Don't Wake Me if I'm Dreaming

by J. E. Chaney

  “I’ll be inside in a moment.” I looked out at the front lawn trying to decide if I wanted to grab more flowers from the hardware store. I instantly remembered a glimpse of a dream, frolicking in the yard with Jack and remembered he found a ring. I walked to the area where he bent over looking in the grass and moved my shoe around, combing the dirt. It was there, the ring. I leaned down and picked it up, wiping the dirt on my shorts to clean it. The rose gold ring looked like lace armor as it had in my dream. My heart felt like it skipped a thousand beats, remembering Jack telling me it was the plantation’s way of repaying me for all your hard work. My hand flew to my mouth, closing my eyes as lost emotions began resurfacing. After all this time, I still felt like I was in love with a man I never knew.

  Aimee walked outside holding both our handbags and my keys. “I thought you were going to plant the last two pots.”

  I shook my head no, lowering my hand from my mouth.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” I squeaked, discreetly sliding the ring on my finger.

  “Where did the painting on the bed come from?”

  I quickly collected my thoughts, easing away my heartache. “I ordered it in Tuscany and had it shipped here. I just haven’t decided where to hang it. Maybe somewhere near the piano.”

  “That was exactly where I was thinking, too. I took a picture of it. The soft butter yellow on the house would look beautiful in the kitchen, especially against all the white woodwork.”

  “Butter yellow, the painting mystery is settled then.” I glanced back out in the yard as if expecting to see Jack standing there with a smile.

  ***

  Aimee and I returned from the hardware store two hours later with paint, a ceiling fan for the patio, and a car full of miscellaneous items to replace those no longer of use.

  Vance was replacing the material on the screen door. “Listen to this.” He swung the door a few times. “Do you hear that?” He smiled pleased with his work.

  “Good job. Another turn of the handle and it was heading to the burn pile.”

  “It won’t slam shut anymore, either. Hey, and check this out.” He twisted the key in the deadbolt. “I left the original door handle but swapped out the deadbolt on the front and back doors.”

  “I think you found your second calling.” I pulled the key from the lock and hooked it on my keychain.

  “Don’t give him any ideas. He’ll start taking apart our apartment if it goes to his head, and he’s starting a new job soon, so his excess time is about spent,” Aimee mumbled, heading into the house.

  “Congrats.”

  Charlie and Scott were asleep on my bed giving Aimee time to help me tackle the kitchen with paint preparations. We knew we had our work cut out, which was okay since we had nothing but time on our hands.

  ***

  It was late spring when the dreams of the forest came to life. Aimee and Vance planned a trip to a lake, wanting to take Scott camping for the first time and called in the morning inviting me to go along. I graciously declined the offer, explaining I had my fair share of sleeping with spiders in the new house before hiring an exterminator.

  It wasn’t until later in the evening that I remembered the dreams a few years back of the forest and nearly had a heart attack. I was terrified to sleep that night, figuring the forest dreams would resurface after remembering them, but I was more terrified if I didn’t return to my dreams, I wouldn’t know how to save Aimee’s life. It took hours of tossing and turning in bed before I finally was able to fall asleep.

  ***

  I sit on the sofa gazing out the window feeling catatonic. I’m holding a picture of Aimee. Her sudden death was considered the same, if not more poignant of emotion than that of my mom.

  Jack walks in the room gaining my attention. “Sooner or later you’ll have to talk about this. It’s been a while since the accident and I see you sulking more than you smile. Baby, I’m concerned.”

  I scowl at him. “She was my best friend.”

  Jack walks over and sits on the coffee table in front of me, and reaches a hand to my leg. “And the woman I’m in love with, I want her back.”

  “It’s a little disconcerting you talking to me in the third person.”

  “You don’t hear me in the first. Figured I’d try a new approach.”

  “Don’t try and make me laugh. I’m not in the mood.”

  “Sasha, the moment I met you, the most extraordinary and tragic events happened. It should’ve brought us together. I’ve stuck with it hoping you would grieve your loss, find peace, and give us a shot. Am I wrong for wanting that?”

  I turn my head looking out the window.

  “I’m going to change and then I’ll take you back home.”

  I can sense Jack’s stare waiting for me to remark. I hear him walk out of the room.

  I set the picture on the coffee table, and then creep across the room to the garage door and pause a moment. I hear Jack walking upstairs into the bedroom. I grab his keys and quietly slip into the garage. I climb into the Porsche and press the garage door opener as I start up the engine. The garage door lifts and I slowly begin my escape, backing down the driveway.

  I realize instantly this is a bad idea, a really bad idea, and figure I’ll tell Jack I was just warming up the car.

  Knowing he’d probably not like that idea, I say screw it and fly off down the road.

  After clearing town, I take the freeway entrance with the windows down and the radio blasting, allowing the cold wind to rip through my hair. I’m in need of a rush, a carefree sensation. Ninety miles per hour feels incredibly smooth and handles as if the car isn’t intended to go slower.

  One hundred feels better. One hundred ten, my pain begins relinquishing. One hundred twenty my heart starts racing. One hundred thirty brings with it an adrenaline rush. One hundred and forty miles per hour and I’m completely in charge of the most white-knuckle exhilarating rush of my life, sending my heart soaring in my chest. I momentarily hold this speed, watching the blurring trees and cars zip by. My adrenaline is nerve-racking, but I can’t slow down. I don’t want to stop. I don’t wish to surrender this feeling to the pain I know is waiting. The road is wide open with very few cars, and when they see me coming, they clear the way. I notice an exit sign in the distance leading off the highway and slow enough to take the off-ramp. The first stop on the roadside is a small one-horse bar, the perfect escape.

  A gush of air circulates around me and I’m standing inside the bar. The first thing I notice is the lifeless collection of game heads mounted to the wall. A moose’s antlers are draped with Christmas lights, and a cigarette hangs from its mouth. The place looks like a taxidermy shop with a bar, tables, and a few TVs with sports programs airing.

  I walk to the bar and take a seat. “Hot Toddy.” I stretch my arms across the bar, tapping my fingers along the far ledge.

  The bartender laughs. “How about Jim Beam and cola?”

  “Top shelf Vodka?”

  The young cowboy, maybe twenty-one, slides my drink into my hand. “This one is on the house. Something tells me you’ll be here a while.”

  “Doubt that.” I look around wondering how my erratic adventure landed me here instead of in Las Vegas or at least somewhere I wouldn’t be embarrassed to share with my new friends I’ll soon meet behind bars.

  A small handful of people fill a far corner of the bar watching a sports program, and an elderly woman sits at a poker machine oblivious of all else.

  I quickly finish my drink, as the bartender slides me another.

  I gulp it down and cringe from the burning sensation down my throat.

  “What brings you here today?” He smiles, wiping a glass with a drying rag.

  “Why do most people generally come here?”

  “To socialize. I see that’s not your strength today.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Point taken. Another?”

  I nod, sliding him my glass.

  “You�
��re welcome,” he says, exchanging drinks. “You’ll need to slow down after this one.”

  “Say’s the pouring fountain.”

  “You got me. That’s a really nice car,” he says, looking out the window.

  “It’s my boyfriend’s.”

  “He must be crazy about you or crazy in general. I’d never let my girlfriend drive my car if I owned that.”

  “He doesn’t exactly know… or didn’t when I left.”

  “You stole his car! Eh, you’re probably not his girlfriend for long. Man, I don’t want the cops coming in here.”

  “He doesn’t know where I am, and I won’t be here much longer.”

  I hear the door open, but don’t pay attention, noticing that someone else from within the bar is approaching. “What’s that you’re driving there?” A man asks, holding an empty pitcher.

  “It’s a car!” I say, making it clear I don’t care to have another discussion about the damn thing.

  He stares at me a moment. “How can someone so pretty be so ugly?”

  “Excuse her. It’s a nine-eleven Porsche Carrera GTS with a burning hot engine,” Jack says to the man holding the pitcher, walking toward me with his cellphone. “GPS tracking on my car and from the smell of the engine, I can only assume how it’s possible you’re already drunk.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t have stopped had I known I was being followed,” I say spitefully.

  “We’re leaving now.” Jack reaches into his back pocket taking out his wallet.

  “She already closed it out,” the bartender says, noticing Jack pulling out money.

  Jack sets two fifty-dollar bills on the bar. “See to it that truck out there goes untouched and I’ll give you a hundred more when I return for it.”

  The bartender reaches under the bar and lifts a shotgun just enough for us to see it. “Nobody will go near your truck.” He returned the gun under the bar, smiling.

  The gust of wind returns moving us outside.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Jack asks.

  I don’t answer him.

  “Keys.”

  I reach in my pocket and toss him the keys. “What?” I snap at his disappointed expression. “Oh, for cripes sake!” I retort, marching to the passenger side door.

  “Seatbelt.” Jack commands, closing his door.

  We vault back onto the highway. Intentionally, I avoid him, acting oblivious of his presence, but I can’t help noticing his anger is replaced with pain.

  I exhale an annoyed sigh, relaxing my tense body into the seat. I reach, turning on the radio, but Jack turns it off.

  “Aside from being returned to your car, you will never touch this car again.”

  “Whatever,” I mumble.

  Jack slows the vehicle while pulling off into a heavily wooded truck stop, parking alone at the far end.

  “What are we doing here?” I ask.

  He doesn’t respond as he sits, both hands gripping the wheel. His face is a shade darker than normal.

  “Are you really that upset I took your car?”

  “No, I’m not angry you took the car. I’m disappointed that your erratic behavior doesn’t seem to bother you as it should.”

  We sit in silence, both thinking how to respond. Rain lightly drizzles against the windshield as the sky quickly turns dark and then begins pouring.

  “Imagine driving home in this drunk,” he says.

  Only the blur of the distant semi-trucks is visible as I stare out the window, waiting for it, the lecture.

  “At what point did this become only your loss, Sasha? I was there too, and trust me it left a painful imprint…. I’ve waited stoically, allowing you to disarticulate every ounce of our happiness we could’ve had together, and for what? It’s gotten me nowhere with you.”

  He notices tears start falling from my eyes, as I wipe them away with my hands.

  “There wasn’t a damn thing anyone could have done to save her. You have got to let it go.”

  “Let it go? Jack, I was there and did nothing. I could have prevented the accident, and I didn’t do anything!”

  “Is that what this is all about, you blaming yourself? It wasn’t your fault!”

  “It was. I saw it before it happened. I knew he was coming, that he couldn’t stop the car in time, and I did nothing!” My voice was shy of yelling.

  Jack quickly unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out from the car into the rain, rushing to my door. I watch as he yanks it open, reaches in, unbuckling my seatbelt. Grabbing both my arms, he pulls me from my seat then forcefully pins me against the car. “Why can’t you see this isn’t your fault?” He frees one of his hands from my arm, wiping the rain from his face then places his hands supporting my face. “You saved that little boy’s life. He’s alive because of you. You saved him!”

  “His mom is dead because of me. You don’t understand I could have saved her!”

  “You reacted and saved the first life you saw in danger. That was the most selfless and heroic thing I’ve ever seen, running in front of a speeding car to save a life. Trust me when I say Aimee would have willingly given her life to save her son, as any mother would have. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself had it been he who died!”

  I free my face from his hands and bury it into his chest crying, almost unable to breath.

  Jack’s arms grip me, holding me firmly against his body. “I will help you get through this, but you have got to pull yourself together if we’re going to survive this.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I cry. “I never meant to cause you pain.”

  I woke, horrified, knowing I had no choice other than to pack my camping gear and find a way to save Aimee’s life.

  ***

  I pulled behind Vance’s car and parked. This is it. I thought to myself, taking an exceptionally deep breath. I examined the road and surrounding forest before getting out of the car. I grabbed Charlie’s leash and connected it to his collar, then walked him over to the guardrail remembering Aimee and Vance standing here in my dream. I swallowed hard and took another deep breath, then hiked down the trail toward the campground.

  “Look what the cat drug in. Glad you decided to join us,” Vance said, meeting me mid trail.

  I forced a smile.

  Vance reached down to pet Charlie, glancing at me. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m just not entirely in camp mode yet, but I’ll get there. Did you by chance buy bug bombs, Raid, maybe bug strips?”

  He shook his head laughing. “We have mosquito and tick repellent.”

  “Ugh. Come on, fat boy.” I gave Charlie’s leash a light tug to get his nose out of the bushes.

  “Scott will be glad to see you guys. He’s been asking all morning when Charlie would be here.”

  I tossed Vance my keys. “Everything’s in the trunk,” I said, getting a whiff of air. “Aimee must be cooking. I smell burnt bacon.”

  “Nobody has the talent to burn bacon just right, the way she can. I’ll grab your stuff and get your tent set up.”

  “Thanks!” I laughed, agreeing.

  I followed the steep sloping trail to the campground and absorbed the surrounding scenery when reaching the bottom. Every detail was as I remembered in my dreams, except the yellow tent, which would soon be pitched. Aimee was standing at a picnic table with a camp stove cooking breakfast and Scott was playing in the dirt with a stick.

  “Charlie!” Scott ran to us as fast as his feet could carry him but stopped short of me to hug Charlie first.

  “Hi, sweet boy.” I ruffled his hair.

  “You’re alive.” Aimee smiled and tossed Charlie a piece of bacon.

  “Yes, I—”

  “I saw fwog.” Scott tugged at my leg, interrupting me.

  “Did you catch it?” I asked, trying to calm myself as I glanced at the smoldering fire pit.

  Aimee spoke up. “Eww no, he’ll get warts. We don’t touch icky frogs, do we, Scott?”

  “Oh, you’re awful to deprive him of so much fu
n.” I leaned over Scott, “Aunty Sash has enough frogs at home to share the next time you come over.”

  “What are you telling him?”

  “That his dad was once a frog. Scott, did you know your dad was once a frog, actually a toad?” I asked, letting Charlie off the leash.

  “Ribbit-ribbit,” Vance croaked, setting my camping supplies on a tarp, and then grabbed us each a beer out of the cooler.

  “Your dad was a frog when your mom met him, and she actually kept him.”

  “Yep. True story,” he agreed.

  Scott looked at his dad. “Nooo hims not fwog.”

  “Oh, but he was. You see, your mom found him in a dirty-dirty pond.” I popped open my beer. “He was the ugliest, slimiest, smelliest, wart-covered frog she’d ever seen. But being the pretty sweet princess she was, she couldn’t let him go back in the pond to be eaten by the alligators. She felt sorry for him, so she cleaned him up and promised him she would take care of him forever.”

  Scott’s eyes grew wide.

  “Yep, once he was all cleaned up, she thought he was sooo cute, she kissed him, and magically he turned into her husband. And as long as he promised to love her forever and no other princesses, he would never turn back into a frog. There was only one small problem though. He. Never. Stopped. Eating. Flies.” I poked Scott’s tummy.

  “Okey dokey, that’s enough you two, no filling his head with rubbish,” Aimee said as she piled eggs, burnt bacon, and fried potatoes onto everyone’s plates. “Eat up before it gets cold.”

  Scott began jumping through the campground on his hands and feet, “Wibbit- Wibbit.”

  “Nice one, puta.” Aimee pointed the spatula at me.

  “You can clean him up for breakfast.” I sat on the picnic table picking at my food. “So. Camping.” I exhaled a drawn out sigh. “We’re doing this why?”

  “Because fresh air will do us all good and it’s good for Charlie to spend time outside.”

  “Oh, for shit sake, I bought a house so that he can have a huge lot to run around.” I reached down sneaking him burnt bacon. “You’re not deprived of anything, are you, fat boy?”

  Aimee smiled. “Just go with it. You’re here, it’s a beautiful day, we’re all together, and there’s a nice lake down the path a ways.”