Don't Wake Me if I'm Dreaming (3 page)

“Theoretically, you are, but that’s neither here nor there, and the very reason I love you. Maybe you should talk with a doctor. It could be like apnea or night terrors. Maybe sleeping pills or melatonin might help, lavender oils, or maybe you need one of those masks people wear to sleep to help with breathing.” She cuffed her hands over her mouth. “Hey Matt,
wanna
do me?” She snickered, but quickly dropped her hands realizing the humor ceased to reach my side of the table.

“I’m glad you find such light in my darkness!”

“I can’t help it. I’m deliriously tired. You know how I get when I don’t have enough sleep,” she said, staring out the glass at her bedroom window across the street.

It was beginning to rain, and we noticed a glint of lightning, followed by a rumble of thunder. We sat quietly watching the drops trickle down the window, waiting for her food.

I knew it was an opportune moment to share the secret about my mom I’d been hiding, and surprisingly, the words started pouring from my mouth effortlessly.

“She died from this…my mom.”

“What?” She glanced at me, confused.

“My mom died from this, from her dreams, or because of them anyway,” I verbally confessed for the first time.

“No, she didn’t.”

“Yes, she did. She killed herself. Her aunt told me.”

“But she was sick, I thought?”

“Yeah, mentally.”

“How did she… why… I mean… I’m sorry, I’m not processing this.”

“I don’t know much. My dad’s always hid this from Sam and me. I’m not sure why he couldn’t just be honest, but it’s the truth.”

“I’m sure he’s just protecting you guys.”

“I know, but still.”

“How long have you known?” Her eyes studied mine.

“Senior year.”

“Of college?” she asked with an incredulous gasp. “You’ve kept this from me for that long?”

I looked back out the window unable to see much other than an occasional flash through the sheet of now pouring water. “High school.” I cleared my throat.

“And you’re just now telling me this!” Her puzzled expression changed to a look of heartache.

I responded by rubbing my knees, noticing stubbles. “I haven’t shaved in a few days.”

“Sasha? What the hell! You’ve spent the last seven years keeping this all in, and you didn’t trust me enough to…” She paused a moment. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” She fought not to leer.

“Well, you didn’t exactly tell me you’re pregnant!”

“I…what?” She was thrown off by my comment.

“Since when have you ever eaten more than a salad here, and extra bleu cheese? Oh, and a malt? Come on, who are you trying to kid?”

“If I had thought I was pregnant before thirty seconds ago, I would have told you first. And nice ruse! Why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me?”

I glanced at her, but the rain drew my eyes out the window. “It’s not like that. I’ve never been able to talk about it to anyone. It hurts. Trust me. I’ve tried to repress it myself. It’s infuriating as hell feeling like Sam and I weren’t enough, and my dad still hasn’t even moved on after all this time. She had more love than… it’s senseless dwelling. Not like she’s ever returning.”

“I don’t understand, I mean, she…why did she do it?”

“You remember Ivanna, my great aunt? I stayed at her house for a weekend to help take care of her and the dogs when she was sick. I had a nightmare one night while there, and she woke me. She said I was like screaming about something. That’s when she told me about my mom. I’ll never forget it…. She said mom would do the same thing, cry out in the night, and she’d wake, terrified. Mom told Ivanna that her dreams were real, like really real, to her anyway. It was as if she lived in two worlds, hers—the one we knew, and the other, when she slept. I guess it got so bad she could hardly decipher the two.”

“What about your dad, I mean, he had to know, right? They shared the same bed and all.”

The waitress handed me the water and Aimee her food, but Aimee was too flabbergasted to give the waitress or the food any attention.

“My dad might have known something was wrong, but he was gone a lot, working. And she probably wouldn’t have let him help, even if he wanted to. She was the nurturer, the peacekeeper in the family. She worried enough for the lot of us. It makes sense she’d keep it a secret.”

“And so she… I mean, Ivanna told you that’s why she did it, because of the dreams?”

“Sort of, but not in those words. All she said is that it was too much for my mom, and she couldn’t deal with it anymore. I guess she was depressed and scared. I don’t even know how she did it. Ivanna wouldn’t tell me that much.”

“Well, holy crap. You have dreams like these, too? They seem real to you?”

“I don’t exactly know what she dreamed about, but I think so. They’re not ordinary dreams, and they scare me. I don’t want to kill myself or anything like that, but I begged you to meet me here, if that gives you an idea what I’m dealing with.”

“Is that how your aunt died? Did she also?” Aimee refrained from saying the words.

“No. She was sick from old age. I remember that much.”

Aimee sighed a little. “What are they about, your dreams?”

“They change after a while.” I thought for a few seconds trying to decide how much I wanted to share. “Sometimes I’m trapped somewhere or lost in a forest. Sometimes car wrecks, I don’t know, but I do know they feel real and when I wake, it’s as if I actually lived it. Seriously, if I weren’t in my bed, I would think it really happened and I remember every last detail, as if I were really there.”

Aimee glanced at her food, evidently having lost her appetite. She didn’t know what else to say as she sat absorbing our conversation.

“I know it’s a lot. Sorry to unload all this on you. I probably shouldn’t have,” I said, poking the straw in the cup.

“Stop it. I’m just upset it took you this long to tell me. I can’t imagine how you’ve dealt with this alone. You said Sam doesn’t know?”

“No, and I don’t plan to tell him. I think about all the times it screwed with my head, and the damages it’s caused me. I can’t share that burden with my brother. It’s senseless.”

Aimee sat in thought a moment. “Juilliard…we were seventeen during the audition. Was that after your aunt told you about your mom?”

“You’re good. It was about a week after she told me. I should’ve known better than to audition at the time. I should have rescheduled or made an excuse. I don’t even remember the flight to New York. I was still in shock.”

“God, you’ve hidden it so well this whole time. It’s like there’s another you I don’t even know. You’re a lot like your mom in that way, hiding things.”

“I suppose.” I smirked.

“You never told me what happened during the audition. I remember calling you afterward and you were reluctant to talk about it, so I let it go. I wish I would have pushed harder to get the truth out of your stubborn ass.”

“I guess now you know.” I smiled meekly for a brief moment, remembering the stage, the judges’ staring eyes, and the way the lights shone across the polished black grand piano. “It was beautiful, just like in the movies. It was supposed to be at minimum a forty-five-minute audition. I rehearsed and played each song hundreds of times by heart and even days prior with complete composure, knowing the truth about my mom. Surprisingly, I made it through The Well-Tempered Clavier, it was one of her favorites she often played, and I was okay playing it. And I did well with Wanderer Fantasie and another piece by Schumann, but like an idiot, I tried playing Debussy’s Clair de Lune. It was the easiest piece of the bunch, and I botched the hell out of it. They let me start over with that piece, twice actually, but my fingers became limp each time. I pictured that being the song she chose to… you know. It was like I was no longer on stage, but instead in a distant place watching her. Like a fly on the wall, I guess, and the strangest thing was that it felt peaceful, for her anyway. I pictured her leaving peacefully as if she no longer had a care or fear.” I could still visualize it as I did while on stage. “I didn’t even react to the thought. I did nothing but sat still, motionless, my fingers faulted on the keys.” I unknowingly zoned out in contemplation, reliving the moment.

“And that was it?”

“I heard the conversing, a judge said, ‘thank you, that’ll be all.’ I was probably just over thirty minutes into the audition, and just like that, it was over. I think it was at that moment I finally let her go, and along with that, I gave back the gift she gave me. I haven’t played the piano since.”

Aimee sat motionlessly, the only movement was a trailing stream of tears. She reached to hold my hand, but, not wanting to cry myself, I reached for her glass, pulled the wrapper from the straw, and took a drink of the partially melted malt. “You should eat, now that you’re eating for two.”

“Yuck. No. When you pictured it, I mean, in your mind, how do you think she did it?” She swallowed hard with anguished eyes.

“I think she drowned herself in the tub, candles surrounding her, her favorite piece playing in the background, Clair de Lune. I don’t think she was scared. I think she was ready and just slid into the water. It makes sense as to why my dad ripped out the tub and put in a shower. But every time I think of it, I can hear the music, and see her slipping deeper into the water.”

Aimee wiped the steady stream from her face with her sleeve. “This breaks my heart. Your mom was the kindest woman on earth. She would have never intended to hurt you guys. Had she even had a clear thought, she would have known better. She loved you guys so much. We may have been young, but I remember I was always jealous of how good she was to you guys.”

I smiled halfhearted.

“You can audition again you know. It’s not too late.” She tried perking up a little.

“What am I going to do with a degree in music? I already have a steady career and Matt would never be okay with moving to New York. He’ll never move far from the fire department. I’m not even sure I’d want to live there either. Besides, I haven’t played in years, and that’s not going to solve any of my problems. They’ll just follow me there.”

“About that. After everything you just told me, you need to see a doctor, like yesterday. I can call in for a substitute to teach my class and take you. I don’t want you to…” Her eyes trickled heavily, again. “Oh my God, I can’t even think of that!” Her hands slid up inside her sleeves and cuffed them over her eyes with a silent weeping sob.

“Geeze, I’m the one who should be falling apart here, but I think you’ve covered that enough for the both of us.”

“Sorry. I can’t help it.” She wiped off her cheeks. “This is like the saddest story ever. I wish I could take it all away from you.”

“Me too.” I stared back out the window.

I had a small splinter of relief after talking with Aimee. To say it out loud, and not be condemned as insane gave me hope that maybe it was much worse in my head than it really was. And undeniably, she was right. I needed to see a doctor, and pronto.

***

A
fter a long and very miserable workday, I remembered I was supposed to meet up with Matt. We’d managed four consistent days apart already, and I was craving every ounce of his attention and knew a date night was past due. Or at least it was until I glanced in the rearview mirror realizing Aimee wasn’t kidding, I did look like shit. “Lovely! Sleep deprived, partially bloodshot eyes, un-waxed brows, talking to myself, again. Ugh, such a hot mess.”
I also noticed before turning the mirror that I had done a half ass job smearing on makeup this morning. At this point, I didn’t even think a quick beauty makeover at a Shiseido counter could fix the reflected image glaring back at me in disgust. There was no way I’d let Matt see me like this. I needed to evade the situation with urgency and think up a legitimate excuse as to why I would willingly go another moment without seeing him. I knew if I said I wasn’t feeling well, he’d drop everything to take care of me. “A migraine it is,”
I said, hitting the phone command button on my steering wheel. “Call my sexy man,” I instructed.

“Calling my sexy man,” the voice command replied.

The sound of disappointment in Matt’s voice after rejecting his predicted offer to care for me emanated with much guilt. It wasn’t common practice in our relationship to be dishonest. I just wasn’t ready to tell him the truth about my personal ordeal and was feeling too transparent to hide much from him. I promised him I would sleep it off and meet him in the morning for brunch, leaving him somewhat satisfied. 

After hanging up with Matt, and out of sheer guilt and a promise to Aimee, I called my physician’s office and scheduled an appointment. In the meantime, I had only a few days to mastermind a strategy for dealing with my sleep issues, and to rehearse the undesirable conversation that would take place between the doctor and me.

***

H
ours later, I sat channel surfing between reruns of I Love Lucy and infomercials. It was past midnight, and my eyelids began morphing into what felt like heavy dumbbells. I glanced at the clock with an exasperated sigh. I could hardly keep my head lifted. As tired as I was, I had resisted the urge to sleep until now. As I began drifting into slumber, my mind instantly went to the forest man dressed in black. My eyes flew open with desperate hope to stay awake. Swiftly, I got up and ran to the closet to get dressed. I decided if clothing crossed over to the dream, it should be more than a sports bra and pajama shorts. I slid on jeans, a T-shirt, and running shoes. I looked around the closet for a moment, sensing I needed something else. I remembered an old gift from my brother I’d forgotten about until now.