Lost in Dreams

by Roger Bruner

  “I was … busy.” Jo looked away. “Busy?”

  A theater-and-drama major, Aleesha was going to make a knockout actor. From her cross-examination of Jo, I was already looking forward to her becoming a humongous success in some lawyer show.

  “Actually,” Jo mumbled, “I was asleep.” I could barely make out her last word.

  “Ah, I see.” I could almost see Aleesha loading word bullets into a verbal pistol. “It was late, and you must have gone to bed before your parents learned about Mrs. Hartlinger’s death. That was what time, Kim?”

  I scratched my head, more for effect than anything else. “Seems like Dad called the Snellings around suppertime.”

  Aleesha gave Jo a “so?” look.

  Jo looked at the grandfather clock. “I went to bed early.” I expected Aleesha to say, “That early?” but she didn’t. “You’ve been busy every minute since then?”

  Oh, Jo, you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into … “I … my cell phone is broken.” “Your job has kept you too busy?” “I don’t have one. Not exactly.”

  “Then the housework you do for your parents has taken up

  all of your time?”

  “I do clean the litter box. Sometimes.”

  I almost laughed. I wouldn’t have accused her of lying, but I couldn’t picture her doing that. Actually, didn’t their cat stay outside? Jo, do you know how ridiculous you sound?

  Aleesha looked at me and rolled her eyes. I couldn’t blame her. Jo’s excuses were pathetic. No matter how much her failure to offer timely support had hurt my feelings, holding my laughter in was nearly impossible. I couldn’t remember having laughed once since Aleesha and I giggled together in San Diego about my spilled pebbles.

  “I see.” Aleesha faced Jo and put on her most serious look. “Those things make a difference, don’t they?”

  No actor could have done a more convincing job as a lawyer cross-examining an unresponsive witness. And Jo didn’t have anyone to object to Aleesha’s line of questioning. I almost felt sorry for her.

  Almost, but not quite.

  “All of the phones at home are broken, too?” Jo stared at her feet.

  “Oh, but didn’t Kim tell me you live just a few houses away?” Aleesha paused, but Jo didn’t respond. She wiped both palms—I assumed they were sweaty—on her jeans. She couldn’t have looked more frightened if someone had been pointing a semiautomatic at her head.

  “A couple of blocks away,” I said. For all the good it would do Jo, Aleesha still needed to play fair by using accurate facts.

  “Ah. That’s different. Tell me … has the Health Department quarantined your family? You know, kept them inside because they’re contagious.” The room was pin-drop quiet during Aleesha’s dramatic pause. “No, your dad made it here several days ago. Have you been quarantined?”

  I put my hand in front of my mouth. That changed the

  sound of my snicker to something between a gulp and a cough.

  Jo looked at me with “Do I really have to put up with this?” written all over her face. The border drug war that made her mama keep her home from the mission trip would have been safer than a sarcastic Aleesha. Once more, I was tempted to feel sorry for her, but instead I raised my eyebrows as if to say, “You brought this on yourself, you know. “

  Aleesha broke into a deep belly laugh without warning.

  “You’ll have to forgive me, Miss Betsy Jo Snelling,” she said in what anybody but me might have mistaken for the beginning of a real apology.

  Nobody would have mistaken her meaning when she continued, though. “I’m just a poor, ignorant person of color trying to understand how white best friends treat each other. I think I have it now.”

  Jo looked more deflated than the denim tote bag after leaking its load of pebbles. She might not have caught the full implications of Aleesha’s put-down, but she understood enough to turn a glowing red.

  “Excuse me,” I barely managed to say before speeding from the room. “Back in a minute.” I couldn’t hold my laughter in any longer.

  When I reentered the room five minutes later, I was amazed to see Aleesha and Jo sitting side by side, talking like two normal people. Like people who got along with one another. Jo looked up at me.

  “I’m sorry, Kim. I was just explaining to Alice—”

  “That’s Aleesha, my dear Miss Jo.”

  “Yes, I was telling Aleesha how much your mom’s death has upset me. That’s why I couldn’t face you until now. I kept thinking, ‘What if my mama died? Or my papa?’ That’s all I’ve been able to think about since I heard about Terri. I’ve just kind of gone crazy thinking about it.”

  I cringed at hearing her refer to Mom by her first name. That didn’t used to bother me, but now it seemed disrespectful.

  “I’ve really let you down, and I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

  She and I hugged. Not the kind of hug I’d expected. The kind I’d gotten from Penny … and from Aleesha. It didn’t remind me of my mother.

  No, girl, I don’t hate you. I’m trying to understand you, but you’re not making sense. All I know is I needed you and you didn’t come. Do you expect your talk of going crazy and your whiny apology to comfort me now?

  Although Aleesha has been the best of friends for less than three weeks, she’s put her whole life on hold to come a lot farther than a few blocks to minister to me.

  Jo, I admit it. I resent your unconcern.

  “Uh, no … no, I don’t hate you.”

  chapter nine

  Jo’s visit had been awkward, and I was glad she didn’t stay long. That was a first, considering we practically used to live at one another’s houses.

  “Aleesha, I’m afraid I need to brush up on Rob’s lessons about forgiveness. I shouldn’t resent Jo the way I do.”

  “You and me both, girl. You remember what I told you about detecting the smell?” That was her special way of describing prejudice—or at least a strong intolerance. Her clenched teeth formed an unmistakable frown. “Jo reeked of it.”

  “She …?” What could I say? Even I had wondered about that.

  “She wasn’t one bit happy to see one of … us in your living room.”

  I sighed, shook my head ever so slightly, and waited for her to continue.

  “Girl, when you and I met at orientation, I could tell you hadn’t been around many of us permanently well-tanned individuals. Sure, you had a few innocent misconceptions about us, but at least you didn’t have that smell. I couldn’t detect a lick of prejudice in you.”

  I smiled.

  “So Jo really is”—I couldn’t make myself say the word prejudiced—”that different from me?”

  How could she have been prejudiced without my knowing it? She’d never spoken badly about any group of people that I could recall. Of course, I’d never seen her interact with anyone outside our own little group, either. But had that been

  by choice or lack of opportunity?

  Aleesha was probably right, though. She had an uncanny knack for figuring out what people were like on the inside. She’d sure pegged Geoff right, even though he eventually did a one-eighty.

  “If you’d seen the look in her eyes when she first saw me, you’d—”

  “She hadn’t met you before. She didn’t expect to see you. Strangers make me uneasy, too. Especially when I don’t expect to see one in a familiar setting.”

  I didn’t want Jo to be guilty of prejudice. Maybe I still owed her a bit of my loyalty, but attempting to defend her—even slightly—over an issue like this seemed almost … wrong.

  I could say anything to Aleesha, so I did. “Don’t tell me you expected Jo to say,’ Oh goody! Here’s a strange African-American in Kim’s living room. Won’t she make a fine second-best friend?’ “

  Aleesha cackled, and I laughed for the second time since Mom’s death.

  “Maybe she’s watched too much television, you think?” she said. “Color television. Not enough basic black-and-white.”
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  Laughing felt great. I hadn’t had any disturbing thoughts about Mom for at least two minutes now.

  “How do you think she’s going to feel when she realizes that you’ve become my best friend now? Or at least a co-best friend?”

  Oh, drat. I might as well admit and accept it. You and I have more in common now than Jo and I. We’ve shared some of the most meaningful events in our recent lives. Although I can’t blame Jo for pulling out of the mission trip, my experiences have changed me in ways she can’t appreciate or understand because she wasn’t there.

  “She’ll be thrilled at having me for a new friend, of course.”

  Aleesha belly-laughed. “Not hardly, huh, girl? As skinny as you are, you sure there’s enough of you to go around?”

  Although she liked to tease me about being skinny, I knew—this time—she was questioning whether I could maintain two best friendships. Especially if one best friend was highly, uh, intolerant of the other.

  I wasn’t worried about Aleesha, though. Her expectations were realistic. What had she said to Geoff in fun that time? “Call me whatever you want to as long as you do it with a modicum of respect, boy. Even if you call me ‘that fool black girl’ just do it with respect, and we’ll be fine. “

  Before I could tell her I didn’t know how far I could spread myself in opposite directions, the front door opened. Dad had a bundle of important-looking documents under his arm. Legal papers, they looked like. I wondered if Mom’s will was there. I’d never seen it.

  He smiled, leaned over, and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Hello, Kimberly … uh, Kim.”

  Wonderful! Mom’s death hadn’t formalized him again after all. She and I had worked hard to break him of calling me by my full first name. Calling me Kim now was a special tribute to her memory.

  I couldn’t keep from hopping up and hugging him. Although he’d acted too numb to pay special attention to me the day Mom died, that changed almost immediately. Aware that he wasn’t the only one suffering a huge loss, he’d reached out to me more and more—both to offer and to accept support. The perfect start for a new-and-improved relationship.

  We hadn’t discussed guilt, though.

  “I’m sorry, Aleesha,” he said. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. How are you?”

  Although he extended his hand to shake hers, she slapped his palm in a playful “gimme five” instead. Aleesha enjoyed

  confusing people, and she was good at it. As dignified as Dad could be—almost stuffy at times—his reaction was beyond my ability to guess.

  He laughed. Shocker.

  Dad, what is Mom’s death doing to you? I like it.

  Then a pang of guilt hit me. I shouldn’t attribute something good to something so horrible.

  “You’re always fine, aren’t you?” Dad asked Aleesha. Something unusual tinged his question. Not jealousy. Something more like … wistfulness.

  “I’m fine now, thank you, sir. But, no, I’m not always fine.”

  I wondered if she was thinking about her father’s Season of Pebbles. Probably just as well she didn’t say anything about it now. No need to make Dad dwell on his loss anymore than he already was. We would survive the coming weeks and months—it would require a humongous dose of Jesus’ help—but I wasn’t sure how victorious we’d feel.

  “Plenty of things get me down,” Aleesha said to Dad. “Like the way Jo—”

  “We’ve started calling Betsy Jo ‘Jo’ now, Dad.” I grinned at Aleesha.

  “Like the way she didn’t come to see Kim until today. People who mistreat my friends upset me more than people who mistreat me.”

  “What a remarkable attitude,” Dad said. “And you’re only eighteen?” She nodded. “You’re positive?” He winked at her.

  “Positive. But this attitude comes from nine years as a Christian, not eighteen years of life. Living by faith has turned me into the mature, modest young lady who stands—”

  “Who’s seated …” I giggled.

  “The one who sits before you today.” She smiled as she turned to glance at me. “Kim’s been learning to care more about other people, too.” Thank you for pointing that out.

  “She started developing that attitude working with the migrant kids at your church’s House of Bread, but it became part of her lifestyle in Santa María. You would be proud of her unselfishness there.”

  Go, girl! Tell Dad how much I’ve grown up.

  His eyes brightened. “Kim and I haven’t had much chance to discuss her mission activities yet …”

  “Or much of anything else,” I added. I wanted—I needed—to talk with him about Mom. I suspected he wanted that, too. Maybe I was wrong, but I thought we’d both been afraid to broach the subject.

  He put his arm around my shoulder. “That will change now, won’t it?” he said as I snuggled into his shoulder—much as I’d done with Neil on the bus and with Penny Adams after receiving word of the accident.

  “Be sure to ask her about the litter cleanup and her reading of the Gospel of Luke. In perfect Spanish, at that.” Dad’s eyes opened in surprise. He knew I’d studied French all the way through high school. “God was definitely in charge of that. But don’t let the cat leak out of the denim bag …”

  I giggled, and Dad gave both of us the weirdest look.

  “You’ve got a wonderful daughter, Mr. Hartlinger.”

  “Call me Scott, please.” He must have seen my eyes pop wide open. Jo tended to refer to him by first name, but no other teen had ever dared to address him that way. “No more Mr. Stuffy for me.” He looked at me and winked.

  Dad, what’s gotten into you? You’re not the same person you were when I left for San Diego. This new you is great, but did you pay one bit of attention to what Aleesha just said about me? Has Mom’s death left you partially deaf? This is so weird. I might have expected you to become bitter or more withdrawn, but you’ve become Mr. Nice Guy … with a new hearing problem.

  “No can do, sir,” Aleesha said. “I often use my great acting skills to keep my elders from discovering that I’m not always polite and respectful. That I’m human, in other words. So I’ll demonstrate by addressing you as Mr. Scott.”

  “Fair enough. And, Kim …”

  “Yes, Dad?”

  “What Aleesha said about you in Mexico sounds amazing. I want to hear every detail.”

  My word, Dad. Not only do you still hear fine, but your listening skills are a trillion times better, too.

  The three of us talked about the mission trip for hours. He and Aleesha were still talking when I went to bed. I couldn’t stay awake any longer.

  If I’d known what my night was going to be like, though, I would’ve forced myself to stay awake.

  chapter ten

  Dawn, Kim … time to get up. That rubbish isn’t going away by itself.”

  I rolled over toward the voice. Was I back in Santa María? No, wait. The rubbish cleanup was over. And so was the reading of Lucas.

  I yawned a couple of extra times between normal yawns, but I couldn’t open my eyes quite as wide as I’d been opening my mouth. I couldn’t have felt more worn out if I’d just completed a day of rubbish cleanup in Santa María.

  Aleesha knew me too well. She waved a mug of coffee under my nose. Mmm. That opened my eyes. Then I sat up so she could hand it to me.

  “Thanks.” I cradled the mug in my hands and passed its steaming scent beneath my nostrils once more. Real coffee like this would taste a lot nicer than the coffee candy she’d shared with me my first morning in the village. It would have more caffeine, too.

  Another yawn escaped before I could take a sip. “What time did you go to bed, Aleesha?”

  “Haven’t been there. Didn’t have time.” She made a clucking noise with her mouth that sounded remarkably like a horse’s clop. I had no idea what that was supposed to signify.

  My clock read 8:37. That must’ve been a.m. I hadn’t gone to bed until 10:15 the night before and felt too dragged out to have slept around the clock.
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br />   Thanks for not really waking me up at dawn the way you always did in Santa María.

  “You haven’t been to—?”

  “It’s all Mr. Scott’s fault. Your dad’s a great talker.”

  My dad? Aleesha, you’re a big talker. Yes, maybe even a “great” one. But Dad? Dad the professional introvert? Maybe you’re right, though. He’s been coming out of his shell a bit this week, and he shocked the daylights out of me last night by being such an interested listener.

  He asked question after question about my adventures in Santa María, and each answer seemed to inspire two new questions. This new him seemed to have improved both his talking and his listening skills.

  What could have caused a change like that? Surely not Mom’s death.

  “Don’t look so shocked, girl. You just need to know how to wind him up and start him ticking. That part is easy for me. Stopping him is something else. We talked all night, until”—she glanced at her watch—”approximately 8:35, to be precise.”

  Approximately … precise? I refused to let myself giggle.

  I wanted to make a smart-aleck comment about who couldn’t stop whom, but she barely stopped talking long enough for me to open my mouth.

  “Don’t tell him I said anything”—she lowered her voice almost to a whisper—”but we spent a lot of time talking about his feelings. Don’t let that cheery exterior fool you. He’s hurting plenty, too.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment.

  “Why did he share his feelings with you?” I hoped I didn’t sound jealous, but I couldn’t take back my question then. “Instead of with his own daughter, I mean?”

  “Because he knows you’re hurting, and he doesn’t want to make you feel worse.”

  “Worse?” I must have spoken louder than I realized, because Aleesha shushed me before I continued. “We’ve been

  supporting one another. We should bear one another’s burdens. Like a Christian, uh, father and daughter.”

  “That’s exactly what I told him. But Mr. Scott said you weren’t up to dealing with his problems. He explained that you’d overreacted to the plight of the migrants when you worked at the House of Bread. According to him—and he admits he’s no psychologist—you almost had a nervous breakdown over things you had no control over.”