American Dream

A short story about Thomas, a man waiting to show off his invention of an alternative fuel sorce in an investment firm.

     Thomas stood waiting paintenly for his turn to talk to the receptionist in the lobby. His folders and posterboard tucked under his arm. The city zoomed by him outside the heavy glass doors. NYC taxis and personal drivers lined the sidewalks outside the Investment firm. The lined moved forward. Thomas was next to speak to the young man. His hands were wet with sweat.

     The receptionist told him the floor he needed, and Thomas rode the elevator up to the twenty-seventh floor. Thomas sat in a chair outside the office he was suppose to go to. He smoothed his greying hair, checked his old suit jacket and went over in his head what he was going to say. This was his American Dream. This was what he was put on this Earth to do. This was what was going to make this firm money.

     Thomas needed this to work. He needed his invention to be succesfull. He needed the money. His oldest son was in Iraq, his daughter was in her thrid year of college, his youngest son was starting college in the fall. He need this. He was running out of money. He was making only so much. He was going into debt. He wasn't making as much as he was ten years ago, he was spending more then he was making. Why did he have to buy that house? Why did he have to buy his daughter a new car even though his oldest son wanted to give his car to her? Why did he buy that nice car for his wife? Why did he give his son his five year old car and buy himself a new one? Why? What was he thinking? Why did he make that promise that he would take his daughter to Europe and Asia when she graduated? Why did he spend so much money?!

     Thomas mentally cursed and kicked himself. But what was he suppose to do? Everyone at his work spolied their families with lavish things. Should he not do the same? His own wife didn't know about his gambling problem he had in his twenties. He payed it all off. But there was a thrill about buying matrial things. Nice new shiny cars that made the neighbors jelous. That was what Thomas liked. He liked seeing his wife smile when he brought her pearls and took her to expensive resturants. He loved seeing his son driving his car. He loved seeing his daughter with her designer purse he bought her. He liked taking his oldest son to front row baseball games when he was home from war.

     No one out side his family knew about his oldest son's VA hospital stays. No one knew that he had tried to kill himself. Thomas kept that a secret. Halfway shamefully embrassed and halfway not wanting people to take pity on him. Thomas was so angrey he could drive to D.C. break into Bush's house and kill him in his sleep when he found out his oldest son was going back to Iraq after his accident. Thomas did go to his son's military base and cursed his way into being arrested at them. Thomas hated them. He was so worried about his son, it was making him had panic attacks. He didn't tell anyone that. He didn't want anyone to worry. It was his wife who needed to be taken care of. She was the one who was having night terrors about him.

     Thomas needed this firm to support him, to hire him, to make him rich. He need this. This was his American Dream. This was what he needed to do.

     As the secreitary called him in, Thomas took another moment. He needed this. This was his American Dream. To make it big out of an idea about an alternative fuel source. This was his hobby turned obbsession over his life. Since his grandfather steped onto American soul from Germany, this is what Thomas was suppose to do. This is the reason his family imigranted to America. This is why he was born. This was his American Dream, and he was going to make it.