Still, she searched. She didn’t know who she was looking for. But she could feel it, sense it. If she found them, her mother’s voice would let her go..
Isabella ran to the end of the beach, the cliff with the lonely church towering above her. She saw a trickling waterfall to her right, more like a small brook dribbling down the rocky wall than an actual waterfall. She remembered putting her hand in it and the feel of the cold water splashing on her clothes when she reached in and touched the squishy, thick, blue clay covering the rock face underneath.
In the dream, however, there was a man under the waterfall. When she reached out her hand, she didn’t touch the clay. She touched his face. She yelped and jumped back, then watched, frozen to the spot, as he stepped out from the cliff. He was perfectly dry, as if the water hadn’t even touched him.
He was a man in his twenties, she guessed. She didn’t know him. But yet…somehow…she did. She knew him like she knew herself, but not who he was. She wanted to ask him, only to find a strangling fear stopping her.
As she watched the familiar stranger, his face contorted in pain.
“Why did you do it?”
“Do what?” Isabella asked.
“Why did you make me grow up without him?”
She woke with a start, gripping the armrests of her chair so tight that she made the armrests creak.
Her waking mind dissolved the features of the man, blurred them until all she was left with was the image of his eyes seared into her, those beautiful, blue-green eyes.
She turned to the crib. Alberto was sleeping soundly. His eyes—the ones she had just seen in her dream—were firmly closed.
Her hands were clammy, as she forced her fingers to release the armrests before wiping them off on her pajama bottoms. Her breath was coming in too fast, and she felt as if she couldn’t get enough oxygen.
She snuck toward the window and opened it with minimal noise.
It was silent out there. The blowing breeze ruffled her hair. The fresh air was soothing, and she breathed it in greedily. Fresh oxygen and the bracing chill did their magic. Waves of dizziness ebbed away like the receding tide on the beach.
Eventually, her breathing calmed, but her mind didn’t. It couldn’t. Images from the dream haunted her. Thoughts of the past, present, and future blurred in a cyclone of confused pictures and disjointed thoughts. She needed distraction.
She closed the window and tiptoed silently back to her chair. When she was cozy under her blanket, she picked up her iPad.
Her fingers hovered over the Skype app. Erin was an insomniac and had said she wasn’t at all tired when Isabella had left the chat. There was a good chance she was still up and online.
The only problem was that it felt selfish to try and contact Erin now. She should be leaving her alone so that Erin would go to bed and at least try for some sleep.
Rubbing at her forehead, Isabella felt worry lines forming. Everything made Isabella feel selfish right now. She looked over at Alberto. Guilt wrapped its serpentine coils about her, constricting her throat. She struggled to swallow. She had to escape this feeling. And the only thing she could think of was to talk to someone. So she typed quietly but hurriedly.
IsabellaMartinez1: Erin? Are you awake?
A few seconds ticked by, as she stared at the screen. Isabella was about to give up and read an e-book or something instead. A message popped up, almost cutting her already frayed nerves to ribbons.
BlackVelvetBitches: Hey Ms. Writer. :) Yep, I’m here. I was on Twitter, so I nearly missed your message. Why aren’t you asleep?
Isabella stared at the words. What was she going to say? “I had a bad dream. Please make me feel better?” Ridiculous.
IsabellaMartinez1: I woke up again and don’t seem to be able to go back to sleep.
BlackVelvetBitches: Aww, sorry to hear that. Good for me, though. I get more of your company. Yay!
IsabellaMartinez1: I wouldn’t celebrate. I’m not sure I’ll be good company.
BlackVelvetBitches: Don’t be silly. You’re always great to have around.
Isabella was far too fragile for Erin to be this sweet to her. She might cry or wail like a banshee. Or both. But she was a Martinez, so all that was off the table. She had to control herself.
IsabellaMartinez1: You’re very kind. Have you tried for any sleep?
BlackVelvetBitches: Nope, I’m starting to feel tired but not settled enough to get some z’s. Actually, it’s past midnight, but I might still spring for some coffee now that my midnight-coffee buddy is here.
IsabellaMartinez1: Should I be telling you to go to bed?
BlackVelvetBitches: Whoa, way to show your mom credentials, there. You can’t send me to bed. I’m too big and too far away.
IsabellaMartinez1: Fine. You get to stay up. This time. One night, however, you might just find me at your door with a glass of hot milk and a bedtime story.
BlackVelvetBitches: Hey, that actually sounds kinda nice. Especially if there’s some honey and whiskey in the milk and the bedtime story is a raunchy lesbian detective story.
IsabellaMartinez1: Oh, really, Miss Black? Read many of those?
BlackVelvetBitches: Nope. Not much of a reader. Unless it’s comics, of course. But you could read me stuff and I’d listen. Don’t tell anyone…but I really like your voice.
Isabella felt unexpected heat in her cheeks.
IsabellaMartinez1: That’s nice to hear. Thank you.
BlackVelvetBitches: This could all be in my head, but your replies seem shorter and less teasing than normal. You okay?
Isabella sighed and shook her head. When had she become this transparent?
IsabellaMartinez1: Honestly? No, not really. This sounds silly, but I had a particularly rough nightmare.
BlackVelvetBitches: Doesn’t sound silly at all. Nightmares can be your brain throwing your worst crap right in your face. With added monsters and nothing making sense. It’s friggin’ awful. Some of the worst experiences of my life have been in dreams, and dude…that’s saying something.
IsabellaMartinez1: Sounds like you have a lot of experience, then?
BlackVelvetBitches: I went through periods with lots of night terrors as a kid. Especially when I got a new group home or a temporary placement with a foster family. The first week was basically my brain torturing me. Didn’t help my insomnia one bit. Luckily, the dreams got less intense when I hit puberty.
Isabella bit her lip.
IsabellaMartinez1: I’m not sure I should be telling you about my problems. I feel like I have no right to complain when I compare our lives. Perhaps I should just ask you to tell me one of your awful jokes.
BlackVelvetBitches: Really? Coz I heard a great one on the radio. It goes like this: If you ever get cold, why don’t you stand in the corner for a bit—they’re usually 90 degrees. Ba-bom tssh.
That didn’t make Isabella feel any better.
IsabellaMartinez1: Right. Thanks for the effort. But I’m afraid that did nothing but make me roll my eyes.
BlackVelvetBitches: Yeah…I thought that might be the case. Why don’t you just tell me what you dreamt?
IsabellaMartinez1: Like I said, I feel like I shouldn’t.
BlackVelvetBitches: Oh, come on. I’m asking, aren’t I? Besides, it’s not a who-had-the-worst-life competition. You seem to be the one who is going through the worst stuff right now. So, you know, vent. Get it off your chest. Lean on me, gorgeous.
IsabellaMartinez1: All right. It was a strange dream. But then they always are, I suppose. I was at a beach where my family traveled one spring, when I was little. I was miserable there as a child and just as miserable in the dream, even though I was an adult this time. My mother’s voice kept chasing me, but she wasn’t there. Other than that, everything was the same as in the memory. Oh, except that I wasn’t there with my mother and her friend like I was in the memory. I was alone. And an adult. And I was looking for someone.
Isabella hit send to break the message up and make it
more readable. It was only then she read what she had written. What was that gibberish? She groaned softly. What was wrong with her? She always checked her messages before she sent them. She could only blame the panic that was still lodged deep in her chest.
IsabellaMartinez1: I just re-read that and saw that I explained that I was an adult twice. And barely made any sense. My apologies. I’m still a bit shaken up.
BlackVelvetBitches: Never mind. It’s okay. Just tell me about the dream.
IsabellaMartinez1: Everything was so bleak, and I was so stressed by my mother’s voice. It was just behind me, just out of reach. And I couldn’t hear what it was saying, other than a few words about disappointment and failure. But for some reason, I knew that if I found who I was looking for, the voice would go away.
Isabella ran her hands over her face. How much detail should she go into? She already felt bad about how she was constantly confiding in Erin, constantly complaining.
IsabellaMartinez1: Then I came across the person I needed to find. I think it was Alberto, but he was all grown up. He said that I had made a decision that ruined his childhood.
BlackVelvetBitches: See what I mean about dreams? Your mom never leaving you alone and your son suffering coz you did something wrong. Your brain knows your worst fears and it was just playing you a nice little horror film of ’em. I know it doesn’t help right now. But when you calm down, knowing that might just make you feel better.
IsabellaMartinez1: Yes, I’m sure you’re right. You’re also right in that this was a rather transparent dream. Pretty literal, really. So much for my creative mind.
BlackVelvetBitches: Hey, don’t be so hard on your brain. It was sleeping, okay? Cut it some slack.
Isabella stifled a laugh, worried about waking Alberto. The cold grip of panic was starting to let go of her throat.
IsabellaMartinez1: How do you always manage to make things better?
BlackVelvetBitches: I sold my spleen to the devil for good comforting skills. I tried to sell my soul, but the devil said he already had three of those.
It was calming to know that Erin’s jokes were still as bad and still as cute. Isabella couldn’t quite stop a snigger this time. She looked over at Alberto. He was still sleeping. She looked at the screen for a heartbeat or two, before deciding to open up.
IsabellaMartinez1: Erin. The decision that I made, the one that Alberto seemed so pained about? It was leaving his father.
There was a long pause. Isabella didn’t blame her. She didn’t know what she would have said if she was in Erin’s shoes.
BlackVelvetBitches: Huh. Okay. Well, as I said, it’s just your brain showing you the worst-case scenario.
IsabellaMartinez1: Yes, I know. Which means it’s a real fear, a real dilemma that I must deal with.
BlackVelvetBitches: Can I tell you something? Or is there more about the dream you need to get out?
Isabella tilted her head as she looked at the message. Where could this be going?
IsabellaMartinez1: No, go ahead.
BlackVelvetBitches: There was this foster home I stayed in for a while. The foster parents were nice. Loved kids, absolutely adored each and every one of us. It looked perfect on paper. There was just the small matter of the fact that they didn’t love each other so much. Or maybe they just didn’t like each other. Either way, they fought like cats and dogs. And when they didn’t fight, they avoided each other. It made the whole house totally uncomfortable. All us kids were on edge, wondering when the next fight was going to start, what would set it off this time. Even if we didn’t see them fight, we knew they were miserable with each other. We felt it. It made us all…kinda wary and cautious, I guess. We didn’t trust the times when they seemed happy, because we knew it wouldn’t last. And we learned not to trust them, because every time they told us they loved each other, we knew they were lying to us. So how could we believe a word they said? I’m not saying that you and Richard would ever be like that, but if there is this weirdness between you, Alberto will feel it. Kids don’t understand grown-up stuff, but they pick up vibes. And bad vibes can be scary as hell when you don’t understand what they are.
IsabellaMartinez1: I hadn’t thought about that.
BlackVelvetBitches: You see things differently when you grow up like I did. You see a lot of adults trying their best but failing in so many different ways. That’s not to say that there weren’t adults who got it right too. I had some amazing social workers and foster parents who I’ll be eternally grateful to. Anyway, there’s another side to your problem.
IsabellaMartinez1: There is?
BlackVelvetBitches: Yep. Once again, I’m no expert on how to raise a kid right. But it seems to me that it would be easier to teach a kid how to be happy and to be true to themselves if you were those things? Sorry, did that make sense? It’s late and the words don’t seem to be explaining what I’m thinking very well. :)
IsabellaMartinez1: No, that was perfectly clear. If I’m content and live my life the way I want to, it will be easier to teach Alberto to achieve that in his own life.
BlackVelvetBitches: Exactly! Basically, I think that happy parents are better parents. But what the hell do I know, right?
IsabellaMartinez1: I think you know more than you give yourself credit for. An outsider’s view of a family can be very insightful, obviously. Thank you, Erin. You’ve made me feel a lot calmer.
BlackVelvetBitches: Don’t sweat it. I’m glad I could help. I feel like I should add that I’m not telling you what to do here. I’m just saying that if you do leave Richard, it’s not necessarily gonna make your nightmare come true. Kids grow up without their dad around 24/7 all the time, and I’m sure he’d still be in Alberto’s life lots and lots. Wouldn’t he?
IsabellaMartinez1: Yes. I think he would. I hope so at least.
BlackVelvetBitches: There you go, then. You’ll make the right decision for lil’ man, because you love him and you worry about what’s best for him. Oh, and you’ll never go on holiday with your mom again, so that part of the dream won’t come true either. ;-)
IsabellaMartinez1: No, that’s for sure. Again, thank you for reassuring me.
BlackVelvetBitches: And, once again, not a problem. Feel like you can sleep now?
Isabella sighed as she took stock. She was calmer now, and things were looking a little less bleak. But shutting her thoughts off enough for sleep? Not a chance.
IsabellaMartinez1: No, I’m afraid my brain wouldn’t allow that. The annoying thing is far too busy playing out scenarios and reminding me of the panic of my dream.
BlackVelvetBitches: Okay, well, we can keep chatting. That’ll distract you.
Alberto made a noise, somewhere between a mewl and a grunt. Isabella looked over at him. He was moving about, showing every sign of not sleeping so soundly anymore.
IsabellaMartinez1: I’d love to. However, I think we both need to try for some sleep. You have work tomorrow, and I should be at least a little rested for when Alberto wakes up. I just wish I could have some alcohol or medicine to quiet my mind. Damn breastfeeding.
She saw the little pen that showed that Erin was typing. But no message seemed to come. Either this was an extremely long message, or Erin wasn’t sure whether to press send or not. Finally, a message appeared.
BlackVelvetBitches: I’ve got something that might help you. Unless you think it’s silly. I’ve sort of collected lots of tricks on how to fool your brain to sleep. I’ve been asking people and reading about it online over the years.
IsabellaMartinez1: But none of them work for you?
BlackVelvetBitches: Usually not, no. I’m immune to sleep. ;-)
IsabellaMartinez1: Well, I’m not. So, if you want to share a tip or two, I’d be glad to hear them.
BlackVelvetBitches: Okay. I’ll share the one that does sometimes work for a tough case like me. Just don’t laugh, okay?
Isabella wasn’t sure if she should feel offended or just sorry for Erin.
IsabellaMartinez1: Of cou
rse I won’t. I laugh with you, never at you.
BlackVelvetBitches: Yeah, I know. It’s just that this is really personal stuff, you know? What I’m gonna tell you isn’t the usual stuff about counting to a hundred backward or focusing on making your out-breaths as long as your in-breaths. I’m gonna tell you my way of trying to shut my brain down and get into sleep mode. It might be a bit weird.
IsabellaMartinez1: I’m sure it’s not. Besides, even if it was, I’d never tease you about it. Especially not now that I know you are sensitive about this issue. Don’t worry, you’re safe with me.
BlackVelvetBitches: Okay. I have a thing I kinda…imagine right before I sleep. First of all, are you afraid of tight spaces?
IsabellaMartinez1: No, I’ve never been claustrophobic.
BlackVelvetBitches: Good. So, you’re in bed. Lying comfortably and ready to sleep. That’s when you imagine that you’re out walking late at night. It’s a safe place, no one around. The starlight makes it cozy and pretty. There are crickets in the background, but that’s the only noise you hear. You’re heading for a hole in the ground which is covered by a lid. You open the lid and step into the hole, closing the lid above you, closing out the world and all your waking thoughts. It’s totally silent in there. The hole is lit up only by dim, warm, yellow light. There’s a ladder, and you start climbing down it. You know you’re safe, and you’re climbing down to a place that’s even safer. It gets warmer and toastier as you climb down the ladder. The light dims too. The comfortable warmth and dim light makes you tired. With every step down the ladder, you get more relaxed, and your breaths get longer and deeper. When you are so far down that it’s almost completely dark, you find yourself in a hollow. It’s lit by a single candle. There’s a clean mattress on the ground. It’s really big and thick and comfortable. On it are your favorite pillows, duvets, and blankets. Whatever makes you the coziest—it’s there on that mattress, waiting for you to snuggle up. So that’s what you do. Slowly and easily, so you don’t stop being sleepy. Your bed smells faintly like vanilla and Christmas spices. Lovely and welcoming. Your long, deep breaths…fill your lungs with it. There is a vent hole somewhere, because the air still feels fresh and full of oxygen. You have never felt so safe or snuggly before. You’re, like, cocooned in this warm, dark, safe place. As you feel how soft and perfect everything is, that single candle slowly dies out. When it’s dark in the little hollow, you fall into deep, restful sleep.
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