I Have All I Need

     “Do you want anybody?” John asked quietly.
“No. I don’t want anyone. I can finish it alone,” Sandy replied.
“Of course you can,” he said. “You always could do everything yourself. It’s a quality in you I greatly admire. You’re so strong…so independent.”
“Well,” she paused slightly, a hint of pride in her voice, ”thank you.”
     I should be proud, she thought. And why not? She had always done everything herself, even as a child. She had cooked, cleaned, and done homework all on her own initiative. As a teenager, she got a job as a part-time waitress and paid for almost everything she owned, eventually even her car. After high school, she decided that college would be a waste of time and opted not to go. Had she wanted to go, there is no doubt that Sandy would’ve succeeded. However, she had had other plans. For five years, she worked, and for five years she saved. Sandy worked every possible shift she could and never turned down a chance at a little extra money. If she didn’t need it, she didn’t buy it. Finally, when she acquired sufficient funds, she decided it was time and set forth publishing her first novel. She could’ve hired someone to help, and it probably would have made it easier on her. But she resisted. Instead, she used what money she saved to edit and publish it by herself. And wouldn’t you know it, all those long days at work and sleepless night at the typewriter paid off. Only two months after its release, her book climbed to the top of the bestseller list. That was almost thirteen years ago.
     With eight successful novels-- six on the bestseller list and four having won worldwide recognition-- Sandy was more than financially stable. Since she had loved beautiful houses and great real estate for years, most of her funds went toward this indulgence. And of course, she obtained exactly what she wanted: a cabin on a lake in Michigan, a trendy flat in the heart of New York City, and an old sea-side villa on the outskirts of Tuscany, each with a fantastic view and a personal library containing hundreds upon hundreds of books.

     “This is so much space for only one person,” her housekeeper in the city had commented once, cleaning up the empty flat after one of Sandy’s extravagant parties. But complete solitude was the only way Sandy could do what she did so magnificently. It’s not like she didn’t have friends; she had some of the best anyone could ask for. People who loved her and whom she loved, unconditionally, in return. But Sandy--although she had tried--could never have an intimate relationship with someone. It just wouldn’t work. She knew that. Everyone knew that. Sandy was of a rare breed. She reveled in her loneliness, embraced it. Being utterly alone was the only place she could truly find herself. But, she also knew it was too much to expect some people to understand her reasoning. Most people never would. It’s what set her apart and set her free. This fate is something that she had accepted a long time ago.
     “Sandy, this publishing company can work wonders. Think of what it will do for your publicity. And I know an editor who can do miracles. C’mon,” John said, trying to convince her. She just looked at him.
“One last time,” John said, already knowing the battle was lost. “Do you want anybody?”
She smiled half-heartedly, her eyes heavy with familiar emotions, and shook her head.
“Fine,” he said exasperated, “you have my number. Call if you change your mind.” He then shuffled out, defeated.
     As he left, Sandy went to her window and watched John walk out into the crowded street. He hailed a taxi, slid inside, and was gone, probably heading to the Upper East Side for a too expensive lunch. Well-to-do types like him always did. Sandy stared out for a while, letting the stale breeze caress her skin, then promptly closed the window, shutting out the noises of the bustling city. She crossed the floor to her desk, sat down and decided that it was time for her to do a little work. Lightly placing her hand on the crisp manuscript, Sandy opened her mouth. “I want,” she said, no louder than a whisper, “I want somebody to love.” Sandy suddenly looked around as if making sure no one had heard her, then room erupted in her own laughter, breaking the silence. As she caught her breath and smiled at her silly thoughts, she pushed away the last few fleeting feelings of “what if’s” and let triumph and confidence consume her. I am happy, she told herself. And that was not a lie. Those feelings came and went. They always had. But what she needed had outweighed what she wanted, and what she needed the most was herself. I have happiness, she thought, and I have love. With that, she took out a red pen, opened the first page of the draft and began to edit her latest masterpiece.