I always sat in the front of the room.
The front was the power position. Where the talented people sat.
New school year, impossible project, new job anywhere, I boldly walked to the front. Convinced the world needed me and that I needed recognition.
My notes were works of art, everything dotted and crossed. If someone wanted one, I gave them a dozen. Color-coded with a warm beverage on top. Every opportunity was a chance to show off my skills, how smart and organized I’d become.
I was on track to be a high powered attorney or one of those people that companies brought in to turn things around. A woman who only wore red lipstick. A brilliant woman, well read with fabulous hosiery and stare-worthy shoes.
Then I messed up.
Left my pen in the notebook too long and made an ugly blot. Forgot to sort and filter. I developed a blister on my heel that slowed down my pace.
People started talking. I spilled something on my shirt and stood to scrub my stain. When I returned, my seat was gone. Taken by another up-and-comer.
I raised my hand. It was unfair. But no one could hear me now. All the front seats were taken, the middle section, too.
My feet grew tired standing in wait, so I took a spot in the back.
Everyone knew that was where the misfits dwelled. The girls who thought they could start a band and the guys who wrote poetry.
Nothing productive ever happened in the back. All they did was doodle.
But, some of the greatest power players were born of adversity. I sat tall, wore my highest heels despite the blisters and waited. Someone would notice and call me up. It was my destiny to be in front.
Life grew long and no amount of waving worked. Things shifted from impossible to hard, and while I waited for my spot in front, I began to doodle.
None of it was any good, but I had nothing to lose.
There were days I erased a hole straight through the page, others when I completely ran out. I started using napkins and scraps. All the while keeping an eye forward. I was older now.
On the day I wore the bright yellow skirt and my hair was silky smooth, someone from the front walked back to sharpen her pencil. Her lipstick was a gorgeous shade of red and she laughed at my doodles on her way back up. She and the rest of the front-and-centers whispered of my wasted potential.
I cried. Told myself I’d missed my chance. The front had been snatched from me.
The morning it wouldn’t stop raining, I woke with puffy eyes and grabbed my pad for comfort. I’d sold a couple of my doodles for one of the band’s album covers. I bought a new pad to keep my doodles safe. They’d somehow become important.
Tapping my foot almost every day, I added some color and shade. I filled pad after pad in the back of life until I was startled from my work.
Someone had tapped me on the shoulder, someone from the front. I was so busy I’d forgotten about my seat. Forgotten to wait.
Cautious and braced for a critical blow, I glanced up.
“That’s incredible,” Red Lipstick said. “We could use someone like you. A seat has opened up.”
I looked around, prepared to gather my things, but I wanted to hear one more song. The band was good. They could play anything now. And the walls, once stained and drab were covered with words and doodles just like mine.
I smiled at Red Lipstick, still envied her shoes, but stayed where I was. I liked it there. There was too much to lose.
That’s all from the laundry room. Lie Back.