An essay on losers

His dream usually takes him to the same place. It is a spacious dining room; actually it looks more like a huge ballroom. As he dreams on, the room gets bigger and shinier. He doesn’t turn his head to see the dancers but they are there. He sits across the table from the Big Guy. Other people are present, too. They are listening and they are the referees. The Big Guy is there with his wife. She is definitely the wife. How does he know that? There’s something in her look, although he doesn’t quite see her face. She is not young. She wears a black dress or maybe a black suit, and the diamonds in her ears let out a piercing spark from time to time. She never says a word but her presence is significant. Somehow he senses that her feeling about what he is going to say is what matters the most. Is she sad? Is she amused? Is she on his side? Sitting next to her, the Big Guy looks imposing. He is heavy and square, with somewhat of a double chin, an executive tie, and the eyes that make people tell the truth. His shirt is probably white. He projects confidence. The conversation begins.

This one time, he remembers, the Big Guy wanted to talk about raising children. What do we give them? What do we want them to be like? He recalls talking and talking, passionately, for a long time. Take ambitions. We define ambitious people as those aspiring economic rewards and social status. (What a nice, intelligent sentence!) Mainly it’s social status, actually. You want to belong, to be in the loop, to have your fine seat reserved at the Platinum table among those other Platinum sponsors of life, in everyone’s view, for everyone’s greenest envy. How sad is that! All of your life you are restless, looking for ways to make others envy you. Every now and then, they do. Success! Success! You are the proud owner of the new coolest gadget, the fanciest Rolex, the biggest house, the sexiest woman. What now? Oh, no! – There are others just like you, with the Rolex and the house, and more. They do not envy you! You’re restless again. The game goes on. One day, imagine, you climb to the very, very top. You are the Number One, above everyone and everything. Are you happy now, finally? Hell, it’s only worse now. In the middle of the night, you wake up, scared, in cold sweat. What if the Number Two guy beats you to the Number One seat tomorrow? Now, is that the kind of ambition we want for our children? No, you would say, of course not. We want them to grow up happy and we want them to appreciate life, to be good people. Good? Are you kidding me? You tell them: be good. What’s that exactly? You don’t explain. His speech picks up pace and his hands are sweaty and shaky. He sets his glass back on the table, afraid of spilling the wine. Show me one kid, one darn little kid, who believes in being good. They want to be cool, to have money, to rule others. Because no matter what words you tell them, your life tells them clearly: be wealthy. Be important. Be influential. Be powerful. He stops for breath. He hears silence. He is afraid to turn his head in her direction. He knows that she is frowning. He just said something shallow. All of a sudden, he feels exasperated. Nothing makes sense. He looks up. The Big Guy appears amused but not bothered. Just let me go already. I cannot prove myself. I’m not built for it. I’ll always be a loser. Just let me go. What a shame. Loser! Freak! As he awakens, confused and disoriented, he is still shaky with bitterness.

Sometimes, he has a chance to think the dream over, to search for its name. Most of all, it makes him tired. Other times, he just shakes the vision off. It’s time to live on, to go to work, to run the many errands. Oh, must call Mom, too…