In my last post I said that we were trapped. Walled in.
I had money and lost dreams on my mind:
Car payments.
House payments.
Water Heaters.
Broken refrigerators.
Mended stockings.
Now we're free.
I payed the last payment on our house today Willy.
Did you hear me? We're free.
Please. Forgive me for not crying.
I can't find the tears anymore.
I've cried so many over the years.
But we're free. After 25 years. Free.
You didn't live the life that Dave promised you.
You may have died the death of a salesman but you certainly didn't live.
You lived dreaming of your death.
At your funeral Willy...
There were no unrecognizable licence plates.
No one talked about you for months on end.
The only thing you had was us.
You didn't take money to the grave, our house, our chevy.
You weren't worth anything dead.
Those memories all fade away like dust and bone.
The only thing you had was us.
And now we're free of this life.
Free from the lies of the life of a salesman.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
I Haven't the Heart
I haven't the heart to tell him. I love him so much I haven't the heart to steal away his pride.
To tell him that the other day the insurance company called.
I was in the kitchen cooking dinner. At first I hadn't thought I'd heard them correctly. It couldn't be. You loved the life of a salesman. It had to be an accident...the power steering. I asked them what they meant. They said they had evidence; a woman had witnessed it. I wanted so badly not to believe it was true.
That's why dinner was burned the other night. I was so distracted. That damn car.
Every night I've laid in bed waiting for Willy to walk in the front door. I haven't the heart to take the car keys away from him; to steal away a man's right to drive.
And then there is that rubber hose. I found it tonight tucked away. I must have walked up and down the stairs with that piece in my hand a thousand times. But in the end. I hadn't the heart to take it away; to steal my husband's pride.
I haven't the heart.
I love you too dearly.
To tell him that the other day the insurance company called.
I was in the kitchen cooking dinner. At first I hadn't thought I'd heard them correctly. It couldn't be. You loved the life of a salesman. It had to be an accident...the power steering. I asked them what they meant. They said they had evidence; a woman had witnessed it. I wanted so badly not to believe it was true.
That's why dinner was burned the other night. I was so distracted. That damn car.
Every night I've laid in bed waiting for Willy to walk in the front door. I haven't the heart to take the car keys away from him; to steal away a man's right to drive.
And then there is that rubber hose. I found it tonight tucked away. I must have walked up and down the stairs with that piece in my hand a thousand times. But in the end. I hadn't the heart to take it away; to steal my husband's pride.
I haven't the heart.
I love you too dearly.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Lullabies & Lillies
Biff is home. Willy had another episode.
I sang him to sleep last night. I held my old salesman in my arms and I hummed away his troubles. He talked about Biff winning that game so many years ago. I think it's the last time Willy can remember something going right. He reminded me of dreams of the past. Dreams long ago.
Willy is so much like Biff. I remember early on him dreaming of the country...of fresh air. And every time Biff returns from some farm job I think it reminds Willy of his desire for open air. We didn't want this life. Willy just wanted to be loved not to work till the age of 84. The life of a salesman is death to our dreams.
Willy ranted on last night about dreams of our past...of what he swears to be our future. We remembered those elm trees in our backyard. He remembers the peonies and the daffodils. I remember the lilies.
But now that's all replaced by smelly apartments. We're trapped in. Windows and bricks. Bricks and windows.
I sang him to sleep last night. I held my old salesman in my arms and I hummed away his troubles. He talked about Biff winning that game so many years ago. I think it's the last time Willy can remember something going right. He reminded me of dreams of the past. Dreams long ago.
Willy is so much like Biff. I remember early on him dreaming of the country...of fresh air. And every time Biff returns from some farm job I think it reminds Willy of his desire for open air. We didn't want this life. Willy just wanted to be loved not to work till the age of 84. The life of a salesman is death to our dreams.
Willy ranted on last night about dreams of our past...of what he swears to be our future. We remembered those elm trees in our backyard. He remembers the peonies and the daffodils. I remember the lilies.
But now that's all replaced by smelly apartments. We're trapped in. Windows and bricks. Bricks and windows.
Mending Stockings: Making the Most of 34 Years
I was mending another pair of stockings today. I should get used to it. 34 years in the company and Howard fires him. Mending these stockings reminds me of a time a few years back.
Willy had just left again for Boston. It was the first time I'd realized I wasn't enough for my salesman.
30 years as a salesman...as his wife...and I'm not enough.
He'd always warned me that he got lonely-especially when business was bad and there's nobody to talk to. When he gets the feeling the he'll never sell anything again, that he won't be able to make a living for me or the boys...But I always thought that I'd be enough for him to come home to. I try to love him so that even if he comes home without making a penny on commission he knows he'll always have me.
Willy has been gone for two days and he left with my last pair of good stockings.
He thinks I don't know. I can see the regret in his eyes when he comes home. It's that look that keeps me here. He wants so badly to be loved....I want so badly to love him.
So I'll keep mending my stockings. Mending our relationship. Patching holes where holes need to be patched. Loving the imperfections because I can own those.
Willy had just left again for Boston. It was the first time I'd realized I wasn't enough for my salesman.
30 years as a salesman...as his wife...and I'm not enough.
He'd always warned me that he got lonely-especially when business was bad and there's nobody to talk to. When he gets the feeling the he'll never sell anything again, that he won't be able to make a living for me or the boys...But I always thought that I'd be enough for him to come home to. I try to love him so that even if he comes home without making a penny on commission he knows he'll always have me.
Willy has been gone for two days and he left with my last pair of good stockings.
He thinks I don't know. I can see the regret in his eyes when he comes home. It's that look that keeps me here. He wants so badly to be loved....I want so badly to love him.
So I'll keep mending my stockings. Mending our relationship. Patching holes where holes need to be patched. Loving the imperfections because I can own those.
Far from Providence: Willy Is Back
Biffs Stealing.
Bernards Studying.
Willy finally returned home from his trip to Boston and Providence. But everything here seems so far from providence. He doesn't see it. The boys don't see it. But I do.
He's not home to see Biff stealing in school and his grades slipping. And he doesn't seem to see Happy at all.
The boys are too young to see the struggle their father goes through to provide for them. I don't want to burden Willy with all the business I take care of at home.
Just this morning, I got a call from Biff's mathematics professor. A 61. My son has a 61 in his class and the only reason for that according to his teacher is Bernard. My boy is stealing answers and he still can't pass a math class. I arranged for Biff to take summer courses so he can graduate and go to university. The boy has so much potential, Willy can see it. I just hope that he isn't ashamed of his son attending summer school.
The business never stops. The moment I hung up the phone it started ringing again.
I picked up and this time it was Frank reminding me of how much we owe for the carberator in the Chevrolet. That old Chevy. When we got it, why, I thought we were living the dream!
THEN. I got another call. It was one of the mothers from Biff's highschool. She told me she was worried for the safety of her daughter. Said, Biff was too rough with all the girls.
I don't know what to do.
When Willy got home, I tried so hard to be proud of him. The boys are so enamored with him and his stories of when he goes away. But that's all they are....stories. Few men are idolized by their sons as much as Willy. He fills their heads, hoping that if they know the right people, put on a good show, then they'll make the sale and find success. I pray it's true.
Bernards Studying.
Willy finally returned home from his trip to Boston and Providence. But everything here seems so far from providence. He doesn't see it. The boys don't see it. But I do.
He's not home to see Biff stealing in school and his grades slipping. And he doesn't seem to see Happy at all.
The boys are too young to see the struggle their father goes through to provide for them. I don't want to burden Willy with all the business I take care of at home.
Just this morning, I got a call from Biff's mathematics professor. A 61. My son has a 61 in his class and the only reason for that according to his teacher is Bernard. My boy is stealing answers and he still can't pass a math class. I arranged for Biff to take summer courses so he can graduate and go to university. The boy has so much potential, Willy can see it. I just hope that he isn't ashamed of his son attending summer school.
The business never stops. The moment I hung up the phone it started ringing again.
I picked up and this time it was Frank reminding me of how much we owe for the carberator in the Chevrolet. That old Chevy. When we got it, why, I thought we were living the dream!
THEN. I got another call. It was one of the mothers from Biff's highschool. She told me she was worried for the safety of her daughter. Said, Biff was too rough with all the girls.
I don't know what to do.
When Willy got home, I tried so hard to be proud of him. The boys are so enamored with him and his stories of when he goes away. But that's all they are....stories. Few men are idolized by their sons as much as Willy. He fills their heads, hoping that if they know the right people, put on a good show, then they'll make the sale and find success. I pray it's true.
28 Years Old, 11 Years Later: 1 House & 2 Boys
It's been so long since I've had time to write. Looking back at my last entry I have to smile at myself.
11 years later we're still in New York.
Willy is 28 years old and has been a salesman for 11 years now.
We have two strong handsome boys (much like their father) Biff and Happy.
Biff just turned nine.
For his birthday we bought him a house.
That's right! A house!!! There are two tall oak tress in the back. When Willy is home I can hear him tossing the ball in the backyard with the boys. I can imagine all the joyful memories we'll make in that backyard. We're living the American dream. We have the red 1928 Chevy parked out front. Two tall oak trees in the back. Two strong handsome boys.
Friday, October 19, 2012
The Life of a Salesman's Wife
Dave Singleman. That was his name. Willy told me today that because of Dave Singleman he wanted to die the death of a salesman. He wanted hundreds of people at his funeral. But I don't know if I'm ready for him to live the life of a Salesman? He makes it sound so grand. Willy always makes everything sound so perfect.
He says that without leaving his room at the age of 84 this man...Dave, could make a living. He said that it was then he realized that selling was the greatest career a man could want. Cause what could be more satisfying then having the man you love being able to go, at the age of 84, into twenty or thirty different cities, and pick up a phone, and be remembered and loved and helped by so many different people?
That's what he told me. He wants to be loved by everyone.
It makes me worry sometimes. Isn't my love enough? This kind of life sounds so lonely. He'll always be gone away to New Haven or Hartford...Boston. I'll be here in New York. I'll be surrounded by people who love him and know his name. He'll be everywhere but home.
This isn't the life I'd imagined...the one he promised me. I can remember him whispering in my ear...so full of hope and charm. "You wait, kid, before it's all over we're gonna get a little place out in the country, and I'll raise some vegetables, a couple of chickens...".
Well now he's a salesman at 17. Looks like we'll be in New York for a while. I just hope that we're somewhere living out our dream and he isn't working at 84.
He says that without leaving his room at the age of 84 this man...Dave, could make a living. He said that it was then he realized that selling was the greatest career a man could want. Cause what could be more satisfying then having the man you love being able to go, at the age of 84, into twenty or thirty different cities, and pick up a phone, and be remembered and loved and helped by so many different people?
That's what he told me. He wants to be loved by everyone.
It makes me worry sometimes. Isn't my love enough? This kind of life sounds so lonely. He'll always be gone away to New Haven or Hartford...Boston. I'll be here in New York. I'll be surrounded by people who love him and know his name. He'll be everywhere but home.
This isn't the life I'd imagined...the one he promised me. I can remember him whispering in my ear...so full of hope and charm. "You wait, kid, before it's all over we're gonna get a little place out in the country, and I'll raise some vegetables, a couple of chickens...".
Well now he's a salesman at 17. Looks like we'll be in New York for a while. I just hope that we're somewhere living out our dream and he isn't working at 84.
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