Rêverie | Vol. 6 Issue 11
“ William, take us to the Killebrew’ s, would you?”
“ Yes, Mr. Mann,” the driver replied.
The drive perhaps lasted 10 minutes or shorter, yet to me it was eternity. I could not break my gaze from the stranger’ s- no, Mr. Mann was what the driver called him- from Mr. Mann’ s eyes. He talked incessantly all the while, telling me of how I was wasting my life and of things about myself no one but I should know, seemingly unaware of my gaze, and offered me a Cuban cigar, which I, though I do not smoke, took without question.
At long last we pulled to a stop. I could hear music, what sounded like an orchestra. Mr. Mann’ s eyes flashed gold again and said“ Look”, and I saw a mansion. It was a beautiful mansion. A trimmed grass lawn led to an archway supported by columns on each side. Ornate designs lined the doorway, and laughter burst from its insides. Through the open door I could see people dancing, drinking, talking, and past that there was patio overlooking a river with more of the same. All the men wore suits of rich material, and the women dresses of obscene beauty. And here I sat in my dirty boots, filthy overalls, and stained shirt. Slowly I felt the familiar hotness of envy crawl into my heart. How long had I dreamed of parties like this! The class, the elegance, the pure enjoyment- all unattainable by me. Many an evening had I spent dreaming of this at The Americana of such luxury. Not even a cheap suit to my name, I was condemned to factories and speakeasies forever.
Fortunately, before this self-pity could grow any further, Mr. Mann glanced at me and once again I found myself entranced. He calmly stepped from the car and strode towards the columns, and of course I followed. After we had passed through the archway, the light emanating from the party his watch flashed for an instant, and I was once again reminded of my relative poverty and sorry state.
“ Wait!” I half-whispered, halfgroaned.
Mr. Mann, who was just stepping over the threshold, turned back. His face looked as if I had done him some great inconvenience.“ What is it?” he snapped.“ I-- I’ m not like you people. I am truly sorry. It’ s just that-- well-- I’ m just a factory worker, sir. I don’ t even have a proper suit. What business do I have with a party like this? I don’ t have watches, canes, silk ties. I’ m sorry, I
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