Dreaming a Reality

by Lisa M. Cronkhite

  I was never really that close to my oldest sister. Martha lived in a world of her own. Since she was raised first, she was cared for first. My parents tried extremely hard to guide her in the best direction they could—all the while forgetting about me and Todd.

  From education to activities, they were actively involved, but Martha took a bad turn in high school when her dating got out of control. She was considered a “slut” in those days, hanging out with her druggie friends.

  Back then, she was a very attractive and voluptuous girl with big, flowing hair and shapely curves that attracted all the guys. I remember one time when I was little she owned a fish tank filled with all kinds of tropical fish her “at the time” boyfriend would give her. I was only nine or ten at the time and tried to take care of them since Martha wouldn’t. I did all I could to keep the fish alive, doing research about all the tropical and exotic fish. That’s how my love for traveling grew.

  However, Martha hadn’t cared about the fish and never cleaned the tank. She dumped the fish just like she did her boyfriends. Even though she changed her ways after she stopped using drugs and got married, she remained selfish—always worrying about herself, not the fish, not her boyfriends, not anything. It wasn’t until she became a mother that she actually started caring for someone else.

  I got up off the floor and sauntered to my room. The thought of having to wait another day seemed bleak as the day proceeded aimlessly.

  Yet again, I had to wait.

  Todd and I spoke that night, and I told him about my dilemma with Martha. After classes were over he said he might manage to squeeze in time to pick me up, but as the minutes passed, discharge release time at 10:00 p.m. came and went.

  It wasn’t until morning that he actually came to get me. I was finally getting out and on my way home.

  The moment I walked in the door, the house looked amazing. Everything was clean and neat and had the smell of lemons. The carpet was vacuumed and dishes done. Even the floor in the kitchen seemed to shine.

  Jeremy had spent nearly two weeks alone, and I was extremely proud of him for keeping the house in order.

  We embraced the minute I entered the house. I showered him with kisses as he laughed and said, “Mom, please, you’re crushing me!” From the look on his face I knew he enjoyed it and was just as happy to see me as I was to see him.

  “Jer, buddy. The house looks wonderful, and it smells so nice. Did you use the carpet-fresh stuff?”

  “Yeah, Ma. I sprinkled some on and vacuumed, but I think I broke it. It was making these weird whistling noises.”

  “Ha.” I laughed. “No worries. I’m just glad you were safe. You’re becoming such an adult, Jeremy. I am so proud of you.” I rustled around his hair as we both stood there in the kitchen.

  After such a warm welcome, I started to unwind and unpack my bags. The clothes I wore at the hospital were from donations, but I’d packed them anyway as the nurse insisted on taking all my stuff, including five thick folders filled with paperwork. I had everything in there from how to accept my illness to medical insurance information.

  I could see the laundry piled up. I was puzzled to see the luggage from my Bahamas trip had been sitting in the corner of my room, as if I hadn’t even gone. As I unzipped the suitcase and flipped it open, I could see that everything was neatly packed and untouched. That’s right! I thought. I didn’t even get a chance to wear anything. It all happened so fast. “Jer, how did I get this back?” I asked him from the bedroom while he relaxed on the couch, flipping channels again like always.

  “That guy came by; Mitch, or whatever his name is…and dropped it off. Man he’s a character. Real sure of himself. You know how to pick ‘em, Ma.”

  “Jeremy, I can’t tell you enough how sorry I am for putting you through all this. From now on, Mitch is out of the picture.”

  “Dean, is he out of the picture too?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “Well, he called the house quite a few times looking for you.”

  “Was that it?”

  “Yeah, and oh, he said he had something for you, and to please give him a call. That was it.”

  Oh, God! What does he want now? Why was Dean still pestering me to talk to him? What was it this time? Was there something else of mine he had? First my I.D. and now what? My credit cards too perhaps? Although I hadn’t noticed anything missing, who knows what it could be.

  After I got situated at home, I walked upstairs to the computer to check my e-mail. As I took a few deep breathes and signed in, a whopping three hundred and eighty-one unread messages popped up. I just laughed and lightly breezed through them. I didn’t have that overwhelming feeling like I usually did, so I could tell the meds were working. I figured I would sort through them later, chipping away at them slowly one at a time, but right now that didn’t matter, because right now I felt good.

  I really wanted to make a valiant effort to stay on track and make a difference for my loved ones. I desperately wanted their trust back—not just Jeremy’s and my mother’s, but John’s as well.

  The schedule I adhered to in the hospital was fairly easy to abide by—to have three meals a day, at roughly the same time each day, finding coping skills to deal with stress, such as writing and walking, keeping mentally and physically fit and above all else, taking the meds as prescribed.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Although I was still having trouble sleeping, as I awoke in a sweat at the same time in the middle of the night, I wasn’t as troubled to realize it was just a dream.

  As I got up and headed down the hall, I could see that Jeremy was finally sleeping in his bedroom, which I was pleased about. The house was dark and quiet as the blue hue from the moon peered through the blinds. I was compelled to step outside for a smoke, but thought against it since I wanted to cut down. In the hospital I wore a nicotine patch, which helped, and now, since my nervousness had subsided, I was able to cut down more and more.

  I peeked out the window and watched the glistening snowflakes fall from the sky. Outside was picturesque with the trees lightly powdered with snow. I looked into the distance to where the lake peered through the evergreens as shadows of light flickered from the few cars that passed down the street.

  Suddenly, my eyes caught sight of the dark silhouette standing behind the trees. It was hard to make out. What was it?

  I turned around for a moment and started to become worried, and then I dared myself to look back. The shadow was gone.

  Down the road a deer was grazing on the dried-up twigs sticking out from the snow-covered ground. Relieved, I passed the animal off as the shadow; that’s what it had to be.

  After the little adrenaline rush, or scare, I decided to put on my coat and step outside into the backyard. It was wonderful to have the freedom of the open air again—even if it was a frozen temperature.

  Although I’d tried to quit, I had such a craving for a cigarette. I reached inside my pocket and grabbed my smokes. As I lit up, sparking up the match, smelling sulfur, the flame glowed around me making a halo effect in the air.

  It was like the dream—the girl had still visited me in my subconscious. Why was this still happening? Who was she?

  In my dream, she was bloody and walking in the snow, leaving a trail of red behind. She kept calling out to me, but this time I didn’t follow. I heard her cries through the forest and stood in the cold darkness, as I did now, but with nothing on. I was naked, yet the coldness didn’t affect me. I felt a warm rushing feeling between my legs as if someone had poured hot oil on me, and when I looked down I could see it was blood. The trail of blood she left was coming from me. We were connected somehow.

  After seeing visions of my last dream, while standing outside, I flicked my cigarette in the snow and went inside. Enough of this nonsense, I thought.

  Instead of doing the usual and going to the computer to chat and e-mail, I decided to lie back down.

  I pulled the covers over my cold nose and curl
ed up underneath the warmth. It was now mid-December, and John was still away. I thought of how hard he worked, getting construction deals and building permits. He was working on getting his own company started and awaited approval from the union. I desperately missed him and yearned to see his face. It’d been so long, I was starting to forget.

  Then my thoughts shifted to my mother. I had to see her. Once I get up in the morning, I will go visit her, I thought. For now, I needed my rest. It felt good to be tired and at the right time—the middle of the night. It was the first time in a long time that I was able to fall back to sleep, and quickly too.

  Before Jeremy left for school in the morning, I kissed him good-bye, and then prepared myself for out-patient therapy. I wasn’t about to disobey doctor’s orders and go off my meds this time. I would be true to myself. After the divorce, things just hadn’t been the same. This was the third attack in two years and slowly but surely, I would not let it happen again. Not on my watch.

  I got ready, bundling up for the cold, brisk air and went to the car and heated it up. I noticed these strange footprints in the snow. The tracks led from the driveway to the garage.

  I checked inside the garage and thought maybe someone might have broken in, but the lock wasn’t tampered with in any way. There was a foul odor coming from somewhere, however.

  Maybe it was the neighbors snow-blowing, I thought, or it could have been the deer I saw last night. The snow was so peppered with prints of all kinds, making it hard to tell. It could have been Jeremy too, taking out the trash.

  Once I exited the garage, the stench got stronger.

  I saw a drop of red in the snow, and then a few more drops that led from behind the garage, so I followed the trail. As I walked around back, I was shocked to see the deer lying there, contorted and bloody.

  A jolt of fear ran through me. I ran back to the car to call the police and could feel the cold sweat drip off my skin as the heat from inside the vehicle blew in my face.

  It was early morning, right before nine, and I was pressed for time for the out-patient therapy meeting. Ironically, it was the same hospital my mom was in.

  After I answered some questions from the police officer, I hurriedly rushed him off the phone.

  “I am late for a meeting; can I call back?”

  “Yes. In the meantime, we will have someone come out and check the perimeter.”

  Once I got to the hospital, I tried to set my thoughts aside regarding the bloody deer. It must had been hit by a car, but why was it placed behind my garage?

  I entered the hospital, knowing it was only a temporary visit and that I was able to go back home. Two weeks there seemed like too long. I wondered how my mom was holding up and completely felt for her. Although I was in the hospital under much different circumstances now, I knew how it felt to be locked up in a place you didn’t want to be.

  Out-patient group therapy lasted a few hours. It was the same routine as before; everyone introduced themselves and poured out their feelings.

  I didn’t say much when it was my turn to speak, but I was able to vent out some things, walking away from the meeting feeling somewhat satisfied for the day. I even met a few new faces. So, all in all, I thought it went well.

  The meeting was over at noon, and everyone got up, stretched out of their seats and headed to the elevator doors, while I took the stairs to the fourth floor.

  Finally, it was time to see my mother.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Mom?” I whispered to her. She was sitting up, eating this time. It was good to see her like that. Although she was too weak to do it herself, a nurse was there to help.

  “Katherine? Is that you?”

  I came up close for her to see.

  “Yes, Mom. I’m here.”

  “Where have you been?” she asked in a raspy voice as she started to cough.

  “I was having some trouble.”

  “With what? Is everything okay? How’s Jeremy?”

  “Jeremy’s fine, Mom. I was in the hospital again.”

  “Oh, honey. I’m sorry to hear…” She coughed again. “How are things now?”

  “Better, but I have a long way to go.”

  I proceeded to tell her what happened—the parts that I remembered―then I began to mention bits and pieces of the dream-girl. I told her how it still bothered me, and how I wondered why it was still happening.

  After a long stint of talking to her about it, she turned pale in the face.

  “What is it, Mom?”

  “Nurse, could we have some privacy please?”

  The nurse nodded her head, took the tray of food off the bedside table and left the room.

  My mother then took my hand, cold and clammy as it was, and folded it up inside hers.

  “It’s been a while, but I’m glad we are talking again.” She paused for a moment and squeezed my hand a little harder.

  “What is it, Mom?”

  “Forgive me for not telling you this sooner. Believe me, it bothered me for years.”

  “Mom, you’re scaring me. Was it something I did wrong?”

  “No, honey. It wasn’t you. Well, not entirely.”

  “Then what?”

  “Maybe you are having dreams of your daughter.”

  “What?” My mind in shock, I gave her a glazed look. “How?”

  “You miscarried a girl.”

  “I thought it was a molar pregnancy. The doctor said it was nothing but cysts.”

  She pulled me a little closer and said, “After your ultrasound, the doctor pulled me off to the side and told me. I didn’t want to tell you just then since you were so upset. Months later you were pregnant with Jeremy. You were so happy, I couldn’t tell you after that.”

  I couldn’t believe it. All those years and now she tells me. It had to be what it was. I remember it was in late February, the twenty-seventh to be exact—it never occurred to me that the date was the same as the numbers of the clock each night; 2:27 a.m. Everything seemed to connect after that. All the premonitions I had, and here I thought it was me in another life. No. It was my child.

  After I left the hospital, I pulled up in the driveway to see the cops and animal control cleaning up the deer.

  “You Miss Wheeler?” the police officer asked once I stopped alongside the house.

  “Yes, I called this morning.”

  “We just need to take a few pictures, and we should be set. There wasn’t anything odd that happened last night was there?”

  The police officer was young, in his early twenties. In a way, he reminded me of Jeremy with his sandy blonde hair and lengthy body.

  “No, not that I could think of.” I hesitated a little, and then remembered one other thing. “Well, Officer, there was this odd shadow across the street behind the trees, but that was in the front of my house.”

  “Okay. We’ll have someone check the whole area.”

  “May I ask how the deer died? I mean, where was all that blood coming from?”

  “There were multiple stab wounds around the neck and chest. We are looking into it. We have zero tolerance for animal killers. If there’s anything else you can remember, please notify me right away.”

  “Okay, Officer, I will.”

  After the unsettling incident with the deer, I tried to pull it together and do some work.

  I went downstairs and started making dinner. I got out the roast from the fridge, peppering it with different salts and seasonings, stuck the meat thermometer in and placed it in the oven.

  Jeremy called and said he was going out after school, so I was alone, again.

  Late in the evening, around eight, there was a knock at my door. I checked through the blinds to see who it was. There was a flower delivery truck pulled up in front and a kid standing with a bouquet of some sort all covered in purple gift wrap.

  I opened the door a crack.

  “Flower delivery for a Miss Wheeler?” the young boy said, standing there shivering.

  “From who
?” A plume of fog came from my breath.

  “Doesn’t say. Can you sign for me?”

  “Sure.”

  After I opened the door full way, a burst of cold air swept into the front room. I took the electric pen and signed on the small screen as the kid held up the computer device.

  “Thank you,” I said, while he handed me the flowers.

  I shut the door, went into the kitchen and placed them on the table. Starting from the top, I began to rip the paper in a downward split. Out popped a dozen red roses. They were beautiful with their huge budding bulbs and velvet petals. The fresh smell permeated the room.

  There was a small envelope sticking out of the bunch, and my heart flooded with excitement, yet I felt uneasy at the same time. With all that had been happening, I wasn’t sure.

  Once I opened it, sliding out the card, I was puzzled at what it said. Written in a scribble was, “Sorry.” I couldn’t make out the handwriting. At first I thought of John, but why would he say sorry? He had nothing to be sorry about, unless there was something he hadn’t told me yet. Was it because he was marrying Natalie? There had been times he wanted to tell me something, and I’d blown him off. Now, since I got sick again, all that’d been pushed aside. Then I thought of Mitch. Maybe it was him.

  Just as I pondered who it was, the telephone rang.

  “Hello?”

  For a long moment there was a silence.

  “Hello?” I said again.

  “Hey,” a deep voice said into the phone.

  “Who is this?”

  “It’s me, babe.”

  Then I knew. A chill ran through me as if I had a window open this time of year. I wasn’t in any mood to talk to him. “Dean!” I was surprised and a little unnerved it took him a few seconds to respond. It was creepy.