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He had as little faith in me as his family. And I could maybe accept it from them. I’d only just made their acquaintance; we barely knew each other. But Peter knew me. Maybe we hadn’t been together for very long, but heknewme. And he didn’t believe I had what it took to make something of myself.
We kicked our shoes off the moment we stepped foot in his condo and went to bed with every intention of taking a nap. I was exhausted after only having a couple of hours of sleep that morning, yet I couldn’t find the internal peace needed to rest. My mind was busy, racing with every negative and backhanded comment from our time at his parents’ house, and I could only listen to Peter snore for so long before I carefully climbed out of bed and headed for the living room.
And there, I thought about Dylan.
I scolded myself at first for allowing even his name to weasel its way into my brain. The vile things he’d said the day before were still fresh in my mind, and I knew anybody with a shred of self-worth wouldn’t forgive him. Not so soon anyway. But the longer I lingered on his name, face, career, the more it made sense why I’d think about him now.
Dylan had known from an early age what he wanted out of life. He had always known he wanted to be a musician, a songwriter, a performer, and he’d stopped at nothing to get it.
I wondered,How many people disregarded his dreams? How many times was he laughed at before they took him seriously?
It wasn’t long ago when I would’ve wished I could pull out my phone and text him, knowing with an aching heart that it was impossible.
But it wasn’t anymore.
Me: Hey. Don’t think this is me forgiving you because I am still disgusted with what you said to me yesterday. But when you get a chance, I have a couple questions.
Dylan: Shoot.
Me: How long did it take for people to believe you could actually make it in the music world? Did anybody have faith in you, or were you alone in that?
Dylan: Nobody but my parents believed I could do it until I got a record deal.
Dylan: So, yeah, it was pretty lonely for a while.
Dylan: But that’s the nature of being a creative person. Everyone looks at your thing as a silly little hobby until you actually start doing something with it. You start paying bills, and that’s the moment when they say, “Oh, I guess you were serious about that. Cool.”
Me: Nobody has ever taken me seriously about anything, and now, I go ahead and decide to follow a dream, and it’s just giving them more reason to laugh at me.
Dylan: So, you know what you gotta do?
Me: What?
Dylan: Prove them wrong.
Me: Yeah, well, that’s easier said than done.
Dylan: Nothing worth having has ever been easy to obtain. They call it a dream because it’s an ideal, something perfect, and perfection is damn near impossible to reach. But it can happen. Obviously, it does for some people, and who the hell’s to say it can’t happen for you?
Me: Uh, everyone I had breakfast with this morning, apparently.
Dylan: And who are they to you?
Me: Just my boyfriend and his family, LOL.
Dylan: Hmm. Well, what I said still stands. Prove them wrong. Give yourself a reason to laugh at them and tell them, “Ha, told you I could do it, fuckers.”
Dylan: And, hey, just so you know, I have never spent a single moment doubting what you’re capable of. So, if you need someone in your corner, I’m there.
I lowered my phone to my lap and stared out toward the blank screen of the TV while I wondered how it was that this supportive, wonderful person could be the same man who had made me bite back tears last night.
I came up with nothing, apart from two things.
One, the conversation with him was exactly what I’d needed to breathe the confidence back into my heart.
And, two, my corner was getting awfully crowded.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
