The Dreamer Original Draft...
He rolled out of bed and walked over to the alarm clock that was on top of his TV and hit the switch so it would not go off in at six thirty like it was suppose too. He was up a half-hour early today; he walked into the bathroom and turned on his shower. He walked back over to his nightstand and grabbed his can of Kodiak. "Ah a morning dip, perhaps that would make him feel better." He had not slept well, actually he had not slept at all. He got home from the office around two thirty and laid in bed until now. He was used to going with out sleep this time of year he almost enjoyed it. He pondered the idea of going to the gym but shrugged it off; the biceps work out he had planned for this morning would have to wait. The pinch of Kodiak he held in his lip was the final word on that. He walked over to his computer desk and flipped on the desktop. After the computer loaded he clicked on the MSN icon and walked back into the bathroom.
After his shower he grabbed his dip and added a refresher. Some how the wintergreen smell and the spitting always signaled it was time to get the day started. He sat in his black folding chair and logged into his email account, it had been ages since he had look at his hotmail. As he wondered what kind of junk mail his college buddies had sent him the screen opened up and told him he had 115 new messages. He figured now was as good as time as any to sort through them. He must have deleted fifty messages when he came to one that actually was not a joke, or a forward. He read the name of the sender, Jess Garrison, and then smiled. He wondered how long it had been since he had seen to her or talked with her? Wow he thought it must have been at least a year since he had emailed her, maybe longer. He clicked her name and a message appeared:
Brent "Bad Boy" Baldwin
Hope tax season went well, I wonder if you are as glad it is over as I am. I am so relieved. I now have some time to do some painting! I remember my first tax season talking to some kid and about his dream of being a writer, I wonder what happened to that kid? I once got this message from him:
As he stared at the blank computer screen he looked at his copy of "Cocaine Fever", he could only hope to tell a story as masterful as the one he was currently reading. He had know idea the direction the book was taking and he had know idea were he ideas were going to lead him. He knew the characters, the first a lonely dreamer, who had spent the last year of his life trying to figure out who he was, and the other a brilliant young actress that was rapidly becoming Hollywood's most bankable female star.
They had been brought up in to very different lifestyles. His up bringing was pretty normal for the Midwest, raised by his two parents from the medical profession along with his four siblings. He graduated high school popular and in the top of his class. He would go on two Indiana University and succeed in the business school. He would graduate with a high GPA and a job with the most successful accounting firm in the nation. She however was born in secret, hidden from he strung out actor of a father. Her mother a struggling actress had to raise her on her own, and even tried to live her dreams through her daughter. She pushed her daughter into acting and she landed a roll in a movie that would make her a star at the young age of six. After the quick rush of stardom she became a freak two her peers. Instead of attending grade school, she would hang out at cocaine parties with the "Brat Pack" She never finished high school and never had any desire for college. The differences in there lives were many, but they had one thing in common the past.
Their meeting would be no accident, but a twist of fate that would change there lives forever. They would find in each other one thing that they could find in no one else, understanding, and love?
That kid was some DREAMER! Hey, maybe you have heard something about him?
He rolled out of bed and walked over to the alarm clock that was on top of his TV and hit the switch so it would not go off in at six thirty like it was suppose too. He was up a half-hour early today; he walked into the bathroom and turned on his shower. He walked back over to his nightstand and grabbed his can of Kodiak. "Ah a morning dip, perhaps that would make him feel better." He had not slept well, actually he had not slept at all. He got home from the office around two thirty and laid in bed until now. He was used to going with out sleep this time of year he almost enjoyed it. He pondered the idea of going to the gym but shrugged it off; the biceps work out he had planned for this morning would have to wait. The pinch of Kodiak he held in his lip was the final word on that. He walked over to his computer desk and flipped on the desktop. After the computer loaded he clicked on the MSN icon and walked back into the bathroom.
After his shower he grabbed his dip and added a refresher. Some how the wintergreen smell and the spitting always signaled it was time to get the day started. He sat in his black folding chair and logged into his email account, it had been ages since he had look at his hotmail. As he wondered what kind of junk mail his college buddies had sent him the screen opened up and told him he had 115 new messages. He figured now was as good as time as any to sort through them. He must have deleted fifty messages when he came to one that actually was not a joke, or a forward. He read the name of the sender, Jess Garrison, and then smiled. He wondered how long it had been since he had seen to her or talked with her? Wow he thought it must have been at least a year since he had emailed her, maybe longer. He clicked her name and a message appeared:
Brent "Bad Boy" Baldwin
Hope tax season went well, I wonder if you are as glad it is over as I am. I am so relieved. I now have some time to do some painting! I remember my first tax season talking to some kid and about his dream of being a writer, I wonder what happened to that kid? I once got this message from him:
As he stared at the blank computer screen he looked at his copy of "Cocaine Fever", he could only hope to tell a story as masterful as the one he was currently reading. He had know idea the direction the book was taking and he had know idea were he ideas were going to lead him. He knew the characters, the first a lonely dreamer, who had spent the last year of his life trying to figure out who he was, and the other a brilliant young actress that was rapidly becoming Hollywood's most bankable female star.
They had been brought up in to very different lifestyles. His up bringing was pretty normal for the Midwest, raised by his two parents from the medical profession along with his four siblings. He graduated high school popular and in the top of his class. He would go on two Indiana University and succeed in the business school. He would graduate with a high GPA and a job with the most successful accounting firm in the nation. She however was born in secret, hidden from he strung out actor of a father. Her mother a struggling actress had to raise her on her own, and even tried to live her dreams through her daughter. She pushed her daughter into acting and she landed a roll in a movie that would make her a star at the young age of six. After the quick rush of stardom she became a freak two her peers. Instead of attending grade school, she would hang out at cocaine parties with the "Brat Pack" She never finished high school and never had any desire for college. The differences in there lives were many, but they had one thing in common the past.
Their meeting would be no accident, but a twist of fate that would change there lives forever. They would find in each other one thing that they could find in no one else, understanding, and love?
That kid was some DREAMER! Hey, maybe you have heard something about him?
Claire
Brent stared at the message he received and his mind began to race. He could not believe that she saved that message, how long ago had he wrote. He quickly reached into his computer drawer and pushed aside his collection of journals until he found the one he was looking for. He picked up the black three ring binders and flipped it over and began to read the cover. The white sheet of paper he had slid under the plastic cover looked brand new.
"Brent's Thoughts A look inside" he read and he flipped opened the cover and read the title page "Brent's Thoughts. Bad thoughts for bad times." How untrue those words were then but how true they were to be. He grabbed the tab that read Affection and flipped to the first page. He began to read the passage it started off As he stared at the blank computer screen he looked at his copy of "Cocaine Fever", he could only hope to tell a story as masterful as the one he was currently reading. He had know idea the direction the book was taking and he had know idea were he ideas were going to lead him. After reading the rest of the passage he looked for the date, August 4, 1999. Had it really been four years? He asked himself. He then flipped the page over and looked at the make shift outline he had made to finally write his novel Another page was turn and he began to read his work. After about ten pages he slammed the folder shut and stared at his computer screen. Shaking his head he muttered a few words to himself "Time had moved on since then" and with that he logged off his computer and returned the folder to the drawer. He chuckled to himself. He'd been such a fool back then. He really thought he could write. He really thought he had talent. "A pipe dream" he chuckled and walked to his closet and began to dress for work.
It was around seven thirty when Brent finally walked to the living room. He walked to the refrigerator and pulled out his Chocolate Chip Bagels and then poured himself a glass of Milk. He walked over to the TV and tuned into Sports center, he pondered what was going on in the world of sports, and he had not been able to watch his favorite running program since the super bowl. He missed out on all the March Madness and he frowned. As Brent started to get the run down on spring training he glanced over towards a poster hanging on the wall. It was one of his favorites. It was a UFO oscillating over a forest with the capitalized letters across the bottom that read I WANT TO BELIEVE. He leaned back in his sofa and thought about that phrase and what it meant.
He had found the poster on the Internet while he was interning for the Water Company in Bloomington. It was after his senior year in college and at the time he was pondering on what to do with his life. He parents pushed for him to continue his education in the form of law school. He however had enjoyed the summer that consisted of working. He could not decide if he wanted to go to school or go to work. He knew for sure he did not want to end up working ninety-hour weeks with nothing to show for his efforts but the materialistic object we call money. No he wanted to change the world, or at least the small portion of it that he believed he could reach.
Brent stared at the message he received and his mind began to race. He could not believe that she saved that message, how long ago had he wrote. He quickly reached into his computer drawer and pushed aside his collection of journals until he found the one he was looking for. He picked up the black three ring binders and flipped it over and began to read the cover. The white sheet of paper he had slid under the plastic cover looked brand new.
"Brent's Thoughts A look inside" he read and he flipped opened the cover and read the title page "Brent's Thoughts. Bad thoughts for bad times." How untrue those words were then but how true they were to be. He grabbed the tab that read Affection and flipped to the first page. He began to read the passage it started off As he stared at the blank computer screen he looked at his copy of "Cocaine Fever", he could only hope to tell a story as masterful as the one he was currently reading. He had know idea the direction the book was taking and he had know idea were he ideas were going to lead him. After reading the rest of the passage he looked for the date, August 4, 1999. Had it really been four years? He asked himself. He then flipped the page over and looked at the make shift outline he had made to finally write his novel Another page was turn and he began to read his work. After about ten pages he slammed the folder shut and stared at his computer screen. Shaking his head he muttered a few words to himself "Time had moved on since then" and with that he logged off his computer and returned the folder to the drawer. He chuckled to himself. He'd been such a fool back then. He really thought he could write. He really thought he had talent. "A pipe dream" he chuckled and walked to his closet and began to dress for work.
It was around seven thirty when Brent finally walked to the living room. He walked to the refrigerator and pulled out his Chocolate Chip Bagels and then poured himself a glass of Milk. He walked over to the TV and tuned into Sports center, he pondered what was going on in the world of sports, and he had not been able to watch his favorite running program since the super bowl. He missed out on all the March Madness and he frowned. As Brent started to get the run down on spring training he glanced over towards a poster hanging on the wall. It was one of his favorites. It was a UFO oscillating over a forest with the capitalized letters across the bottom that read I WANT TO BELIEVE. He leaned back in his sofa and thought about that phrase and what it meant.
He had found the poster on the Internet while he was interning for the Water Company in Bloomington. It was after his senior year in college and at the time he was pondering on what to do with his life. He parents pushed for him to continue his education in the form of law school. He however had enjoyed the summer that consisted of working. He could not decide if he wanted to go to school or go to work. He knew for sure he did not want to end up working ninety-hour weeks with nothing to show for his efforts but the materialistic object we call money. No he wanted to change the world, or at least the small portion of it that he believed he could reach.
It was when Brent truly was a dreamer. He actually had believed that he could become a writer not only to spite his parents but to follow up on a childhood dream that he could be a story teller, well not a story teller but rather The Story Teller.
I want to Believe these words once again ran
through his head as he stared at the poster trying to decide what it meant. He
of course knew the obvious answer to that question. It meant that he wanted to
believe in the existence of extraterrestrial life on other planets. That of
course was the answer and the reason he bought the poster. Not because he
believed in it, but because that is what Agent Fox Mulder believed and Fox
after all was his favorite television character. He smiled what a great show the
X-Files, but for some reason Brent knew that this poster meant more than him
than the tribute to what he felt was the greatest TV show of all time.
I want to believe ran through his head again. Did it mean he actually wanted to believe in the paranormal? That there was a greater purpose being served her on Earth than what we saw? Was it he actually wanted to believe in things like Carma, ghosts, and little green men? Perhaps, Brent mused.
I want to BELIEVE again ran through his head. Perhaps the answer was the one he had always thought it was. Perhaps the simple statement did not have anything to do with the X-Files or with ghost and aliens, but with himself? I want to believe. I want to believe in what? Brent questioned himself. The answer Brent knew, it was the answer he was always looking for, but could never get proof for. He simply wanted to believe in himself and his abilities beyond crunching numbers and sucking up to clients. He was a fine accountant but he was incomplete.
Brent had often tried to believe in himself but often fell short. He never could convince himself that he was handsome and that bad luck with girl after girl was just that bad luck and not some curse that followed him and only him around. He also could never believe that he did posses the ability to tell a story in such detail that it mattered not what the type of style he wrote it in. He felt that his former dreams were in adequate and that he had failed in making them come true. But failure always seemed to go hand in hand with any number of excuses he could formulate to why he had never finished anything he started to work on, and why he had never become the writer he desired to be. Failure, lead to excuses and excuses lead to him not believing in the one thing he wanted to the most, himself.
"So why didn't you go to the gym this morning super man?" A voice asked snapping Brent back from his self-pity.
I want to believe ran through his head again. Did it mean he actually wanted to believe in the paranormal? That there was a greater purpose being served her on Earth than what we saw? Was it he actually wanted to believe in things like Carma, ghosts, and little green men? Perhaps, Brent mused.
I want to BELIEVE again ran through his head. Perhaps the answer was the one he had always thought it was. Perhaps the simple statement did not have anything to do with the X-Files or with ghost and aliens, but with himself? I want to believe. I want to believe in what? Brent questioned himself. The answer Brent knew, it was the answer he was always looking for, but could never get proof for. He simply wanted to believe in himself and his abilities beyond crunching numbers and sucking up to clients. He was a fine accountant but he was incomplete.
Brent had often tried to believe in himself but often fell short. He never could convince himself that he was handsome and that bad luck with girl after girl was just that bad luck and not some curse that followed him and only him around. He also could never believe that he did posses the ability to tell a story in such detail that it mattered not what the type of style he wrote it in. He felt that his former dreams were in adequate and that he had failed in making them come true. But failure always seemed to go hand in hand with any number of excuses he could formulate to why he had never finished anything he started to work on, and why he had never become the writer he desired to be. Failure, lead to excuses and excuses lead to him not believing in the one thing he wanted to the most, himself.
"So why didn't you go to the gym this morning super man?" A voice asked snapping Brent back from his self-pity.
"Well, Colleen I did not sleep well and I
decided that I should take the day off."
"Well, it is the first time I have seen the
Might Brent Baldwin take the day off, you are the only person I have ever met
that has worked out religiously every morning during busy season."
"Some of us are just in better routines than other." Brent said rising off the couch to get another glass of milk.
"Some of us are just in better routines than other." Brent said rising off the couch to get another glass of milk.
"I just think some of us do not have to
prove that they can do it?"
"It is not a matter of proving anything to
any body but myself dear. I can not just quit working out because the US
government sets a fictitious date for all cooperate taxes to be turned in not
can I."
"Obviously not."
"What I was out of shape for ten years of
my life, and now that I am finally in shape what is so wrong with keeping
myself that way."
"Your just afraid of getting fat."
Brent looked at her for a second knowing that she
was right. "You remember what I looked like three years ago when we moved
in together? Should I wish to go back to looking like that?"
"Brent why are you so hard on yourself, you
looked fine back then. And now you do too but I just think you should take care
of your body for you and not because you are afraid that everyone else is going
to judge you."
Being roommates for three years gave her the
ability to read Brent like a book. He did go to the gym every morning out of
the fear of becoming heavy again. He did work hard there and sometimes wondered
why he was doing it. Why he was not content, What had his old trainer said
never get satisfied. "Colleen I weighed over three hundred pounds when we
met. I now way two-ten. I just to not want to balloon back up."
"You stress over it way to much. Anyway so
are we ridding in together today?"
"Ya, since we do not have to go out on
clients, we just have to finish up paper work and stuff."
"Well do not sound so happy that tax season
is over."
Brent shrugged his shoulders and walked to the cabinet and pulled out a breakfast bar.
"Brent you should be happy we are not going to be working all that over time for nothing now. I do not understand why you get this way every year at this time. It is time to relax and have some fun." She said pulling out her blender. "Come on tonight is margarita time." She said with a big smile.
Brent gave her a fake smile "Alright" She looked at him and decided not to press the issue. It was not worth it when he wanted to talk to her about it he would. Something was bothering him and he would come to her, he always did.
Brent shrugged his shoulders and walked to the cabinet and pulled out a breakfast bar.
"Brent you should be happy we are not going to be working all that over time for nothing now. I do not understand why you get this way every year at this time. It is time to relax and have some fun." She said pulling out her blender. "Come on tonight is margarita time." She said with a big smile.
Brent gave her a fake smile "Alright" She looked at him and decided not to press the issue. It was not worth it when he wanted to talk to her about it he would. Something was bothering him and he would come to her, he always did.
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