one.