Don't Wake Me if I'm Dreaming (2 page)

What is not expected is to return to the places left behind after waking. Remembering little of a dream, if anything at all, but for some there is no escaping.’ “Huh.”

The rest of the evening I forcefully refrained from dwelling over sleep, and despite a headache and near lethargic feeling attained from sleep deficiency, I kept myself busy with laundry and scrubbing down the bathroom before organizing the kitchen.

  Matt returned my missed call around eleven p.m., after returning from an emergency response to a cardiac arrest. He kept my brain occupied until the screeching of the smoke detector practically perforated my eardrums. I quickly hung up, sprinted to the kitchen, and wrenched the burner off. I tossed the smoldering and blistered pan in the sink, and waved the bristled end of the broom beneath the detector, fanning away the smoke until the bleeping faded to a penetrating echo. “Un-flipping believable!”

After opening a couple windows, I looked at my clouded kitchen, sourly. It smelled horrible, and the pan was done for. I ran it, along with the trash, out to the dumpster and returned in search of the remaining leftovers that appeared to be stored somewhere other than the refrigerator. Looking around the kitchen, I considered the larder a moment before checking it. Sure enough, I had placed the leftover casserole dish of spaghetti on a shelf next to the misplaced quart of milk. I didn’t allow myself to be fazed by the reduction of my normal brain activity and carried on, successfully reheating a second helping of pasta, this time utilizing the microwave, for obvious reasons. I returned the apartment to pre-smoke order, and by the time I sat down to eat, I finally decided I was done, done with the day’s trivialities. Done searching the Internet for answers I wouldn’t find, done trying to avoid sleep, just done. 

It was now past midnight, and I didn’t give resting my chin in the crook of my arm a second thought. Nor did it bother me to close my eyes, leaving my half-eaten dinner aside at the table.

A couple of hours later, my eyes hadn’t yet opened, but I was completely cognizant, and still slumped at the table. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the kitchen lights and focus on the green numbers of the oven clock displaying 2:23 a.m. With the forest dream fresh in my thoughts, I almost fell off the chair rushing to my room for a pen and tablet, and sat with a plunk on the bed.

I returned there, again, to the bloody woods.

I stopped writing long enough to rip the page, collect my thoughts, and start over.

The warmth of the sun touches my face, as I stand with my eyes closed in transition. I see sunlight through my eyelids. It is a pleasant feeling. A light breeze touches my skin as I breathe in the many aromas of the crisp morning air. I hear a woodpecker drilling in the distance, Mockingbirds mocking, and Cardinals whistling their beautiful tune. Suddenly, I experience a rush of impending doom, realizing I’m standing again near the lake in the forest. The growing repugnance toward the lake, the forest, the dream, and even the feathered vertebrate near an intolerable amount of distress, making my stomach churn. I know the only way to end the dream is to find the reason the boy is standing alone by the shore.

I hurry toward him, a little faster with each step. He can’t be standing more than forty yards from where the dream always begins. I slow my pace as I approach him, hoping not to frighten him away. Finally, his dirt spotted face turns up toward me, but something unexpected happens. I gasp, losing my footing, and fall back flat to the ground in shock. His green eyes send a sort of charge that radiates through my body as if all my appendages are frozen stiff. Instead of seeing him, it’s as if I can see myself through his eyes. I lay on the ground paralyzed from fear, my light strawberry blonde hair falling around me, my pale green-blue eyes filled with fright, and my lips fearfully quivering. As quickly as the mirrored image of me appears in his eyes, it’s gone.

I needed a moment to clear my head to remember the rest of the dream, but it didn’t take long for the fear to return and the pen to slide across the tablet.

I frantically scramble to my feet looking around me, but the water is untouched, and no sign of footprints trail the path. The little boy is nowhere to be seen. I figure if I head the other
direction, maybe I will find my way out of the nightmare. I walk, each step further from where the boy stood, further from the disembodied illusion he produced. The trail oddly appears incessant, seeing no end or alternative side paths. It brings an eerie feeling that I am going nowhere in a hurry. I look around feeling stumped and scared. There are no signs of human life, just me in the forest, alone. A deep fear plunges in my body as panic rushes through me. There is no escaping this dream, and I am unable to wake myself.

The sun begins setting over the lake, providing a dim cast of light, but my surroundings remain visible. The same cloud that typically lingers is absent. I try focusing on the fiery shades of pink and orange reflecting across the water, hoping the beautiful scenery brings comfort, but it doesn’t. Chirps, hoots, and squeaks replace the drills from the woodpecker and melody of birds. It is rapidly growing late, and I am increasingly becoming petrified.

I step to a log a few feet from the water, where I sit with my arms hugged tight around my legs, as if trying to squeeze the fear from my body. Peering over my knees, I frown at the dirt wedged around my toes. “Wake up dammit!” I cry, half anticipating something to happen. As I sit shivering, staring at the lake that now reflects a wavering moonlight, I notice time appears to be lapsing in a steadily forward motion. What realistically should have been hours, appear approximately minutes. Unfazed by this discovery, it dawns on me that if I step into the water, the coldness will likely startle me awake. After jumping to my feet, I hurriedly take a large step, reaching the outcropping of mossy rock in the water and find my balance. Resisting the urge to step forward into the cold darkness beneath my toes, I look down, clenching my fists, mustering the courage to drop. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and extend my foot falling into the knee deep, freezing cold water. “Ehhhh geeezus!” I shriek. In an instant, I lunge back, tripping over another smaller rock, falling to the ground with my legs partially submerged in the water. I look around realizing my plan failed. As I scurry to stand, wiping dirt from my pajama shorts, I glance across the cove. The boy has returned, standing again at the water’s edge. It is difficult to make out more than his silhouette in the darkened forest’s shadows with only light of the moon, but I know, undoubtedly, it is he. Another surge of fear trembles through my body, ripping at my nerves, as his gaze crosses the water hitting me. Distance and the darkness isn’t enough to prevent the visions from happening with the same numbingly cold sensation ripping through my body. The image of me is as visible as before, and it is no longer dark outside. I’m wearing pink striped pajama shorts and a matching tank top, exactly the way I looked before falling asleep. That is about the magnitude I can visibly see from this distance. Suddenly, a man is standing directly behind me, sending a soaring fear through my body, worse than I was already feeling. I can’t control what I am seeing, or what I am doing, I can only watch as I stand facing the little boy with a stranger at my back. That is the point I wake, still not having any answers, just more reasons to fear sleep.

***

I
set the pen and tablet on my nightstand then leaned back against the headboard. Looking at my toes, I examined them as if expecting to see dirt. I spaced off trying to remember if I had missed any details of the dream. I pictured the man, I saw in the boy’s vision, standing motionless behind me. I remember he stood a few inches taller than me, maybe six foot, with dark, almost black hair, but I couldn’t see the fine points of his features. Just as suspicious as his presence, was his attire. He wore what appeared to be a black suit or tuxedo, like some secret-service agent or something, which made no sense.
As if any of it makes sense,
the voice in my head argued as I snapped back to reality.

The fear had hardly diminished by the time I used the bathroom, washed up, and brushed my teeth. I stopped a moment, stretching in front of the bathroom mirror as I yawned with a stare at my reflection. “How is any of this possible?” I murmured, reaching to hold the sink for balance. Thankfully, the mirrored image didn’t reply. At this point, anything impossible seemed to be anything but impossible. I twisted my messy hair into a braid, and then searched for my cellphone. I knew it was ridiculously late to make a phone call, but I didn’t want to be alone. Matt had to sleep whenever time permitted at the fire department, and he had to be at a job site by seven in the morning. I could only think of one other person that wouldn’t hang up at this hour. I speed dialed my best friend, Aimee Rutledge’s number, and was beyond grateful when she answered.

“Are you dying?” she asked just louder than a whisper.

“Not exactly!”

“Then allow me to arrange for that.” She breathed deeply through her nose.

“Sorry, I know it’s kind of late… early...” I groveled. “I need you right now.”

“It’s Sasha. Go back to sleep,” she muttered to her husband, Vance, with a groan, “What time is it?”

“That’s not important, and I know you want to meet me at the diner. I’m desperate. I don’t want to be alone right now.”

“I thought that’s why you have a boyfriend?”

“He’s working and I need you, not him,” I involuntarily whined a little.

“Can’t this wait until tomorrow morning?”

“It is morning, a quarter past three to be exact.”

“You need a live-in companion to keep you company. A bird or a cat, anything.” She yawned. “It’s not healthy always being alone all the time.”

“A bird? Really? I’m leaving now! See you in a few.”

“Seriously? Damn you!”

The phone went silent.

I knew she wasn’t thrilled about an early-morning wake-up call on a workday, but I also knew Aimee would meet me, and I was desperate not to be alone at the moment.

The little diner was the only place nearby and opened all hours to grab a meal and coffee, and was conveniently on the corner across the street from Aimee’s uptown apartment. 

I parked along the curb and saw Aimee standing, with her arms crossed, just inside the glass doors. Her strawberry blonde hair was in a messy bun on top of her head. She was wearing what looked like her husband’s old college sweatshirt and leggings with a tall pair of Crocheted boots. Her long skinny legs looked like stilts through the elongated glass doors. She watched as I approached, greeting me with open arms and a genuinely concerned look on her face.

“Hey ragamuffin, oh my, don’t you look like shit!” She gave me a sincere hug. 

“Trust me, I’m feeling it.” I wasn’t surprised it was that apparent and it probably didn’t help I was still in my pajamas, wrapped in a cardigan and paired with tall red rubber rain boots and no makeup.

“So what’s up? Are you and Mattie okay?”

“We’re fine. He’s great. I think. I honestly haven’t seen him for a few days. I’m the one with the issue here, not him.”

“Yes, well that comes as a surprise,” she said sarcastically, taking a seat. “Is it pathetic I have this thing memorized word for word?” She slid the menu aside. “Even worse, I’m going to eat this late. Want to split a burger?”

“Not hungry, and this isn’t about you right now. This is about me, and I. Can’t. Sleep! Well I can, but when I do it’s horrible.”

“How so?” She laid her arms on the table.

“Nightmares and…”

The new graveyard waitress stopped by the table. “So early on a weekday, huh?” Her eyes looked idly between us with a drowsy sway. “What’ll it be ladies?” She yawned, covering her mouth with an order tablet. “Excuse me. I’m still not used to this shift.”

“I’ll have the bacon avocado bleu cheese burger. No mayo. No fries and can you add a side of bleu cheese dressing,” Aimee ordered. “Oh, and please wrap half to go... Mmmaybe a strawberry malt, too.”

“And for you?” The waitress stared at me.

“Lemon water. Thank you.”

“Got it.” She returned to the kitchen.

“So… you were saying?” Aimee yawned.

“I keep having these nightmares every night, and I wake terrified. I can’t fall back asleep, and if I do, it starts over again. It’s like a time loop, but in my dreams.”

“Ah, I see, what are they about?”

“Random crap.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

I looked at her, stumped. “If I knew what to do about it, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you!”

“Aye, good point.” She yawned again.

Aimee knew from a year together in our college dorm, and three years living in an apartment together, that my dreams were obviously different than most other peoples, she just wasn’t aware how different. We had never talked about it. It was probably because of the relation between my mom’s dreams and her death that I never felt confident in sharing, but I knew I needed to get over that if I was going to find a solution.

“So what’s changed lately that’s triggering them to be so different than before? Have you tried talking to anyone? Matt, your doctor, a neurologist perhaps?”

“A neurologist? None of the above.” I slightly laughed. “I can’t tell Matt. He’ll think I’m just strange or something, it’s bad enough you probably think I’m nuts.”