The Dreamer

by E. J. Mellow

  “What did you say?” All amusement drains from his face, leaving a determined and slightly concerned countenance. So much for default expressions.

  “I said, I don’t dream. Well, not really, not like this.” I gesture around us.

  “You don’t dream?” His tone suggests I’ve just admitted something horribly wrong about myself.

  “Uh…not really. I mean, we all dream, I guess, right? At least that’s what they say. I can never remember them when I wake up though. I don’t know. I’ve just never felt so awake in a dream before. Like right now, I find it impossible that I could be sleeping when…when I can feel and smell and see so much.” Impulsively, I take a deep breath in through my nose, closing my eyes and tasting the rich night air in the back of my throat. I slowly open my eyes again to Dev regarding me with a new look of interest. I swallow and take a step back. “Yeah, well, you get what I mean.”

  He doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring at me, and I tuck one side of my hair behind my ear, looking anywhere but at him.

  “You do realize people consider staring to be rude,” I manage to finally say.

  “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

  I steal a glance his way, determined not to let the playful smile he wears bother me, and I’m about to retort with some sarcastic insult, when his eyes hold me in a trance. I know I should look away, but I can’t find the strength. It’s as if a lasso has wrapped itself around my head, forcing it forward. His eyes are so blue. Staring into them, I think of a rich cloudless sky above a tropical ocean, waves crashing around me and warm sand under my feet. A strange coldness wraps around my mind, making me slightly dizzy.

  Suddenly, just as I imagined it, the heat from the sun beats down on my skin and small grains of sand push through my toes. The gentle roar of waves tumbling on a beach fills my ears.

  Dev gasps and shifts his gaze from mine. With that break in contact, my lungs fill with air, softening the ache that comes from holding your breath. I blink a few times, getting my mind back in order to find we are no longer in a field at night but standing instead on a tiny island. I take a couple of steps back in astonishment. Aqua-blue waves sift up and down on the shoreline, and an azure, sunny sky hangs over our heads. I turn in a circle, staring off into the distance. Surrounding us farther away is the night and grassy field, and in another direction the single elm tree where I first woke to this place. It’s almost as if a spotlight illusion is shining down right where we are standing, making it into a tropical island.

  “Whoa!”

  Walking to the shoreline, I dip my foot into the tide. It’s cool and slippery. It feels so real. I breathe in deeply, smelling the salty ocean, and bury the tops of my feet in the sand, reveling in the fact that I was just tickling them with grass seconds before.

  “This is crazy! I…” Turning back to my companion, I find him lying on the sand, eyes closed, letting the sun’s rays bake into him, a ridiculously childish grin plastered on his face. His skin seems too pale to be in a place as bright as this, and his all-black combat uniform clashes rather comically with the tropical setting.

  Stifling a laugh, I walk over and sit beside him. “What are you doing?”

  He rolls to his side, propping his head up with one hand, and his shirt shifts upward, exposing a portion of his muscular stomach. He stares at me with excitement, like he just found buried treasure.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asks.

  The question catches me off guard given that I was just checking out his abs. “What do you mean?”

  “What were you thinking about a couple moments ago? When we were in the field?”

  “Uh…nothing. I can’t remember.” I answer too quickly, and Dev merely smiles.

  I flip back to that moment, to being transfixed by his eyes and how they reminded me of the sea. But I will absolutely not tell him that. I’m pretty certain his neck isn’t strong enough to hold up any more of an inflated head.

  Dev plucks something from the sand and begins to roll it over in his hand. It’s a perfectly formed seashell, one that a hermit crab would make its home. He turns it around, tracing the spiral design with his long, graceful fingers as if it’s the first time he’s ever laid eyes upon such a thing.

  “That’s a good find. You usually don’t get one completely intact like that.”

  He looks up. “Yes,” he says, studying me again. “It is a good find.” His gaze is searing, and I turn from him, uncomfortable and a bit flustered with the emotions suddenly bouncing around inside me.

  Time passes with us both staring out across the small sea toward the edge of the illusion where the night grass touches its liquid horizon. I absentmindedly play with my bandaged wrist, soaking in the peace.

  “What happened?” Dev asks, breaking the silence. He gently pulls my left arm toward him. His touch cools my skin even though the sun above bathes us with warmth. I pull my arm back and cradle it protectively against my stomach.

  “I have a burn.”

  His brows pinch in with concern. “A burn? Did you do it to yourself?”

  “Oh no! Nothing like that.”

  “Like what, then?”

  “You’d never believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me.”

  I laugh lightly. “Okay, I got struck by lightning.”

  His eyes go wide and then small as he obviously tries wrapping his head around the idea, and then he says something that surprises me.

  “Right now? Before you came here?”

  “No, and I guess yes…” I say, a bit confused by the question. “A couple of days ago. Why?”

  He stays silent, gaze locked to the sky, and I’m not sure if I imagine it, but his face relaxes as if finally understanding something.

  “But that doesn’t explain your wrist being bandaged.”

  “I was wearing jewelry, and it burned me when I got hit.” I have a strange, disembodied feeling when I talk about the accident, as if all of that happened to a different Molly than the one sitting here.

  Deciding to change the subject, I ask, “So does this kind of thing happen often?” I nod to our surroundings.

  “No…” He looks around. “I wouldn’t say that it does.”

  I take in the rhythmic crashing of waves mixed with the light chirping of insects in the distant field. It’s the most soothing mixture. “Well, I really hope I don’t forget this dream.”

  Dev turns to me, seemingly conflicted. He opens his mouth to say something but then closes it, a desire ever present in his eyes. Still remaining silent, he simply looks away, sighing, and pushes his lips into a tiny smile. I have a weird sense that I’ve seen this expression on him before, but I can’t recall from where.

  He reveals the shell again and pensively flips it over in his hands. I’m about to push him on his thoughts, when something touches my legs. The sensation starts at my feet and creeps up my back. I search around in a slight panic, seeing nothing but sand. The feeling continues, and my legs become caught by an invisible force.

  “What’s happening?” I ask Dev as my heartbeat quickens.

  Sadness momentarily flashes on his face. “You’re waking up.”

  “Waking up?”

  Just as I utter the words, I feel my bed around me, the sheets tangled in between my legs. Dev begins to blur and fade into the light that surrounds us, and my heart lurches with a sense of loss. I gasp, reaching out to grab his hand to keep me in this place, but in that moment, I blink.

  And when my eyes open, Manhattan morning light fills my studio, and the buzzing of my alarm clock counts away the seconds I’m no longer asleep.

  — 5 —

  “UGH, MOLS, THAT is the worst sound to be woken up to,” a girl whines at my side.

  Small pieces of memory float back to me—one being that Becca slept over last night. She reaches across me and slaps the alarm quiet, flopping back to her side of the bed. “Ahh, so much better. Man, you wake up early for work.”

  I read the numbers 7:30 on
the clock and turn away in disgust—I didn’t remember to shut off my alarm the night before. My head’s extremely heavy, like I was forced awake in the middle of a deep sleep. Visions of a field at night and a man in black move across my eyelids as I hold them closed. Blue eyes and a seashell.

  None of it makes any sense, and the longer I stay awake, the farther away these memories slip.

  Becca moves from the bed, and immediately the temperature under the sheets shifts, leaving a cold pocket of air in her place. She peeks out the window to check the weather. From where I’m lying, I can tell it’s going to be a sunny day.

  “Thank God it’s Friday!” Becca exclaims, her red bedhead like a lion’s mane around her face.

  “How are you feeling, chicken?”

  “I’m okay,” I rasp in a sleep-ridden voice. “My head still hurts, and I’m already tired of saying that, which means you’re probably tired of hearing it.”

  She huffs dramatically and creeps back onto the bed, gently poking me over and over. “I will never be tired of hearing anything you say,” she consoles in a mothering voice.

  “Ah, stop!” I squirm in discomfort and laugh simultaneously. My body is still sore, but not as much as yesterday.

  “We can’t have you feeling sorry for yourself!” Becca jumps up and heads toward the bathroom.

  “I never knew you to be a morning person, Bec.” I slowly sit up, testing for any dizzy spells—none come.

  “Yeah, that’s because I’m not—can’t you tell? This is grumpy me.” As she sees me sit up, she furrows her brow. “Mols, you don’t have to work today. Go back to sleep. It’s way too early to start your day unless you have a boring job to go to.” She closes the door behind her and the shower begins to run.

  Becca’s right. I should try to go back to sleep, but I have a feeling I won’t be able to. Plus, something about the thought of sleeping makes me nervous. I look around my studio, strangely noticing all the blue things I own. The picture frame on the wall, the knobs on my dresser, a pair of shoes on my floor, a shirt peeking out of my drawer…blue, blue, blue. When did I become obsessed with the color blue? I blink away the feeling that my brain is trying to remind me of something, and get out of bed. Yeah, definitely can’t go back to sleep.

  —∞—

  After Becca leaves for work—reminding me that I need to fill her in on what happens tonight with Jared and to call her if I need anything—I make some breakfast. Putting two pieces of bread into the toaster, I lean against the counter that separates my bedroom from my kitchen. I stare out my windows that sit in the far end of my studio, watching the light slowly rise. My head’s groggy, and I’m not sure if it’s from the lightning, the pain meds, or the strange feeling of a dream I had during the night. But I never remember my dreams.

  My toast pops up like a demonic jack-in-the-box, jolting me back to the present. Pinning the bread with my best death glare, I smear jelly on it more forcefully than necessary.

  Sitting by the windows, I eat my breakfast and watch the Manhattanites make their commutes. Some are in nicely suited business outfits, others in casual clothes, parents walking with their kids to school, hipsters on bikes with one side of their pants rolled up. The hustle and bustle of the city makes me feel less alone up here, gazing out.

  As I wonder about their lives, if they like their jobs, their spouses, boyfriends, girlfriends, or kids, a pit in my stomach grows, and I shake my head, knowing the cause. I’ve always felt silly for feeling sorry for myself or catching myself in a depressed mood. My life is nothing to be sad about. I live in one of the greatest cities in the world, have a well-paying job, a family that loves me, an amazing best friend, and a guy that seems to think I’m pretty great. But even with all that, at times I still find myself lonely, removed from things. I can’t shake the feeling that something is missing from my life, and I drive myself crazy trying to figure out what it is. I have a habit of watching people—resting my eyes on the ones that look happy, trying to see how they do it.

  This isn’t to say that I’m crippled with depression, which would be melodramatic. The only way I know how to describe it is that I feel like there’s an invisible hole inside my being. This can’t be all I’m meant for: a nine-to-five job, five days a week. It’s like a piece of me was displaced at birth, and I need to find it so I can be whole again.

  So, I keep my eyes open, watching for that thing that can unlock what I’m searching for and lead me to where I’m meant to be.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been staring out the window. When my phone buzzes, I glance at the clock and see it’s close to noon. I’ve been sitting here for almost three hours!

  Holy moly.

  I jump up and immediately regret it. My knees give way from being in the same position for so long, and I’m still achy from the accident. I fall flat onto my bed and lie there pathetically for a second, slightly out of breath, before regaining my bearings and crawling to my phone. It’s a text from Jared, asking if we are still on for tonight. After confirming and settling on a time for him to come over, I glance down to my wrinkled pajamas, complete with jelly stain. Sexy. I can only imagine what my hair looks like.

  Throwing my dish in the sink, I strip off my clothes and prepare myself for a five-hour shower.

  —∞—

  My door buzzes precisely at six o’clock, and I let Jared up. Leaving my front door ajar, I quickly check myself in the bathroom mirror. My dark-brown hair falls past my shoulders in waves, my long-sleeved V-neck gray shirt hints at my cleavage, and my black skinny jeans hug me in all the right places. Not too bad. Except for the bandage around my wrist, there’s no hint of what happened a few days ago. Five-hour showers are so worth it. Sorry, environment, but it’s true.

  My front door swings open and Jared strides in, holding a bag of Chinese takeout and two DVDs. He wears a sky-blue collared shirt under a chestnut leather jacket and the same dark fitted jeans from the other night. I love those jeans. At the sight of his height and build, I immediately want to push him on the bed and forget about dinner.

  “Hi there, beautiful,” he says, placing the food and DVDs on my kitchen counter and walking over to me. He wraps me in his arms, sending shivers along my body from the outside cold he still wears. I look up into his warm hazel eyes.

  “Hey, back at ya, handsome.”

  “I was so worried about you.” He gently pulls me in for a kiss.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble against his lips, “but now I’m right as rain.” I flash a smile.

  Jared steps back to hold me at arm’s length, his concerned expression slowly relaxing into a devilish grin.

  “What?”

  “Only you could get struck by lightning a week ago and still look this hot.”

  He swiftly lifts me off of my feet and carries me to my bed as I giggle like a pathetic schoolgirl.

  Pathetic being the key word.

  Placing me down, he strips out of his jacket, fully exposing his blue shirt underneath. Something about the color jars my nerves, and my stomach tightens. I hardly have time to react when he leans over and swoops one arm under my back, raising my body to his. He gently kisses me, and my mouth opens invitingly. He tastes like spearmint gum. My legs wrap around his calves, pulling him closer, and a deep groan escapes him.

  “Let me know if I’m hurting you,” he says softly.

  “You’re not,” I reply breathless. My head swims with yearning as heat pulses between us. I’m about to roll on top of him, when my phone rings. We both freeze at the invasive sound.

  “It’s probably my mother,” I whisper against his mouth. He exhales and suddenly releases his full body weight, pinning me to the bed. I laugh uselessly, trying to shove him off, my muscles still sore. “Jared, I need to take this. I forgot to call her today.”

  He rolls to the side, allowing my escape.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Molly? Why haven’t you called me today!?” She bellows out from the phone, and I wince, moving the speaker from my ear
.

  “I’m so sorry. I’ve been doing things all day and lost track of time”—a.k.a. eating and staring out my window.

  “Well, I’ve been waiting for you to call me since this morning. It’s six thirty! And what do you mean, doing things all day? You should be resting.”

  “Mom, I’m so sorry,” I say again. “I didn’t mean that I was running around or anything. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

  Jared glances at me, and I shrug, attempting to mime that I’m making things up as I go along. My mom sighs on the other end of the line.

  “I’m sorry too, Mols. I’m just your mother, and you’re my baby. I worry about you, and you promised you’d call me every day. Can’t a mother worry?”

  I laugh at her question. “Of course a mother can worry. But I’m fine. My day was relaxing and pretty uneventful. Jared’s over now, and we’re about to eat dinner.”

  “Oh, Jared! Tell him I said hi.”

  “My mom says ‘Hi,’ Jared.”

  “Hi, Kathy.” I’m slightly shocked that he knows my mom’s first name, but then I guess my parents would have introduced themselves at the hospital. Jared kisses me on the forehead before pushing off the bed and begins to unload the takeout.

  “What are you guys going to do tonight?” Her tone is much more chipper than when I first picked up the phone.

  “Laying low, eating some Chinese, and watching some movies. What are you and Dad doing?”

  “We have a dinner to go to that some of his law school friends are hosting. In fact, we’re about to run out the door now. But I wanted to make sure you were okay before we went.”

  “Well, I’m doing great, so don’t worry. My head hardly hurts anymore, and my body isn’t nearly as sore. Tell Dad I said hi and I love him.”

  Jared starts humming some tune as he grabs dishes from the cupboards, and I smile.

  “I will,” my mom says. “Oh! And before I forget, you need to call your grandfather too and let him know you’re okay. When we told him what happened, he started to have one of his nervous fits.”