So today we each got a smoothie and sat by the window. Poor Rosie couldn’t stop shivering. It’s not that cold there, just a bit. Then after that, Rose drags me to the… Eatin’s? Eaton’s? The bookstore. Whatever. Rose and I never agree on books. She likes novels and I like anything with pictures. I just get so fucking bored of looking at blocks of words. Who can read more than two pages of a novel and not be sleepy?
She bought some mystery shit like always, and I just scrolled on my phone. Then her mom drove us to the mall. I get spending money from my parents ‘cuz I’m their only child. I get whatever money I want. Rose had an older sister who died after a couple of months, and her parents are pretty damn nuts—and religious nuts at that (mine can be too)—but they shower her in money, and I think they feel guilt over their first daughter dying. They did some big prayer meeting with their… is it a church? I don’t know what they are. They pray at some place but I don’t think it’s a church. And they were all “Oh Holy Lord, if you give us a daughter we will dedicate her to you and love her forever and ever” or some insane thing. And a year and a half later Rose came along.
Her sister was named Summer, after their mom Summer Hawthorn. Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorn used to be hippies and went by Scout and Ocean or some weird thing. I wonder if they still feel the effects of the LSD they took. But it’s why they named their kids Orion and Rose. Hippie names… where was I going with this?
Oh yeah, her sister. So they give Rose whatever she wants just like my parents do for me. And they’re also real protective. That’s why we had to leave the mall by 7:30 when they picked us up again. I got some new jeans and a bag of candy from the overpriced candy shop. Rose got a sweater and some book. Always a book with her. I went over to their house for a little, and we played Uno and watched TV.
I told her how I had my first drink last week. Dad always buys a case or two every month so I finally snuck one. It tastes better after a bit. She didn’t want to try it when I offered for her to come over so I could sneak her one. Dad wouldn’t notice. But she said no. I left at ten. I wanted to walk back, but they’re overprotective of me too, or something. Her parents drove me home. It’s only a few blocks but Rose even came with.
I got home, cracked open just one beer, then laid here. I left the diary on my dresser yesterday, and then it gave me that same shining it did in the store. Except this time I remember grabbing it.
I know. My life’s nothing crazy. For a bitch that always complains you’d figure it’s terrible. But no. I have an average life. And I’m unsure where it’s going. People (mostly Mom and Dad) have been asking me what I’m gonna do with my life…
I’ll be damned if I know.”
From Valerie Hart’s diary
“Again no dreams.
It’s Saturday morning and I’ve just sat down in the fucking library. I study. I make good grades. And I can’t figure out why I even bother. I’m here every other Saturday. It gives me something to do. And it makes me worry that I’m a loser. Part of me cares what people think… and God, I see how that effects (affects?) Rose, and I worry I’ll be like her.
A nervous ball of… a ball of nervous.
Why am I spilling my emotions into this book?
Fuck me.
What else can I even tell you?
I’m done with this book. Tonight I’m shredding it.”
From Valerie Hart’s diary
“I couldn’t do it.
It’s been a week since I last wrote in here. Each day I held the pages in my hand, ready to tear them out. I had every intent to put them in the shredder. Or even to just burn this book. But I couldn’t. I need to write in it.
I think it helps me. Now I sound like a softie.
So what’ve I done in the past week?
I dreamed. Every single night.
Last Saturday: I dreamed I was swimming. The pool was big, and even in my sleep, I could tell the water was warm. I like swimming. I don’t get to go often. I think it was a pool from a hotel we stayed at a few years ago, when we went on vacation to a beach in Florida. The hotel had a few pools. It brought back some nice memories.
Sunday night: I dreamed I was in college and failed a test. I dreamed that I drove home depressed. I dreamed that I told my parents and got grounded. What a fucking lame ass dream. But I need to write them down. I never dream this often.
Monday: Gosh it’s getting hard to remember. Monday… Monday… Monday’s was (I think) I was at my old neighbor’s house and I was seven again. I used to have a neighbor I played with. I can’t remember her name and neither do my parents. She was pale and had long red hair that was always in two ugly pigtails. She was a quiet one. At least that’s what my dream and mind tell me. I can hardly remember being seven… but I know she was real.
And I can’t seem to figure out how my mind chooses dreams.
Tuesday: My biggest fear is bugs. I dreamt I was in my kitchen and my shoulder itched. I scratched it and then looked—everything was in slow motion, and it took my head like a whole fucking year to turn—and I saw a little red ant. I hit at it and it wouldn’t leave. Then it crawled to my neck and into my hair. One single ant terrorized the hell out of me. I kept hitting at it and hurting myself in my dream when I did. Oddly enough, I woke up with a sore neck… right where I had hit… but the dream doesn’t end there. The minuscule red ant crawled all over me, I just kept on hitting and crying. I couldn’t catch him. Everything he touched in my dream hurt.
When I woke up, I was on the brink of pissing my bed, I hope to God nobody finds this and laughs at me. My legs didn’t move for a moment, and I realized I slept on my side and my arm was all numb. My body still hurt when I went to the bathroom. It was the most painful piss of my life.
Wednesday: I dreamed I was in the closed-down comic shop. It closed about a year ago when the books stopped moving. I was there in my dream with another girl from my school, Tina, who reads comics too. She and I had actually met there at the shop.
What are these dreams trying to tell me?
Thursday: I know I dreamed that night but I can’t remember it. I did remember it for a brief few moments when I woke up, and my mind was filled with the thick haze of sleep. The more I thought of it, the more I couldn’t remember. It slipped away. Gone forever. I was stressed from school from the day before. Maybe that’s why—I was still annoyed. Usually I’m under the radar but I got a stupid as fucking hell detention from some bitch teacher with a FUPA who’s just mad she doesn’t get her period anymore, all because I was ‘talking in class’. All I did was tell the guy that handed me my pencil that fell ‘thanks’.
Bitch.
Friday: Dreamed I was at my first concert. I don’t know the band. I was just there in the giant crowd as musicians played and I felt so tiny in the grand scheme of things. There were so many people there. What makes me important? Dammit, going soft again.
And that brings us to today. Saturday. I’m not at the library. I just woke up from Friday night’s dream that I just wrote in here.
What’s Saturday have in store? We shall see.
If I’m being honest… this diary helps. It does. I’m… feeling better about myself. Fuck me for admitting that.”
“It’s barely past midnight. I guess today’s technically Sunday but I’m continuing from Saturday. Rose wanted to hang. I said no. I’m her only friend, so I felt bad about it. I hung with Tina instead. My dream was right about the journal… so I tried to listen again. Dammit. I hate this. I feel something is going on.
I went to her house, she had a lot of new comics I hadn’t heard of. She’s bigger into the indie comics scene than I am. I love the book she had, Bigfoot Bill by Doug TenNapel.
Then we got coffee and went for a drive. Her house has a fire pit and we sat around it telling stories all night. She invited more people over. Five or six of us talking around the fire. One of the ugly guys tried to hit on me. Ew.
He rehearsed some lines I’m sure he read online. Fucktard. The fatass doesn’t know the first th
ing about talking to a lady or to anyone. I texted Tina about it, wondering how she was friends with the douchebag. She said he tagged along with one of the others, she didn’t know him.
He told me some cheesy lines about my eyes being expressive and I told him to screw himself with a baseball bat.
He kept telling me lines so I left. He made me so angry. I understand one line or two. But this guy raised my blood pressure. Maybe if his voice wasn’t so fuckin’ annoying I could have tolerated it. I’d rather chew glass and listen to nails on a chalkboard than to hear his voice.
That’s all I have to say. I had to vent.”
From Valerie Hart’s diary
“I woke up refreshed and without a single memory of a dream. It’s 9 AM. I don’t know if I’ll be seeing Tina again soon. It was nice to catch up. I’m still angry about that bonehead. I think today I’m watching movies. Maybe a show. There’s a show called The Eclipse Theater that looks promising.
Rose is coming over, too. In a past life we must’ve been sisters.
Today will be a good day.”
“It was a good day. Rose is sleeping over. I’m hurrying to write in here while she’s in the shower. She takes forever so I think I have enough time to write.
I almost choked on pizza. The show was scary but not that scary. And Rose jumped and her arm hit my neck as I swallowed. I spit it all up and coughed for an hour.
How was she the sperm that won? God…
I feel better now. So I guess it’s okay.
We have school in the morning. I don’t want to go.
I wonder if I’ll dream tonight…”
Chapter Seven
From Rose Hawthorn’s diary
“Tired of getting smoothies (sometimes milkshakes) twice a week. I told Rose that, but she wasn’t tired of it. Today’s Thursday. I helped Mom clean the house yesterday after school—oh God, there was so much to clean up. I don’t know how she managed to find three garbage bags full of junk in my room while I was in school.
I did the dishes, swept and mopped the kitchen and dining room, then mopped the bathroom and took out some garbage. I took a ten minute break to look at my phone and when I walked back into the kitchen I saw a few more plates in the sink. Fuckin A. How?
Then I cleaned the basement with her and we were finished. I collapsed on the floor when we were done, I just lay on my back (weird because I hate lying on my back—I sleep on my side) and I couldn’t move, I was so exhausted. School made me tired, then there was the cleaning. All I could do was lie down. My arms ached.
And I thought a lot.
Then I slept.
And she chased me.
It was the nightmare of all nightmares, I needed to run and I couldn’t. Not for a moment, no. As a lady in the black dress (just like Audrey Hepburn’s) approached me, arms outstretched, as that lady got closer, my legs suddenly escaped the invisible hold around them. It wasn’t a run at first. It was a stiff walk. Not really a walk at all.
Hard to explain. But then I could run.
And I realized where I was.
I was outside of my home, yet it wasn’t my home. Not at all. It was a hollow imitation. Not a lot scares me… but this still does. Baby dolls hung by moldy ropes over the doors to my house, and over the doors of all the other houses on either side of me. Then I noticed them on the trees and streetlights as I ran. I ran and I ran and I looked over my shoulder and the moonlight illuminated the lady’s face. It struck her eyes deeply, and I could see the perpetual darkness in them. My God, they were nasty. Just nasty. And her skin… it was so dry and cracked it was falling off of her, and I could see immense redness between each crack.
I’m gonna be sick thinking about this. Ohmigod.
Her hair was long, all the way down to her ankles. Then she stopped. And I stopped. And her arms started bending and the snap of bones filled the air. I shrieked, and I think mom and dad heard it, ‘cuz then I ran again, and the smell of decay and rot filled my nose. All at once, the baby dolls cried. It got louder and louder like a drum being hit right next to my ear. And even through it all, I could hear her breathy voice call for me.
My parents woke me up. I didn’t notice at first that I had been crying in my sleep. They told me it’d all be okay. I could still see the enchanting moonlight from my dream breaking in half as my eyelids opened. I didn’t know what to think.
They told me they could hear me from downstairs. That I woke them up.
I told them about my nightmare about the ant. I did not want to think of the woman again.
Has this book been making me dream more?
I don’t want to dream anymore.
Can it… will it ever stop?”
From Valerie Hart’s diary
“I didn’t sleep last night.
I was scared. But I get comfort writing in this fucking book. I played games on my phone to stay awake. I downloaded, like, ten different apps. I played one for a little, got bored, then switched.
I’m in study hall right now. The gossiping airheads next to me won’t shut up. I have homework to do. Can’t really focus. I’m so tired. I just know I can’t focus on whatever the hell is in my book bag. I can’t even remember what today is. Is today Friday? I think it’s Friday.
Milkshakes. Or some shit. Yay.”
“I went straight home after milkshakes. Rose knew something was bothering me. I told her I couldn’t sleep, and she told me about a tea her mom takes to sleep. Didn’t bother remembering it. I know I’ll dream tonight. I can’t avoid this.
Oh, no. Wait. I did do one thing after I left Eli’s Creamery. I did stop at the corner store for a dreamcatcher. I always see them in the window. It hangs above my bed now, as I write this.
When did I become a superstitious asshole?”
From Valerie Hart’s diary
“Maybe it worked. I did not dream last night.”
From Valerie Hart’s diary
“I ignored this diary for three or four days. I wanted to use it as a dream journal, not a diary. And I didn’t dream in those last few days. But now I need to write again. The dream catcher above me was blue with four miniature hoops attached below the main hoop. The woven webs and feathers were pink.
But they weren’t pink anymore this morning.
Little black spots appeared along the feathers and along the woven nets.
I’m nervous. I touched it, it made my fingers dirty. The stains grow every night. I’m scared. What do I do with it? I can’t tell Rose. She’s worried enough about… everything in existence. I don’t need anyone to worry for me. But what do I do? What do I do? Am I just paranoid? I don’t dream and I’m scared. If I do dream I’m scared. What middle ground is there?”
From Valerie Hart’s diary
“It’s Thursday. The dreamcatcher is nearly all black. It’s not just keeping the dreams away. It’s keeping my energy away. I’m always tired now. I slept in class for the first time, and Miss Myzen woke me up. I had a pool of drool under me and along the edge of my notebook. I had to lean on Rose when we were in the hallway. I almost fell over. I can’t think straight. Even as I write this, my pen shakes. My eyes are blurry. Mistook Mom for Dad earlier. I need to get rid of it.”
“I fell asleep around 5 PM and woke up at 6:54 PM. I dreamed again. There were no crying dolls or scary women in black Audrey Hepburn dresses like the other night. And I’m glad about that. In my dream I sat in front of a fire in Tina’s back yard again. There were shadows sitting all around me. In the center of the fire was the dreamcatcher. It wasn’t black. Not yet. It rested in the flames. After a few seconds one thread turned black. The fire still did not burn it. Then I watched the blackness overtake the whole dreamcatcher. Warmth overtook me. The shadows went away. Finally the fire worked, and the dreamcatcher burned. The fire dwindled and all that was left was ash.
When I woke up, I tore the dreamcatcher off the wall and put it in my pocket. It was hot to the touch. Not warm, but hot, as if it concealed fire inside of its threads.
I left my house and said I was going to Rose’s, but instead I ran to the park, never stopping. I was thirsty. I left the house in such a damn hurry I didn’t drink a fucking drop of water. At least I remembered one of Mom and Dad’s lighters.
On the concrete area around the empty park, I sat down and lit the dreamcatcher. I smiled watching it disappear. The smoke didn’t bother me. It was cool. There was a tall tree not far from me. The way its branches danced in the wind cast swaying shadows next to me. It was like I lived my dream. The catcher burned slowly in the fire while shadows surrounded me.
The wind stopped abruptly. The shadows no longer danced. I was fucking dazed. I bet if someone saw me, they’d think I was high. Hell, reading this might sound like I’m on drugs.”
From Valerie Hart’s diary
“‘You look a lot better today, Val,’ was the first thing Rose told me.
‘I slept a lot,’ I told her. Really, I did, and it was all from burning the dreamcatcher.
No dreams came last night after burning it. I don’t even remember the walk home. But I feel so fresh. Everything is brighter and better now. I feel happy. And I still feel compelled to write in here.
I talked Rose out of going to Eli’s Creamery today. We went to the Diaz Arcade. Out of our five or six games of Skee-Ball I only scored higher than Rose once. If she’s got any hidden talent, it’s arcade games.
After an hour or two, we split a jumbo slice of pizza. Their pizza is huge and the cheese is incredible. Now I want to go back. It was a fun Friday.
I washed it down with cola then went back to playing games. My mind was off the diary and my dreams for a few hours. Getting away was fun. It’s always fun to forget.
Duality Page 4