Making My Way

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Who am I? Where is America's soul? Who are we as a nation? We read what a struggling man has to say about this important issue in life. This is a very short story.

Submitted: January 18, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 18, 2015





Craig Hollister


Another day spinning on a planet called earth. Surviving in a country called America. Trying to fix my broken identity. I sell magic carpets. The smoothest rides of your life. In fact, last month I was top salesman at the Cadillac dealership up on Main Street. I got a handshake from my boss, and the best parking spot for the rest of this month. If I’m top salesman two months in a row, I get a new office chair. Oh, and my wife will love me more. More success means more love in America.

I used to dream a lot. I had a hidden personality of success. A multi business owner, who would donate large sums of cash to the needy. Taking rides on my private luxury rail car, throughout America. Drinking the best Bourbon, and looking out the window as the train passed by farm fields and cities of no name. In reality, I was no more than a dirty dishwasher at a local family restaurant and a big flirt to the waitresses. I was fine. Happy. Content with my life. Until the commercials came into view. It was my civic duty to purchase as many prouducts as I could.

Now I wanted things. The best toothpaste. A new car. A better body. Things chicks love in a guy. My happy identity was fading. I was changing into the creature of goods that I am now. No more fantasizing about Little House on the Prairie and living off the land in the wild frontier. No. This is better, and all my teeth are white as snow.

I married my double. A chick that wanted the best toothpaste and a better body. We hold hands when we shop. We have visions of renewing our vows so we can have a bigger wedding ceremony. We go to bed at night, watching TV.  Dreaming of what we will buy next. We live for the weekend so we can shop. We look down on the begging homeless, because they're not like us.

Who am I? I’m a Levi's man. A Deere guy. and aSt Louis Cardinal fan. Also a former Olds mobile man, they don't make them anymore. I am the products I buy. A living billboard sporting a Coke It's the Real Thing T shirt. I would not survive in Europe, would I? They would laugh at me, shun me. “There goes another American guy, who has no real clue as to who he is”. Well...I could get my identity back I suppose.

Maybe I'll Leave my wife. Quit work, and live out my days in the streets. The true test of manhood, and identity keeping. I have never heard a homeless guy as being a Ford or a Chevy man. But, in my wife's eye, I would have the identity as a bum. A loafer. But in my own eye, I would know exactly who I am. Living outside I would have no outside influences telling me who i am. I would be a survivor. To me that has a better ring to it, than say, being a Chevy man.

It’s always easier to let others dictate who you are. It’s easy for oneself to say I’m a Chevy man, or I’m a farmer. Not one who simply drives a Chevy or farms for a living. It is always easy to fit in with the mob, than create something new. For that, I’ll always be a Levi's man.

© Copyright 2019 craig hollister. All rights reserved.

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