Hiding In His Dreams

by Jason W. Chan

  The fading sun cast a gentle hue on the painting as Luke inspected it. To his surprise, he realized it was a pink cherry blossom.

  “It’s a cherry blossom,” he finally replied.

  “A cherry blossom? Very nice. Any reason you drew this?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes there is.” He did not know what to tell Lydia if she pressed for more information.

  “Very good,” the instructor said again, then moved on to look at the paintings of the teenagers around him.

  Luke was surprised that she had not pried.

  He continued to work on the painting, adding finishing touches: a splash of pink here, a little more black there.

  When he was done, he stepped back to examine the painting. It looked like the painting that Alyssa had made for him, one of the ones he had taken down when he first heard that she had died.

  A wave of melancholy washed over him, drowning him in its suffocating flood. Just when he thought he was feeling better.

  He continued to stare at the cherry blossom. He knew he did not want to return to painting class again.

  * * * * *

  When he got home, Luke fell into his couch and did nothing. He stared out the window. The night was quiet, empty, even lonely.

  He felt like crying but he had no more tears.

  His face started to itch, so he scratched it, but the itching would not go away. He began to feel a little hot, even feverish. Luke got up and went into the bathroom. He soaked a facecloth in cold water, then applied it to his face. He looked in the mirror.

  It did not help. His face was red. He thought he saw pinkish-red blotches breaking out. Ignoring them, he went to bed, but found he could not sleep.

  He returned to the bathroom and fumbled around in the medicine cabinet. He took out a bottle of SleepAid, then rattled it around. It sounded very full.

  He pried open the lid and examined the pills in the bathroom light.

  How could something so tiny make me so happy? He wondered.

  He knew he should not, but he took one out, and popped it in his mouth. He drank some water from the tap and swallowed the sleeping pill.

  Luke returned to bed and fell asleep.

  * * * * *

  That night, he dreamed that he was in an indoor swimming pool. The lights under the pool glowed a bright green.

  He was bare-chested, wearing only his swimming shorts. He was standing in the shallow end of the pool, staring at the vastness in front of him. The water was clear, a Caribbean green. He felt really comfortable soaking in the warm water.

  He heard a splash beside him and turned his head. It was Alyssa in a red bathing suit. He smiled and hugged her. She was wet and smelled of chlorine.

  “You came to see me,” he exclaimed. He ran his fingers through her hair, but they were quickly entangled in the webby wetness.

  She nodded. “You‘ve had a rough day.”

  “You know about that girl Jessica and the painting class, right?”

  She nodded again, drops of water dripping off her face.

  “Obviously, finding you new purposes isn‘t working,” she said. “We have to take drastic measures.”

  “No!” he shouted. He was surprised by the volume of his voice. “Screw all that!”

  “You’re taking sleeping pills again,” she said. “That can’t be a good thing.”

  He put both arms on her shoulders. Her skin was wet and smooth.

  “I love you so much I want to kill myself to be with you,” he said slowly, as though speaking too quickly would cause Alyssa to misunderstand. “Then, we’ll both be spirits. And we can be together.” His intensity surprised even himself. He had not expected this sudden outburst.

  He wrapped his arms around her, but she backed away, giving him her disapproving-teacher look. He felt like one of her students again, caught fighting at recess.

  “You can’t. We’ve been through this before. You have to live life. Without me.”

  “Why?” he demanded to know. “Why do I have to do that?”

  “You’re still living for a reason. I can’t tell you what it is. And killing yourself would be the easy way out.”

  He gave her a defiant look. “And what if I want to take the easy way out?”

  She sighed, and rested her head on his shoulders, her tone softening. “I know it hurts. Sometimes I think that when I really love someone, my soul becomes attached to his. And when we separate, it hurts.”

  She released a breath, which tickled his skin. He felt his anger dissipate.

  Alyssa held something up in the air. Luke saw it was a bottle, holding cerulean-colored liquid that he saw her scoop up from the pool.

  “I know you cried since I died. You never cry,” she said. “I hate seeing you cry. There’s nothing I can do to make it better.”

  She shook the bottle, the liquid sloshing inside. “Except for this.”

  Puzzled, he asked, “What is that?”

  She pointed to the pool. “This isn’t just any pool. The water has a special property. We’re meeting here for a reason.”

  She shook the bottle again. “This is the unlove potion.”

  “Unlove?” He was not aware that ‘unlove’ was even a word.

  “Unlove,” she affirmed. “When you wake up, you will find this bottle on the nightstand. You have to drink it three times for it to work. I will feed you the first one. You can take the last two yourself.”

  “I don’t understand. Who do I unlove?”

  Patiently, she explained, “After you drink this potion, you won’t love me anymore. That way, you won‘t hurt anymore. You could move on in the waking world and not live your life through your dreams.”

  As understanding registered in his mind, he was shocked. He felt like he was discovering that she had died all over again. He did not know what to say. “This means I wouldn’t love you anymore?” he repeated stupidly.

  “If you don’t love me, then you wouldn’t hurt anymore, right?”

  She had a point. But it was an ugly point.

  Luke shifted in the water. The warm pool no longer felt comfortable. In fact, it was starting to boil.

  For the longest time, no one talked. They listened to the churning of the strengthening current.

  Then, Luke found his voice. “You’d rather see me not hurt, even if it means I won’t love you anymore?”

  “That’s how much I love you,” she said quietly.

  Luke allowed the profoundness of her sentence to sink in.

  This is love at its most selfless, he thought.

  Water began to spray them as the pool roared to life.

  “There are three stages,” she continued, raising her voice to be heard in the growing noise. “After the first spoonful, anything that reminds you of me will disappear. The paintings around the apartment. The pictures of us. The cherry blossom. After the second one, your memories of me will be hazy. After the last drink, you won‘t feel love for me anymore.”

  Alyssa choked when she said her last word. Luke could tell she was trying not to cry, but he did not know whether she would succeed. Even if she failed though, the restless water would conceal her tears.

  Luke took in the image of his wife.

  There she was in her red bathing suit, her hair wet, her skin wet, everything wet, water rising and splashing her in the face, telling him that she would rather have him not love her anymore, than see him continue to suffer.

  “I read somewhere love is like a drug,“ she yelled. “It’s a drug when you fall in love. So, logically, you take a drug when you fall out of it.”

  “But I don’t want to fall out of it,” he screamed. The water was so loud that he was afraid she had not heard him.

  “I want to love you!” he hollered.

  “I just can’t stand to see you hurting.” She pulled the lid off the bottle and pointed to it.

  “That’s how much I love you,” she said again. “Now don’t be dreaming of me anymore. For your own good.”

  Luke a
bsorbed her words as the raging water almost knocked them both over. Quickly, Alyssa thrust the bottle in Luke’s face. He turned away, but she managed to anticipate his movement, and thrust the bottle to his left, which was exactly where his mouth ended up.

  The glass bottle hit his teeth. Stubbornly, he clamped down, refusing to open his mouth. She would have to tackle him if she wanted him to drink it.

  He whirled around and tried to bolt away, but the water slowed him down.

  She lunged at him, almost tackling him to the bottom of the pool.

  Luke struggled for a while, but Alyssa held on tight to his back. She managed to shove the bottle in his face again, hitting his teeth so hard that he unclamped them briefly.

  In that split second, the liquid went right in his mouth, going down his throat. It was a bitter taste, similar to the taste of crushed sleeping pills.

  As the surprise of the ambush wore off, he turned around and looked at his wife.

  She turned her head to the side, and averted her eyes, but Luke could see liquid on Alyssa’s face. He was still unsure whether it was angry pool water or simply tears.

  She mouthed something to him.

  For your own good.

  As the furious water closed in on him, he wondered how not loving his wife anymore could possibly be for his own good.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 16

  When Luke woke up, he felt that something was wrong with his body. It ached, but even worse than that, it burned. There was also a bizarre, bitter taste in his mouth.

  He felt like he had a hangover, although he did not normally drink.

  He got up from his bed and headed into the bathroom. After soaking a facecloth in cold water, he applied to it to his face.

  Looking into the mirror, he saw that the red splotches from the night before had gotten worse. They had multiplied overnight, covering both cheeks, his forehead and his chin. They had gotten bigger too and were beginning to swell.

  Tentatively, he touched one, and winced.

  He felt like an acne-ridden teenager again.

  He considered going to the doctor, but nowadays, all the medical people were bringing him bad news. He would wait this one out by himself.

  Luke examined his face more closely, and saw liquid dripping along the side of the mouth.

  He wiped some of it away with one finger, and then placed it just under his nose. He sniffed it. It had no scent.

  Puzzled, Luke returned to his room, and stopped in his tracks.

  On the nightstand was a glass bottle, no bigger than one used to hold perfume. It contained cerulean liquid.

  At its sight, images and memories inundated Luke’s mind. The roaring pool. Alyssa’s tear-stained face. And of course, the potion.

  He stared at the potion and struggled to remember what Alyssa had said.

  One spoonful and objects reminding you of me will disappear.

  Two spoonfuls and your memories of me become hazy.

  Three spoonfuls and you’ll unlove me.

  He felt as though a runaway train had just slammed into him.

  Not love Alyssa anymore? He thought. No degree of pain will make me unlove my wife.

  The spots on his face began to swell and grow hot, making Luke cringe.

  “Aaaahhhh!” he yelled, putting a hand to his face. The throbbing would not go away.

  As he took his hand off his face, his fingers touched the remainder of the blue-green liquid along the side of his mouth.

  To his horror, he realized he had drunk one spoonful of the potion already. No, wait, he recalled that Alyssa had force-fed one spoonful to him. It was, supposedly, for his own good.

  Why would she do that?

  He remembered her response.

  That’s how much I love you.

  She didn’t want him to suffer anymore. So she was trying to make him unlove her.

  But I don’t want to unlove her, Luke thought.

  His mind was a crowded landfill. There was so much stuffed in it that he didn’t know how to start sorting through it.

  I have drunk one spoonful, he thought. I remember it going down my throat. That much I know. Then that means the objects reminding me of her would be gone.

  When he realized that, he raced out of his bedroom, and into the living room.

  The three paintings of cherry blossoms that she had painted for him were still there.

  He started to breathe a sigh of relief, but then froze in mid-exhale when he saw something peculiar happen.

  The paintings of pink, white and red cherry blossoms were fading away before his very eyes, beginning with the frames.

  He finished exhaling, and then rubbed his eyes to banish the last remnants of sleep from them.

  Maybe I’m still dreaming, he thought.

  When his eyes were clear, he saw that he was not still dreaming. After the frames were gone, the canvases began to vanish, like some secret magician’s trick.

  In a little while, the paintings had disappeared.

  He dashed to the wall and ran his hands along the spots that the paintings used to be. The wall was now completely bare, devoid of any form of decoration. Just like it was before he had met Alyssa.

  He glanced around the room in bewilderment.

  This can’t be happening, he thought. This can’t be happening. I want to love Alyssa.

  He went back to his room, sat down on his bed, and reached for the bottle. He gripped it in his hands and inspected it. It was a perfectly normal-looking bottle. Who would have thought that such a simple bottle holding an ordinary-looking liquid could be so powerful?

  I know, he thought. I’ll smash it. If I smash it, it can’t have any power over me. The sentimental objects would still be gone. But that won’t stop me from loving my wife.

  Luke raised the potion high in the air, and then let it drop to the hardwood floor.

  He heard a loud clank, but it did not break.

  Confused, he picked it and inspected it again. Not even a single crack.

  He chucked it on the floor more forcefully, but there was no sound of glass shattering. He then picked it up and banged it against the wooden nightstand. He was prepared for it to shatter and cut his hand, but it was a small price to pay to hang on to Alyssa.

  Nothing happened. Examining the bottle, he discovered that it was in perfect condition.

  There was no way to break the bottle.

  Then I’ll get rid of it, he thought.

  He carried it to the balcony and slid open the door. Luke stepped out into the windy and cloudy day and raised the bottle high above his head. There was light traffic on the streets below. If he threw it down there, he probably would not hurt anyone.

  He wound his arm back and then flung it to the ground ten stories down. He watched it grow smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared entirely.

  Luke exhaled, and wiped his brow.

  That was that, he thought.

  He turned around and stepped back into his room.

  The glistening bottle was back on his nightstand. His stomach lurched forward. He hurried over and picked it up. Not a scratch.

  Panic began to creep into his mind.

  There must be some way to reverse the effects, he thought.

  As he considered how, he caught sight of a picture of him and Alyssa on the nightstand. He put the bottle on the bed, and picked up the picture, cradling it in his hand.

  They were at Qualicum Beach. Luke had his arm around Alyssa’s waist and they were smiling into the camera. The early morning light was blinding their eyes, so they had them half-closed, as though they were drunk. Blissfully drunk.

  He remembered this picture. They had a passerby take it the morning after their fight on the beach.

  We looked so happy together, he thought. When times were simpler.

  Looking at the image of his wife, he smiled. He still felt love for her in his heart. As long as the feeling was there, he would be alright.

  His smile, though, was short liv
ed. It was obliterated from his face when he realized the pain that she had been causing him.

  She distracted me from my career and got me fired, he thought bitterly. And she’s keeping me from living my life because all I can think about is her.

  As the rage completed its domination over him, he lifted the picture and chucked it across the room. It sailed past the desk and landed with a loud bang on the ground.

  He felt momentary relief as the picture broke.

  But then, he remembered his love for her, and he ran across the room and lifted the picture. The glass almost cut open his hand. The frame was broken.

  As he considered how to fix it, he realized that the picture he was holding was starting to fade away.

  “No,” he whispered. Then, louder, “No!”

  Desperately, he gripped onto it, but how do you hold onto something that disappears into thin air?

  Within seconds, it was gone.

  He was now gripping onto nothing but air, like a mime that was pretending to be holding something.

  His eyes darted around the room, but he knew the picture was not in the room anymore.

  Luke picked up the unlove bottle from the nightstand, and shook it, listening to the sound of liquid sloshing around inside. He was fresh out of ideas. He looked out the window. The day was overcast and gray. Not a single ray of light in the sky.

  He lay down on his bed, dropping down so quickly that it groaned.

  He lay there for a while, his mind a whirlpool of thoughts. What was he going to do? How could he stop the process?

  I could just refuse to take the second spoonful, he thought. Yes, that was it. No second spoonful means the ability to remember my beloved.

  He had left the glass door open and just then, a piercing breeze cut right through him. He quivered as though he were in the middle of an earthquake.

  As he held up a hand to shield himself, he brushed against something soft on the bed.

  Luke looked down and saw their cherry blossom. It was still there. It had not disappeared yet.

  It was the last object that meant something to him.

  Gingerly, he picked it up, afraid it would vanish if he held it too tightly.

  He caressed the flower, enjoying the soft feel of it on his skin. It felt like Alyssa’s touch. It calmed him down, hypnotizing him.