Dream On

by M. Kircher

  Without even realizing what I'm doing, I hit the red button that's on the wall to next to each seat on the train, the one that signals the conductor to stop and let someone off.

  "Hey!" exclaims Gabe. "This isn't the right stop! What are you doing?"

  I quickly gather up my things and flip the hood of my sweatshirt over my hair. It's started raining outside, and I don't need to show up to class looking like a drowned rat. Especially because Gabe is right, we are a full three stops before school. But I have to get off the train before this cute guy can fluster me into giving anything crucial away.

  "Sorry!" I call out as the doors slide open, and I leap out onto the wet pavement. Icy droplets sting my face and blur my vision. It's the time of year when the rain gets so cold, everyone wishes it would just snow already. The doors slide shut, and I can see Gabe peering out at me from inside the glass, looking confused. I start trudging down the street. The train pulls away from the stop with a quick pulse of air and then silently whispers away.

  I'll need to keep an eye out for this guy now, or at least until the rest of the kids fill him in on what a loner I am and he understands it's just the way things are.

  I don't have any friends and I never will. At least, not anymore.

  Chapter Three

  The front door slides shut behind me, and I kick my sopping wet sneakers off into the floor of the hallway. They bang down onto the white tiles, scattering tiny clumps of mud all over the pristine floor. I'm too cold and too tired to care, even though I'm the one who's going to have to clean up the mess later. Little pools of water form a trail behind my damp socks as I pad through the long white hallway and into the kitchen.

  It's been a rather hellish day.

  I peel off my soaking-wet hoodie and the shirt beneath, and I toss them both onto the kitchen floor. The same goes for my jeans, which suddenly feel like they weigh a hundred pounds. Plop! That'll teach me to run out in the morning without checking the weather.

  I grab a clean white towel out of one the small closets by the downstairs bathroom and wrap it around my shivering body. Making my way up the stairs to Mom's bedroom, I slide my hand along the control panel mounted on the wall to turn on the lights and crank up the heat. The entire house is freezing.

  Softly, I nudge open the door and feel the usual nervousness gather in the pit of my stomach. Even though my brain knows there's a far greater chance Mom will still be sleeping, my silly, stupid heart always wishes I'll find her awake; and that if she is, maybe this time it'll be for good.

  I peer into the semi-darkness, and the anxiety sinks down to the bottom of my toes. There's her blond hair, falling in waves across a white pillowcase, and I can see the steady rise and fall of her breathing underneath snowy white sheets. Nope, no wishes coming true today.

  I stay there for a moment, just staring at her. Wondering how her eyelashes can be so transparent when my own are dark and long, like the silky tips of a paintbrush. Wondering how she can so easily let go of reality, how she can so easily let go of me.

  I shake my head. "It's never going to work," I insist out loud. Mom dreams so she can be with him, but no amount of dreaming about Dad will ever bring him back. And I refuse to waste my life, even though, like her, I have the ability to do so. Being a dreamwalker is a curse, I remind myself, not a gift.

  I back slowly out of the room and slide the door shut behind me. We've both made our choices, Mom and I. And my choice involves dinner, overdue pages, and a long night of homework.

  The heat is starting to blow out of the vents and warm the house, but my hair is still drenched. Icy water runs in rivulets between my shoulder blades and down my back. I shiver and stare at the goose bumps on my arm. I know I have hours of work ahead of me tonight, but first I need a hot shower.

  I walk to the bathroom and twist the handles on the faucet, letting hot water pour out of the showerhead and begin to fill the room with steam. I settle myself on the top of the marble counter, and for a moment, my mind wanders back over the day.

  * * * *

  Lunch had been the worst. I should have expected it, but I'd been too preoccupied with how awful my third-period history test had gone. I definitely bombed the entire thing, and bad grades were something I couldn't afford right now. To stay under the radar of Southern's teachers and staff, I had to be totally average, not having grades too good or too bad. And failing was definitely bad. I hoped that the history teacher, Mr. Brown, would think the test was a fluke and let it go.

  My head had been buried in my lap screen, going over possible extra-credit options, and my mouth had been stuffed with a ham sandwich when they swished by. Their perfect, glossy hair and bright outfits like a bunch of colorful peacocks. As they brushed by my table, every single one of them made sure to give me a little nudge. Nothing that anyone else would notice of course, had they even cared to look. It was just a little bump of their shoulders into mine, letting me know how despised I was.

  The fact that the girls had then, like a school of rainbow-colored fish, shifted from their usual path to the bleacher seats and headed toward a table of students with spiky hair and dark clothes, made my eyes widen in surprise.

  I watched, my mouth hanging open, as Stephanie twirled one hand in her perfect blond hair and then leaned over to talk to one of the guys at the table. And the guy she was so obviously flirting with was Gabe!

  Of all people.

  I quickly glanced away then, but my curiosity soon got the better of me. I peeked back around, and there was Steph, doing her best to get Gabe's attention. How had I not noticed him before? He'd been at Southern an entire week, and it wasn't like we got a lot of new students here, especially ones as ridiculously good-looking as Gabe, punk clothes and all. Apparently, his handsome face was too much for even the elite to pass up. I saw Steph, literally the most popular girl in school, lean in close to his ear and whisper something she probably considered brilliant.

  It must not have impressed Gabe much, because he just shrugged and turned away from her, laughing at something the eyeliner-wearing dude next to him said. From my loner table by the water fountain, I couldn't help but smirk as Stephanie huffed in response to his rejection. I watched her spin around, her back ramrod straight, and lead her gaggle of followers back to their rightful spot on the top of the social food chain.

  Gabe's brown eyes somehow found mine then, from all the way across the cafeteria, and he winked at me. I had no idea why. The bad thing was Stephanie saw him do it — I knew she did. I glanced over at her and winced when I saw her eyes narrow, like a hawk spotting its prey. She whipped her head back and forth between Gabe and me and scowled her most evil girly scowl.

  It was the kind of attention I definitely did not need, and had been my cue to finish the rest of my lunch inside the stall of the abandoned fourth-floor girl's bathroom, well away from winking eyes and furious glances. Talking to Gabe on the train this morning had definitely been a big mistake.

  * * * *

  I shake my head and smooth my hands over my damp hair. I can't let any of this get to me. By now, the bathroom feels like a sauna, and I need to shower and get going on my homework, or I'll be staying up all night.

  The glass door of the stall pushes open easily beneath my fingertips, and I step inside, letting the hot water flow down over my head and onto my shoulders. I try to wash off today's disaster. Tomorrow will be better, I tell myself, and I almost believe it.

  The shower is fancy. It's the kind with expensive white tiles and a showerhead on each wall. Hot streams of highly pressurized water pummel your skin from all sides. I flipping love it.

  I used to see ads for showers like these in the magazines I stuffed under my clothes to keep warm at night. When Mom's books started to sell big and we actually had a decent amount of money in our pockets, I made sure we got a nice house, for once. One with heat, and fancy showers, and everything I could think of to try and coax her out of her dreams. None of it worked, of course. Despite the ease and comfort in which w
e now live, Mom still spends all of her time inside her own head.

  I decide to stretch out on the bottom of the shower. For some reason, sitting here on the floor with the water flowing down over my back relaxes me. It's my time to think. I can feel the tension seeping out of the muscles in my shoulders, and my eyelids become heavy. The hot steam surrounds me like a warm blanket and before I can help it, I drift off to sleep.

  * * * *

  I open my eyes and then immediately cram them shut. No! Not this again. Not this place, not this dream. This one always reminds me that no matter how many amazing, beautiful dreams you can lose yourself in, your mind also has a dark side. And it's the side I hate.

  I reluctantly pry my eyes open and push myself off the ground, resigned to what will come next. You have to finish a dream before you can wake yourself up; I don't know why it works this way, but it does. I'll have to endure this nightmare before I have the power to end it.

  I'm standing inside a tunnel, deep underground. I can feel the weight of the earth pressing down above me. Damp stone walls arch over my head and form the sides of the tunnel, and the floor beneath my sneakers is a layer of gritty, wet dirt. It's dark except for one lone light bulb, suspended on a string from the ceiling. The light from the bulb flickers, casting eerie shadows all over the walls and the ground. I gaze up at the bulb, and it begins to swing, back and forth, back and forth.

  Then the earth beneath me begins to vibrate. Cracks splinter the smooth surface of the concrete tunnel walls, and pieces of rock begin to crumble down all around me, splashing into the pools of muddy water at my feet. I duck and put my arms over the top of my head, even though I know the scary part of this dream isn't getting my brains bashed in by a slab of concrete.

  I gulp and scramble over to the side of the tunnel, pressing myself against the cool, slimy walls. There are metal tracks underneath my sneakers. The tracks are old train lines, from back when they ran on wheels, not hovering on cushions of air like they do now. We learned about it in history class. I guess some of my history lessons stick after all.

  More of the ceiling comes crashing to the floor, and I suck in a terrified breath. The smell of something rank begins to waft through the damp air, and it invades my nostrils. My stomach clenches, and I tremble at what's coming next. I cower against the tunnel wall as the earth shifts and rolls beneath me.

  And then a new sound overshadows the rumbling of the earth — a horrible scraping noise, like a steel knife being rubbed across a piece of leather. It's so loud I think my eardrums might explode. I know I need to run, but I'm frozen in place. I stare with wide, terrified eyes into the darkness.

  Two giant, red eyes suddenly fill the void in front of me. The scraping sound stops, and then a hiss of wet air washes over me. The smell of it makes me gag.

  Now is the time to run. I do an about-face and will my jelly-like limbs into a sprint, trying to put as much distance as I can between the giant snake and me. The snake doesn't like this, apparently, for it hisses again and dives down the tunnel after me.

  I want to scream, but no words will come out — fear has stolen my voice. The horrible snake breath whooshes behind me as I tear into the darkness, my heart beating almost out of my chest. My head twists back so that I can glance over my shoulder.

  And I'm just in time to see a long, forked tongue, easily twice the length of my entire body, flick out of the creature's mouth and hit me smack dab in the face. It feels rough, like sandpaper. The snake's tongue snaps back into its mouth, and then I see its jaws open wide.

  And then, all of a sudden, the metal tracks beneath my feet snap open, and the earth sinks down underneath me, forming one giant, black hole.

  I scream, my vocal cords finally loosened by terror and the fact that I'm plunging into a dark abyss with two sharp fangs swooping down after me. I scream again as the massive pink mouth starts to swallow my body. My eyes widen with fear as the snake's fangs, dripping with venom, pierce my skin. The world goes black with pain.

  And then everything around me feels cool and bright and calm.

  The agony that just moments ago completely overwhelmed my senses has now vanished. But it's replaced with a different kind of pain, the pain of anticipation. I know what's coming next, and the snake is never the worst part of this dream.

  I open my eyes to a vast ocean of icy blue. Pressure squeezes my body from every side, and I know I am deep underwater. I can see clearly though, enough to know that I'm alone. For now.

  My lungs begin to protest the lack of air almost immediately, and so I start to swim. Up and up I go, my arms pumping and my legs kicking with all their might. The blue surrounds me, choking me, pushing me down. I can't breathe; I can't breathe. And then, miraculously, the water around me starts to lighten. The dark cobalt becomes a soft teal. Teal as cold as ice, but light means up, and up means air!

  I pump even harder towards the surface, and then all of a sudden I stop, my mouth opening in surprise. A bubble of air escapes. It hits me like this, every time.

  My father, the one who's been dead for five years, peers down at me from the water above. He appears exactly the same as the last time I saw him — tweed jacket, tailored jeans, and all. My heart aches more than my lungs when I see him reach out a hand toward me, an encouraging expression plastered on his underwater face. I try to yell at him, but the only thing that comes out of my mouth are strange, strangled sounds.

  My father shakes his head, the strands of his short, dark hair slowly whipping back and forth in the water. He reaches his hand out to me again and then points up; he wants to help me up to the surface. And I want to go with him.

  But even as I reach my fingertips out to him, I feel a tug on my foot and glance down, my heart and lungs ready to burst. I know what I'll see.

  And there Mom is, like an angel, floating serenely just underneath the tips of my heavy, waterlogged sneakers. She smiles a reassuring smile, the one that used to calm me at night when I was little and had a bad dream.

  "Don't worry, my little bambino," she'd whisper into the top of my hair as she held me close. "A dream always ends. Always." And then she'd tilt my chin up and wipe the tears from my cheeks. "You tell yourself, 'I'll wake up soon,' anytime you're frightened, and before you know it, you'll be awake."

  It has always been easier for her; she never has nightmares like I do.

  Mom wraps her porcelain fingers around my ankle and tugs me down, her blond hair floating around her like a halo. She smiles again, and I am frozen. She yanks me deeper, farther into the chilling depths.

  "What are you doing?" I want to yell at her, but my voice has been taken by the ocean that swallows us.

  I try to pull my leg up, to bring her up with me to Dad, up to the air. My father reaches both his hands out to me now, and I am caught between my two parents. I can't leave Mom here to drown, but if I don't move soon, all three of us will be floating corpses. Everything feels so real. I get lost in it.

  I point up at Dad, but Mom just grins her deathly grin and yanks me down again. "Please," I try to plead. "Please Mom, no!" But when I open my lips, salty water fills my lungs.

  I struggle against Mom's vise-like grip on my ankle and reach desperately for my father, but the water just keeps pouring in, my body betraying itself and breathing in water for lack of air.

  Then the dream begins to slow, so that I feel each and every second I'm drowning.

  It's time to wake up.

  Now, Emily, I tell myself, and I close my eyes as the ice chills my veins and the water pushes down my throat. And then everything goes black.

  * * * *

  I gasp and my eyes burst open, my lungs desperate for air. I gulp it I down, taking breath after breath after breath, until my pounding heart slows and my brain registers I'm not under water anymore. Not that I actually ever was. It was all just a dream.

  Rivers of condensation run down the shower door, and the water from the showerhead pounds down onto my back. I wonder how long I've been out this time. I p
ull myself up and run a trembling hand over my face. The skin on my fingers looks as though it belongs to a wrinkly, old lady. I've been asleep for a while then. I grimace and twist the spigot off, then step out of the shower stall and wrap a warm, white towel around my body.

  I pad over to the sink and wipe the steam off the mirror. My reflection stares back at me, and I wonder for the thousandth time how I can be so dark when Mom is so light. My long, black hair hangs in soaking wet strands down my back, its normally thick waves pulled straight. Brown eyes gaze at me from the mirror, a pained expression in their shadowy depths. The olive-colored skin on my forehead is all scrunched up, and there are tracks of moisture on my cheeks. As I wipe them away, I taste salt on my tongue.

  Apparently, I have been crying.

  Chapter Four

  Bam! Flesh pounds against the metal locker next to mine, and I almost jump out of my skin. Even with all the advances in technology and new materials that have been developed over the last couple of decades, government buildings are the least updated. So we still have to use ancient crap, like these rusty old metal lockers. I guess some things about high school will never change.