Catherine Spinola

I have been at my job for six years now.   How did I get here?   I am twenty-nine years old and fully educated with a master’s degree in creative writing.   I have always dreamed of writing books and becoming a published author, which seems to be out of reach at the moment.  I am not ungrateful though, I have a terrific job writing, so I sort of followed my dream, but I somehow moved off the course I had planned for my life.  I am a journalist for a small newspaper writing local news stories but I really do want more.

Sitting back in my chair, I am thinking, "Author Cecelia Richards on the “The New York Times Best Seller List” for her novel “Stars Do Fall”, I can see it now.  I can hear my dad’s words in my head, “Remember Cecelia,  you can be or do anything you want in life, you just have to put your mind to it and work towards it.” 

I sighed and thought out loud,  "I know he’s right." 

I returned home in the evening and went straight to my room.  As I said,  I have always dreamed of writing my own novel, I am actually in the process of it, but there never seems to be enough time to get to it.  There are deadlines for the newspaper and my house is busting at the seams with siblings always barging in my room.  I don’t have the privacy needed to work on my novel.  Did I mention I still live at home?  

It would be great to have a place of my own, I thought.  You know, the picture-perfect hideaway for writers.  A small country home on acres and acres of property filled with beautiful trees and flowers.  A place so inspiring, writers can write with no interruptions or writer's block.  A setting where everything is perfect to awaken the imagination. 

“Cecelia!!!” I was taken away from my happy place with my little sister’s shriek calling my name.  She came barreling into my room. “Can I borrow your red sweater?”

“No!  Becca you can’t.”  I barked without turning away from my computer.  

My dad bought me a computer when I graduated from college.  He made sure it had all the programs needed for an aspiring writer.   He is very supportive of my dream to be a writer.   He took me to bookstores as a child, signed me up at literary camps in the summer and we traveled together to book signings whenever we could.  He was like the dad that got up at 6 am to take his daughter to ice skating class, envisioning the Olympics, only with me it was to earn the Pulitzer Prize.  And every night before he goes to sleep he comes in my room and checks on me.  

He asks, “Hit your word count today, Honey?”  

It is my motivation.  Maybe that is why I haven’t moved out yet.  

“Please, Cecelia!” Becca pleaded behind me.  

She was fifteen and very high-spirited.  Her interests were socializing and fashion.  She taught me everything I know, which is why she wants to borrow my sweater, which she gave me for Christmas.  I guess there really wasn’t a reason why she couldn’t borrow it.  

“Okay, Becca, you can borrow…”  Before I could finish my sentence she hugged me so tightly she almost knocked me off my chair.  

“Thank you, thank you, Ceec!” she exclaimed. 

She pulled my sweater from my dresser drawer and she was gone again. I turned to say 'your welcome', but she had disappeared.  

My dad then appeared at the doorway.  “Hit your word count today, Honey?”  

“No Dad, not tonight,” I whispered, turning away from the door discouraged.   

“Hey, Dad?”  I turned around again. 

“Yes, Cecelia”, he replied.  

I spoke hesitantly, “I think it may be time for me to move out.”  

He answered, “Oh?”  It was the day he was dreading, we both were.   

“I need to get out on my own,” I continued, “I can’t write with all these interruptions.  Becca is always barging in, Eugene is always playing his music too loud and Robbie is always showing up from his place at all hours of the night to raid the fridge.”   

My brothers are younger than me. Robbie is in college studying numbers, a financial genius really, living in his own place nearby and Eugene, who is a truly talented musician is mastering the art of becoming a rock star some day while getting ready to graduate high school.   

“I can’t write this way.  I’m sorry Dad; I know you always thought I would marry out of this house, but, well that isn’t happening any time soon, so I really need to make this move.  I love you all, I just have to go.”

“I know Honey, I will miss you very much, but I know that it’s time.  We will look for apartments first thing tomorrow.”  

There he goes again, training me for the Olympics.  

“Thanks, Dad.”  I felt funny inside, not sure why.  

I went downstairs the next morning.  My dad was already drinking his coffee and reading the newspaper.  

“I reached my word count last night”, I said, kissing my dad on the cheek.  

“Great honey, I’m glad, maybe now you won’t have to move out.”

“Dad, please,” I scolded him.  

“Just kidding Sweetie.”

My mom came into the kitchen and said, “Dad told me about your plans, I’m excited for you Cecelia.  You will do great out there, I just know it.” 

We hugged, “Thanks, Mom.”  “Would you like to come with us?” I asked.  

 “Wish I could,” Mom said, “But Becca has that party tonight.  We are doing hair and nails today.”  

My red sweater, I thought, 'that’s right', I smiled, “Can’t miss that,” I said.  

Mom kissed Dad, yelled out to Becca, and left.  

Dad and I went from apartment to apartment.  It seemed that we couldn’t agree on any of them.  They were too small, too big, or too old.  None of them were right.  

While we were out Dad realized he forgot his cell phone so we decided to stop at home since our next stop was in the same direction.  He said he was waiting for an important call.  He never stopped working.  He looked tired, so I ran in for him.  When I came back out Dad was standing outside the car looking at the garage.  

“Cecelia look,” He pointed.  

“Yes dad, what is it, are you alright?”   

“Yes, yes, the garage.” He smiled. 

“What about it?”  Not understanding what he was trying to tell me. 

“There is a room over it.  It is like a studio apartment.  Your mother and I have accumulated so much stuff and just made it a storage space but it is fully heated and has running water too.  You could live there.  It needs some repairs but with the money you would save on rent you could decorate it and buy just what you need to get started for your very own place and office.”  

I could see his excitement as he envisioned my new apartment.    I tried to imagine it.   I looked up at the second floor of the garage and then looked at my dad.  You would have thought he just struck gold.  

“It’s perfect," I spoke.  

I was excited to get started on renovations.  I took a couple of days off from work, even though I still had deadlines to work on.  I could do that at home and get started on my very own writer's haven.  It wasn’t a place in the woods with singing birds and the smell of fresh flowers by an open window, but it would be private and would be mine. 

A bathroom had to be put in, but other than that some decorative light fixtures, a couple of coats of paint and some throw rugs on refinished hardwood floors and I would call it home. It took a couple of months to finish fixing the place up, but when it was done it was just what I needed.  

My dad and I stood in the room and observed our victory.  

"It looks great Cecelia.” Dad spoke first.  

“Yes it does, my very own apartment.”  I could barely keep the excitement from bursting out of my body.  “Thanks, Dad,” I hugged him.  “Word count here I come.”  

Dad looked at me and smiled.  

My writing took off.  I had the quiet I needed and of course, the support of my dad.  I continued writing.  The falling star had been discovered by...  "I need a break, let me see what’s in the fridge." As I got up my cell phone rang.  “Hello?”  I spoke.  

“Cecelia, it’s Mom.”  

“Hey Mom, what’s up?” 

“I’m calling about dad.”  

I could tell she was upset. I immediately lost all inspiration and my heart sank.  “What is it Mom, what’s wrong?”  

“Dad collapsed at work. He is on his way by ambulance to the hospital.”  My mom’s voice began to break up.  She began to plead her case.  “He was kind of tired this morning but he insisted on going to the office.  I told him to take the day off, but he said he was fine.  He’s going to Medical General.”   She began to cry.  

I tried to comfort her. “It’s okay Mom.  It’s not your fault, you know how he is about work.  Let’s just go to the hospital.  I will be right down.”

I noticed that my dad would tire easily the last few months as we worked on my apartment.  I thought it was just all the work we were doing.  What could be wrong?    I found myself weakening, but I knew I had to keep up my strength for my mom.  We drove to the hospital.  I would have to find all the strength I had to deal with what was ahead. 

                                                   ---------One Year Later-------        

My dad had suffered a stroke that day and he did recover, although not completely.  He has been in a nursing home and has been going for therapy, but he still can’t speak and has lost all of the movement on his right side.  

I visit him every day but this day would be different.  Today it would be with my published novel in hand. 

Shortly after his stroke, I realized that I  needed to  write my book and stop at nothing to finish it.  My dad was so ill I was worried he would never get to read it and it was because of his belief in me that I had my dream of being an author.  Well today he would know that our dream had came true.

I walked down the hallway to his room, sat by his bed and placed my book in his hand.  He looked at me and tears filled his eyes without words.  I was overwhelmed and also began to cry.   I knew the joy that my book had brought to my dad and we both knew that it was our day to celebrate.  Through his support and belief in me, my dream and I think his dream too,  had finally come true.  

I sat down next to him and opened my book to the dedication page.  I read it out loud.  “I dedicate his book to my Dad, who without his support and confidence in me, this book would not have been possible.”  I turned and looked at him knowing what he was thinking. 

I smiled and responded to his thoughts, “Yes Dad, I sure did, I hit my word count today.”