After the dinner clean up and making sure everything was set for the next day, Rita hugged her kids goodnight and headed off to her bedroom. When she unpacked the groceries earlier, she had quickly put the magazine on her night stand by her bed. Upon entering the bedroom, she passed it with a jumble of emotions, heading to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Standing at the sink, she stared at her reflection while the sonic toothbrush buzzed and vibrated throughout her mouth. Quietly she stared, noticing the fine lines around her eyes, feeling the dryness of her skin, assessing and contemplating her looks, her happiness, and the questions presented by the magazine. As the warm water rinsed off the cleansing cream and makeup from the day, her mind wandered, “Was she crazy?” “Did this magazine really hear her?” Drying off her face gently, she decided it didn’t matter, no one had to know and maybe miracles do happen, after all, anything is possible.
Climbing into bed she situated her pillows, making it comfortable for her to sit up while she interacted with the magazine. Carefully, she opened it to the first page, the previously asked questions stood in a neat little row along with the next question in response to her long answer before the phone interrupted her.
Are you happy?
Are they truly the cause for your unhappiness?
So, you need money to be happy?
So, if you had more money and more time, you would be happy?
What I hear you saying, is that if you had more money, more time, lost weight, found a job you enjoy and met someone who loved you, you would then be happy. Is that correct?
“Yes, that’s what I am saying,” she stated out loud, while shaking her head in agreement.
“Are you waiting for these things to happen in your life, so you can then be happy,” inquired the magazine
“Well no, I’m kind of happy now, some days are better than others,” she whispered.
“Why, are some days better than another,” quipped the magazine
“Because some days I like who I am, or I feel good about what I do, or my kids share something special, or I’m not worried about money, it all depends on what is happening and how I feel,” she responded in exasperation.
“Do our questions upset you,” asked the magazine
Now she really began to feel uncomfortable for the magazine could not only hear her responses, it could also feel her emotions. This was getting really bizarre! A part of her wanted to shut the magazine and pretend none of this happened. However, the other part of her just couldn’t, she felt pulled to the page, fixated with what it might say next.
“No, your questions don’t upset me. Well, maybe just a bit. I’m confused by all of this and well honestly, I can’t believe this is happening. Who are you anyways,” she asked.
“You,” answered the magazine
“What? I’m not asking myself these crazy questions. You are!” She almost yelled in reply.
“Mom, are you calling me,” her son yelled out to her.
“No, I’m sorry, just blabbing to myself,” she embarrassedly responded.
“Yes, it is you, it is your Inner Being, your interconnection, to that which is and always has been,” typed the magazine.
“How is that possible,” she quietly asked.
“It just is, why do you question it being possible,” inquired the magazine
“Because why would my Inner Being not just speak within me, how could it possibly type words upon a blank page that I found in a store,” she stated with deep questioning and a desire to understand.
“Your Inner Being is always sharing, you do not listen and anything is possible,” the magazine gently presented.
“I’m so confused, uncertain, struggling to believe,” Rita responded in tired humbleness.
“Close your human eyes and sleep, allow yourself to feel and remember the truth from within,” the words softly landed on the page, like a soft caress that beckoned her to sleep deeply.
A loud ringing jolted Rita out of a very deep peaceful sleep. Recognizing her alarm, Rita rolled over to turn it off. Stretching delightedly beneath the warm soft covers she replayed the unbelievable experience from the day before. Did it all really happen? Was it possible? Did her Inner Being always share and she didn’t listen? If that was true, then what guidance had she missed out on? The bathroom door shut downstairs, that meant her son was likely in the shower to begin getting ready for school, she better get out of bed. No time to waste in such meanderings. As she passed the magazine on her way to the toilet, it was all she could do not to pick it up to see if all the writing was still there or if it had all been a silly dream.
As the coffee dripped into the pot, Rita’s thoughts drifted to childhood. She smiled as she remembered pretending to be a famous artist. When was the last time she played with her paints, opened her sketch pad, took out her camera? Pouring her coffee she tried to recall where she had put her art supplies, they must be in a box someplace buried in the garage. Heading back to her bedroom for a shower, she peaked in her daughter’s room to make sure she was up and getting ready. She knew better than to say anything, for her daughter was not a morning person.
As the shampoo lathered in her hair, Rita played through her mind all the art shows, the pieces she had spent hours creating, the immense joy she had felt watching her art come to life. Art wasn’t a practical way to make a living her dad told her over and over again. “You can’t make money as an artist,” he said. She listened and believed him, giving up on her dream as the years ticked by.
Looking in the mirror to put on her mascara, she froze. Staring intensely into her emerald eyes, the best feature she had, a sadness floated into her heart, for in that moment she realized, it was her, she was the one who had given up on her dreams. Allowing someone else to tell her what was and was not possible.
Passing the magazine she raced downstairs to help the kids prepare their lunches and get out the door to school. Thankfully her son drove them both to school, which freed her up to have a few moments before she headed off to work. Hugging the kids goodbye, she dashed to the bedroom to grab the magazine, placing it in her purse she headed off to work. Thank goodness it was Friday, she could relax this weekend and if the magazine was real, continue to investigate her happiness. Maybe she could find her art supplies.
To be continued… 2