Arrogant

"He's such a prick."
"Yeah, no kidding, who does he think he is anyway?"
"Hey girls, what are you talking about?"
Brittany's two friends looked up at her with scowls as she approached with her lunch. Fortunately for her, the scowls were not directed at her.
"The next 'big thing'," Bridget said using air quotes and rolling her eyes.
"Have you heard about this guy Brady Rodgers?" Tiffany asked.
Brittany shook her head of straight, long blonde hair as she sat down and picked up her fork.
"He's oh so famous," Bridget exclaimed, leaning forward and batting her eyelashes in mock admiration, letting her red curls fall over her green eyes.
Brittany just shrugged and forked a piece of broccoli from her salad.
"He was on some reality show the half of the world without a brain watches," dark-haired Tiffany explained more helpfully. "Apparently he just launched his debut album and is breaking sales records for a new artist."
"He shouldn't even count as a new artist," Bridget protested as she picked at he French fries. "Technically, he's been performing for like six months now."
"Oh aren't you the fan," Tiffany teased as she took a bit of a raw carrot, and then in the midst of her chewing, "You been following him since day one, huh?"
"Eww, no, gross," Bridget insisted, perhaps a bit too quickly.
Brittany smiled just a little at that. "Oh come on," she said calmly, "he can't be that bad."
"Oh yes he is!" the other two insisted in unison.
...

A Bad Day

This morning I took a cold shower before eating my least favorite breakfast of apple cinnamon pop-tarts. I rode the bus to work and noticed a stain on my suit. When I was getting off the bus, the latch on my brief case broke and all my papers fell out. When I got to work, my boss called me into his office to tell me he could not give me a Christmas bonus this year. The computer program I needed to enter data wouldn't work, so I had to find another computer to use. I ate lunch alone in the cafeteria. I spilled milk on my pants and had to go into the bathroom to clean it up as best as I could. When I went back to work, people kept interrupting me. I had to work late to make up for the time I lost. I missed the bus I planned to take and had to walk an extra half mile to catch another one. When I got home, I noticed that a hinge on my door was coming loose. I had to look up what bus would take me to the store so I could buy a screwdriver so I could fix the hinge on my door. After I got back from the store, I reheated leftovers for dinner, and tried to watch TV, but the reception from my antenna was bad and I could barely see the picture. After I finished eating, I decided to read a rather dry book about succeeding in an office instead. I had no pets to feed, no wife to talk to, and no children to play with. I had no hot water, limited options for entertainment, and my fridge was not fully stocked. I went to bed under a pile of blankets because I don't turn my heater on above 60 degrees. I fell asleep thinking about how I would wake up the next day and do this all over again. There was a smile on my face.

Two months ago, I had no shower, or any water, at all. I did not know what I was going to eat for breakfast each day, or if I would be able to eat at all. I had no money to pay for bus fair, and no job I would take the bus to. I carried all my belongings in a backpack, and business papers were not among them. I had no income, yet alone thoughts of a Christmas bonus. I owned no computer and barely even knew how to use one. Lunch was the same as breakfast: uncertain. I did not have the option of sitting in a peaceful, quite corner of a heated cafeteria, enjoying my hot lunch. I had no suit to get stained or to spill milk on. I had no co-workers to stop by and ask me how I was doing and offer to help. I did not have the option to stay late at the office, finishing up work and enjoying the warmth of the building. I did not have money to pay for any bus ride home, all I could do was wander for miles and miles, or try to find a warm place to sleep for the night. Most nights, I could find dinner at a soup kitchen, but there was no door of my own to fix, no TV of my own to watch, and no books to read. My bed was a box spring mattress with one blanket the nights I slept at the shelter, and a park bench with a blanket of newspapers the nights I did not. Every night, I went to bed with a frown and a tear, dreading to wake up the next day and do it all over again. Every day back then was a bad day. Today, on the other hand, was a very, very good day.

All I Want

People run after so many things in life: love, career, fitness. Me, all I want is pancakes: light, buttery, fluffy, and covered in syrup. Most scoff at me when I tell them that my goal in life is to have pancakes for breakfast at least four days a week, but you try to make the effort to do that yourself and see who's scoffing then. For the past year, I have never once gone more than two days without eating pancakes.

Pancakes remind me of home, and of my mommy. She makes the best buttermilk pancakes. She would put real blueberries in them, too. I usually settle for blueberry syrup, which isn't nearly as good, but still gets the job done. Most days I do make the pancakes myself, just like my mommy taught me, but going to a breakfast place like Village Inn or Denny's is acceptable, as long as you go for breakfast time.

When I eat pancakes, I feel years younger. I don't care about boys or shopping. I just care about being happy, and pancakes make me happy. Other people tell me it's stupid. They tease me a lot. But I don't really care because I have my pancakes. Yum!

Maybe someday, I'll "grow up." Maybe I'll have a great job where I make a real difference in society and make lots of money. Maybe I'll find a nice boy and fall in love and raise a family of my own. One thing I know for sure: if I ever have a daughter, I will teach her how to make pancakes, and all my children will always have their stomachs full of light, fluffy, buttery goodness, covered in maple syrup. Sure, I'll teach them to read and write and do arithmetic, too, but above all, I want them to be as happy as I am right now, and for that, there's really only one thing they'll need: pancakes.

The Other Side

When I look at her, it breaks my heart, knowing how much I care for her and how little she cares for me. She appreciates me, I know. Well, maybe not me, but at at least all I have to give her. What makes me saddest of all was that she might have even grown to love me, had she not met the one she truly loves.

I am not a young man, but that doesn't mean I no longer have feelings. We speak very little of our past, but I was in love, truly in love, once upon a time. I know what it feels like and looks like and sounds like. What I have for her is different, and what she has for me is no where close. My first and only true love was taken from me two decades ago, but that's a tale for another time.

Oh, if only she could have us both! I know in my heart that they would be happy together, at least for a little while, but she did marry me for my money after all. Would she grow to despise him if he took all this away from her and gave her only his heart? Would it be so wrong if I kept her on like this and turned a blind eye to whatever affairs may come? Though it is not love we have for one another, it is still a kind of comfort, at least for me. Am I so selfish to not want to part with her?

And yet, somehow, deep inside, I do care for her and know she cannot be happy like this. Do I care enough to let her free? I'm lonely. She was a companion to me in my loneliness for a short while, and though her touch comforts me still, I know she feels distant and lost. Is the only way to not lose her entirely to give her up?

Surely I can find another like her. To me, she is not unique. To him, she is. I know what love is: a person who might seem ordinary to anyone else is extraordinary to you. That's the way they see one another. I can sense their passion, no matter how hard they try to hide it. I am not a fool, though they think me to be.

Am I just being selfish? If I know all this, why does it still pain me so to let her go? I should be glad to be rid of her, to let her go on her way, to the one who truly loves her, to have for myself another chance to find a love like the fleeting love I once felt. Why do I hesitate? Am I so self-serving?

I always thought myself a good man, a kind man, a noble man. I treat others fairly both in business and in my personal life. Perhaps I am just angry, angry that she said the vows without really meaning them. Well, she meant them at the time, but I have no doubt that she wishes now that she had never said them. And, now, knowing their hearts to be so pure, it is only I who have the power to let them be together.

Is that what this is about? Is it all about the power? Is it only my need to feel vital that is keeping them apart? I would like to think better of myself, but maybe it is so. I'd like to tell myself that I keep them apart for their own good, that no matter how much they love each other now, it will only lead to pain. I know that pain all too well, but death took my love from me and nothing else. I could never imagine leaving one I truly loved of my own free will.

If I could say I truly loved her, that could be my reason to holding on so dearly. But on the other hand, if I truly loved her, wouldn't I want her to be with the one who could truly make her happy?

All this talk of selfishness and love and pity and poverty is meaningless. All that really matters is that I do what I know to be right. And that is the problem; I do not know what to be right. I have never broken any vow that I can think of. Even if I break my vows to her out of regard for her own well-being, does that make it right?

I am a soul tormented. They see love, and I see it so clearly in them. Yet which is greater, the love they feel to one another, or the promise she and I made? If I were ready to depart this world, I would gladly free her of her bondage, but I am not ready. I am healthy and strong, no matter what others may think, and I know I have decades ahead of me still. Would she be willing to wait that long for him? Would he wait that long for her?

They could never have children if I make her wait like that. She would be far too old by the time they could wed. I can't think about that anyway. It is far too morbid for me to think of what might happen after I die. I need to focus on now, on my own life, and on hers. She is my wife, after all, I am to put her needs above my own. Does that mean breaking my vows for her sake? I do not know.

It would all be so simple if I weren't such an honorable man, or she weren't such an honorable lady, or he weren't so loyal. There would be no trouble if we did not care about causing trouble. But we all care too much, and that's the heart of it all.

Every night I pray that I might see a way to do what is right and best for us all, but I do not think it is possible. Perhaps the only way is for me to disappear. Perhaps not die, I still am not ready for that, but to appear to be dead. A trip from which I never return... how long would she wait for me before she would feel it was okay to move on. Would she wait forever? Would I be doing more harm than good?

I am tired of thinking about it. I am not as young as I used to be, and I need to go to bed. Maybe if I die tonight, it would be a blessing after all. I do not want it, but it would be better for her. Is this what a marriage not built on love is always like?

On Love

She married him when she was 27, having given up on any hope of finding a love of her own. He was kind and gentle and, above all else, the richest man ever to show an interest in her. She figured that if she couldn't have love, money was the next best thing. He wasn't even that old, only 30 years her senior. All this was before she met me.

How I wish he had brought her home first. How I wish I had been allowed to see her before their return from their honeymoon. If only he hadn't been so insistent, perhaps we would have found one another. But even then, would she have left all he could give her in order to be with me? Considering how I have to still the look in her eyes that says she contemplates doing that very thing even now, I think the answer must be yes.

How no one could have loved her before, I will never understand. She is the most beautiful, pure-hearted woman I have ever met. Of course, I am around fellow wait staff and the rich and snobby all day, but still. Her smile melts my heart, and thinking that she cannot be mine boils my blood.

I knew the moment I saw her that I would love her, even before I knew her name. At first I had hoped beyond hope that she was some secret, long-lost daughter; though I knew the master to be marrying a woman half his age, I could not but hope that this was not she. As I grew to knew her and saw the looks of hopeful despair she gave me, I hated her for a moment. I hated her for marrying him before we had a chance to meet. I hated her for meeting me at all. I too had all but given up on love, but at least I had not done something so foolish as marrying one I knew I could never love, only for his money.

But my anger lasted only briefly. Her husband was away often on business, and with me as the head tender of the house, we had many opportunities to speak. She was an artist of sorts, and I noticed how much more intense her paintings became as we spent time together. Before, she had been mediocre at best. As we talked and laughed and cried together, I saw the emotions come out in her work. We never confessed to our feelings for one another, at least not for the longest time. In word, we were only friends, for the longest time.

The day I saw the painting was when that changed. Not just another painting, THE painting. It was the most beautiful but tragic thing I had ever seen. She must not have realized I was standing there watching her strokes because when I said, "That's beautiful," she turned in surprise. Her brush stroke swept across the canvas, destroying a piece of the beauty I had been admiring. She burst into tears, but I could tell she was not angry at me. "It can never be beautiful," she sobbed. I could think of nothing to do but step forward and place my hand on her shoulder and whisper, "It has always been beautiful, and always will be." She knew I was no longer talking about her painting.

After that day, things got very awkward. It was more than just words we exchanged in that moment, but kisses as well. She had spun around and kissed me passionately, forgetting both her painting and her husband. After what seemed both forever and not nearly long enough, I pushed her away. Before I could think of what to say, she said it for me. "We can't do this."

And so it stood. "We can't do this." She was married. Legally bound to a man who ought to be her father. Who ought to be walking her down the aisle and giving her away to me. In another lifetime, in a more just world... What broke my heart was that I made her even sadder than she had ever been before. If she had been able to live her whole life truly believing it was the best life she could have, at least she could have been happy, but now she knew there was something better.

What could I do? I contemplated leaving, but she would still know I existed. I contemplated killing myself, but I feared she would only follow me into the darkness. I contemplated killing her husband, but I was too noble to steal her from him, yet alone to steal his life. The best idea I could come up with was to find some way to make him leave her, but why would he ever do that? She was perfect. And besides, I could never do that on my own; I would need her help, and separating her from her husband was the one thing I could never bring myself to discuss with her, either before or after our moment.

In time, we forced ourselves to forget our encounter, or at least to push it to the back of our minds. In time, we grew cordial again, went back to being friends. Her husband never even noticed, probably never even realized we were as friendly as we were. It would have been so easy to have a true affair, to embrace again, and do more. He would never know the difference, I suspected. The only fear was that another of the staff would tell him, but clearly no one had told him what had happened thus far, and I had my own private quarters, being head of the household keeping. We would be completely alone and no one would know.

It would be so easy, and yet it would be wrong. We both knew it. Both of us were duty bound. Both were honorable and true. The very values that held us together and drew us to one another were the only thing keeping us apart. Neither of us would ever truly love ourselves or the other if we gave up on those principals, but as long as we held to them, we could never truly love each other either.

So my best bet seemed to be to make her stop loving me. I still spoke to her, was friendly and kind, so that she would not realized anything was wrong, but I said little things that I knew she would not like, tiny things that I knew her well enough to see would get on her nerves. I also left many things unsaid. No matter how beautiful her paintings were, I never commented on them again.

I don't know if it worked, but she seems to have lost at least some interest. She no longer asks me the hard, deep questions, no longer wants to know more about my past or my family. She doesn't smile as brightly at me, though the smile is not completely lost. I see now that maybe I could find another, one who is not attached to someone, especially the man I serve.

I sometimes wish I served a less faithful and noble man. If he would just cheat on her it would be so easy. I have thought before of hiring a new maid, beautiful and young, just to tempt him. But we already have other attractive women in the house, though none as beautiful as she. Of course, if he weren't so faithful and good, she never would have consented to marry him and we still would never have met. Why couldn't she plan ahead, marry a scoundrel just in case she were still to meet the man of her dreams? Simple. As I said before, our values drew us together and our values keep us apart. She would not marry and I would not serve any less than the dutiful husband and man that prevents us from being together.

I've said all there is to say. My thoughts only run in circles now. She knows I love her, no matter how convincing my act may be, and I know she still loves me, no matter how convincing hers. The only thing to do is to suffer unless, perhaps by some miracle, fate may bring us together still. I lost faith before, as did she, but I refuse to give up entirely again. Will love find a way? I cannot say. All I can say on love is that if you haven't found it yet, don't settle for less. You never know what may happen, and if you settle, fate can be a cruel mistress.

Magic

When I was a young girl, thousands of years ago, I used to believe in magic. I used to look at the world around me in awe and wonder, all the beautiful things, and think there must be some force behind them. I used to look at the stars and wonder what they could possibly be but magic dust. But science ruined all that for me. Everything has an explanation, and everything is known. Even the most common simple people of the day know that stars aren't magic. There is no magic anywhere.

I used to live next door to a boy who I thought was magical. He was beautiful and pure like no other child I had ever known. Somewhere in the back of my head, I thought he was going to be the one to save the world. He died when he was 17.

When I was young, I used to dream of a perfect world, where no one suffered or died. I've seen too many in agony and had to bury too many of my friends to believe that's even possible.

The life I've led has been an agony, not a blessing, not magical. I just want to end it, but I can't. There is no magic in that. If I had known this was all the "magic" there was, I never would have taken it. To live "happily ever after" is a lie. It's all just "ever after" for me. Ever after my prince was taken from me. Ever after the toad stayed a toad. Ever after the pumpkin was baked into a pie and the sword from the stone rusted away into nothingness. I've seen more of that "magic" than I ever wish to see. I would have never taken this deal if I had known this was the way it would be.

Some might say I've lived to see wonders some could never dream of. When I was a hundred or even two hundred years old, I might have felt that way, but not now. All the things that were wonders then are simple things now. Humanity progresses, but there is no wonder in it. It's just natural. What would be magical would be if we didn't keep learning new things, and yet still make the same old mistakes.

Some people think that there were dragons around when I was born. There were never dragons, and even if there had been, they would not have been magical. I can create a small lizard that breaths out fire myself. I have all the time in the world to figure it out. It does not impress me.

Music, dance, art, they are all meaningless. Magical to some, but not to me. I understand why you think of them as you do. I used to, too, once upon a time. Those days are long gone. Buried a hundred times, as I myself should have been. If anyone ever offers you magic, turn them away. Run as fast as you can. Dive off the nearest cliff if you have to. Magic is worthless. It's something everyone thinks they want, but can never truly have.

I've had my magic, and I'm done with it. I just want it all to be done. I don't even have any wisdom to impart. My years of study have been in vane. I've learned nothing that shouldn't already be obvious. Everything is known already. There is no magic.