He stared at the cherry blossom, afraid that it would start to fade away soon. He stared at it for a good five minutes, but it stayed solid.
He lay back down on the bed, put the flower close to his heart and closed his eyes.
* * * * *
Somehow, maybe it was the calming feel of the flower, he managed to drift back to sleep. He was back in the cornfield again, the moon the only light.
The cornstalks towered high above him. He looked around. He was right in the middle of the field.
The wind blew, and a cornstalk nearly whacked him in the head.
He dodged it, and surveyed his surroundings. There was no way out of the tall cornfield. The stalks blocked all possible exits.
The wind began to pick up, stinging him in the face.
Slowly, he looked around. There was no one else there.
Then, he saw something in the corner of his eye, among the cornstalks. A human shape. He turned around and caught a glimpse of Alyssa’s back.
She was dashing around the corner, the back of her white dress fluttering in the wind.
“Alyssa!” he yelled. “Wait for me.”
He raced off in her direction, but she did not stop.
Luke brushed past the gigantic cornstalks, careful to avoid the ears. He turned the corner and came face to face with his beloved.
She was all teary-eyed, her hair fluttering in the wind.
“Alyssa,” he murmured. “Alyssa, wait for me.”
She looked at him, and then looked at the ground. Even in such a distressed mood, she was radiant in the moonlight.
Luke took one step forward, and she took one step backward. He took another forward, and she took another one back. This continued for five more steps, and with each step, Luke breathed harder even though he was not doing extreme exercise. They finally arrived in a little clearing.
“Alyssa,” he said. “What’s wrong?”
He reached in to grab her, but she was starting to fade away, as the wind pounded her from every direction.
Soon, she was lifted into the air. Luke could make out the wind swirling around her, like a mini tornado.
“Take the second spoonful, or we’ll kill her, and she’ll never get to go Home,” a voice commanded.
Luke looked around nervously. “Who’s there?”
A rain drop shape emerged from the mini tornado in which Alyssa was being held captive. Luke could not see any limbs or even a face. The Wind was blowing so hard he had to shield his eyes to keep them open.
Then, he saw something else. Something shiny was coming out of the mini tornado. A glistening bottle.
“Take it,” the shape says. “Take the second spoonful.”
Luke grasped the bottle, feeling the cold glass on his hand. He looked at Alyssa, who had her eyes closed. She did not look conscious.
“Take it,” the voice insisted, growing louder. “Take it or we’ll scatter her spirit and she’ll never go to Paradise.”
Luke looked at his wife. She looked so helpless floating there, with her hair flapping around, her chin touching her chest, her hands resting by her side.
He looked at the bottle. He did not want to forget her. But he did not want her spirit scattered either.
“Do it!” the voice shrieked. It tightened its grip on Alyssa, and his girl cried out in pain.
“Do it!” the voice screamed again.
Alyssa’s body rotated until she was upside down, her body blocking out the blinding glare of the moonlight.
His beloved began to fade away again. Her body was now a vague outline. Luke could barely see her face.
Luke twisted the lid off the bottle, and prepared to down the bitter liquid.
His mind was spinning like a planet spiraling out of control across the galaxy. What was he going to do?
He lifted the bottle to his lips, and hesitated, taking one last look at his sweetheart.
Her body was nearly gone. He could not even make out the vague outline anymore.
“Do it!” the voice yelled.
He still did not drink the liquid.
What to do? He thought. His heart was bursting out of his chest.
“What do you care if I drink it or not?” he yelled into the blustery Wind. The Wind was so loud and feral that he was afraid that It had not heard him.
“I don’t,” the Rain Drop replied. “I just wanted to have some fun. Come back and drink the third, or else we’ll scatter Alyssa’s spirit.”
Before he could make a decision, the Wind gusted at him, making him tilt the bottle back.
He felt the liquid slosh around in his mouth, then go down his throat. As his eyes widened, he clutched at his throat, but it was too late.
He had drunk the second spoonful.
* * * * *
Chapter 17
Luke awoke to blaring light. He opened his eyes, but they hurt like crazy. In fact, his entire body hurt like crazy. He felt like he was on fire.
Looking around, he realized he was in a bed, but it was not his bed. For one, the feel of the bed was different. The sheets were much softer here. For another, his room did not have that many glaring lights.
Then he realized that he was not alone. There were people standing by the side of his bed. A guy with shaggy blond hair, and a young guy in a white lab coat wearing a necklace. No, wait. It was not a necklace, Luke saw. It was a stethoscope.
“Luke, it’s Mike,” the guy with shaggy blond hair murmured. “You’re in Vancouver General Hospital.”
“What? Why?” He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He smacked his mouth, then immediately regretted it. There was a nasty taste in his mouth, as though he had smoked ten cigarettes, then forgot to brush his teeth.
“I came by to see how you were doing and saw you were sleeping again in the afternoon, so I knew you needed help,” Mike said. “I hope you can forgive me for taking you here, but it was an emergency.” Mike lifted a bottle up, looking concerned. “I found this bottle beside your bed. I think you almost overdosed.”
Mike turned to the man next to him. “Is this sleeping pills in liquid form?”
The doctor, whom Luke recognized as the psychiatrist Dr. Jones, inspected the bottle. He pried the lid off, and sniffed. “Yes, smells like it to me.”
“Oh Jesus,” Mike muttered, putting his head in his hands. “Luke, this is not good.”
Luke’s friend reached into his pocket, and pulled out a cherry blossom. “Here, I also found this in your bed. What is it, a marijuana leaf?”
Dr. Jones examined the flower. “Looks like a cherry blossom to me.”
“Cherry blossom?” Mike scratched his head. “That can’t be good either. I bet that’s what causing the blotches on his face. He must be allergic to it or something.”
Luke felt his face. The blotches were there in full-bloom. And they hurt like crazy.
Dr. Jones cleared his throat and looked right at Luke. “I think you’re exhibiting symptoms of a psychosomatic disorder. You lost your wife. Who can blame you?” The doctor tut-tutted. “You need plenty of rest. A nurse will be by to run some tests.”
The physician turned to Mike. “We should let him rest for now.”
Dr. Jones left, but Mike continued to stand there. He grabbed Luke’s hand, then cringed. “Dude, your hand is piping hot.” Mike stood there, cradling his injured hand in his other hand. “I might need to go to the burn ward.”
Then he turned his attention back to Luke. “I wish there was something I could do or say to help you, my friend.”
He took one last look at Luke, and then pulled the privacy curtain around his bed.
Luke sniffed the air. It smelled like ammonia. He was indeed in the hospital.
He struggled to make sense of what was happening. Psychosomatic disorder? What was that? And why was he burning up?
Just then, the curtains were pulled open, and a redhead male nurse came in, holding a digital thermometer.
“Hey,” he said. “You’re that guy who lost his wife.
I’m very sorry to hear that.”
Luke recognized him too. It was that guy who showed him Alyssa’s corpse.
The nurse waved the thermometer in front of Luke’s face. “I need to take your temperature.” He stuck the device in Luke’s mouth and waited.
When it beeped, the nurse took it out. “Oh my. 40 degrees Celsius. I should tell the doctor about it.”
The nurse turned to leave, but then paused, and stared at Luke, noticing the blotches on the patient’s face.
Luke stirred in his bed, and touched the outbreak on his face. It hurt. “Please tell me what’s happening to me. I’m burning up.”
The redhead nurse looked uncomfortable. “I’m not really supposed to tell you. The doctor is the one who discusses test results with patients.”
“Please,” Luke begged. “I just lost my wife. And I’m not feeling well. Please tell me what’s happening to me.”
“Well.” The nurse still looked uncomfortable. “We think your emotional pain is manifesting itself as physical pain. This is a disorder called psychosomatic disorder. Your body is breaking out in hives in a total body inflammatory response called sepsis. You could die if we don’t commence proper treatment.”
Luke looked at him blankly. “How do I get it to go away? How do I stop the pain?”
The redhead looked at him, and then shrugged. “I promise we’ll take good care of you.” He closed the curtains then left.
Luke was alone again. His skin was itchy and burning. He felt like he had been chucked into an erupting volcano. He examined his hands and was horrified to discover that more red blotches had broken out as he was sleeping. He was a human scab.
He thought about the bottle and it all came back to him. He had drunk the second spoonful. He did not recall the effects of it though. He barely remembered anything from his dream. Just wind and field. And other people.
The curtains opened again and Mike stood there with his cherry blossom in his hands.
“I forgot to give you this,” Mike said, handing the flower over to Luke. “The doctor said it was not drugs. What is it anyway?”
Luke could not remember. “What’s happening to me?”
Mike shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m not a doctor, but I have been your friend for years. You want to know what I think?”
Luke nodded, but his neck was so full of red boils that it hurt.
“I don’t think you’ve really been grieving for Alyssa. You might feel better if you allowed yourself to feel the pain.”
At the mention of the name ‘Alyssa,’ Luke perked up. He remembered a girl called Alyssa. He just did not remember much else about her. Why would he grieve for her?
Luke felt the cherry blossom in his hand. He looked at it.
What is this? He wondered.
Then, gazing at the beautiful white flower, it all came back to him. Alyssa was his wife. Alyssa had died. And he was hurting because of her.
“But I did grieve for her,” he protested. “I did.”
“No you didn’t. You lied to me about her death at first. You totally denied it. But I think that if she’s worth it, you would let yourself feel the pain. Believe me, I lost my mother a couple months ago. I know what real grieving is and what real pain feels like.”
Mike ran a hand through his long hair. “Anyway, that’s just what I think. I’m no psychiatrist. I’ll let you rest now.”
Before Luke could protest, Mike left, and closed the curtains around him.
“Just let yourself feel it,” Mike said again behind the closed curtains.
Luke tried to think about what Mike had said, but he was itching like crazy, so he scratched his face, arms, chest, legs, but that only made him itch even more.
He closed his eyes and tried to relax. He had to escape from the pain. He expected to meditate peacefully, but instead, a memory came to him.
In his mind, he could see himself in bed sick, with a fever. He was delirious. The heat was engulfing him from all directions.
As he lay there, he could see Alyssa coming into the bed room, holding a tray of piping hot tomato soup and oyster crackers, just for him.
She set the tray down on the nightstand. Luke could smell the tangy tomato soup and see the steam rising from it.
Alyssa sat down on the bed and put a cool, comforting hand on Luke’s forehead. “Are you feeling better?” she asked, her eyes wide and concerned.
He shook his head.
She leaned in closer. He could feel her hair on his cheek, and smell her Alyssa fragrance.
She kissed him on the cheek. “We could all use a little love. Especially when you’re not sick. But especially when you are.”
At that moment, Luke felt pure love radiate from his woman and go into him. Nothing but pure compassion, and pure love. He felt like he was drifting on a pond.
He was, for the second time in his life, truly at peace.
Then, the memory started to fade from his mind, as though wiped clean from the chalkboard.
Luke brought himself back to the present. He looked around. He was still in the hospital bed. And Alyssa was dead.
Disappointment sank in, almost suffocating him.
He raised his arms and grasped at the air, trying to retain the memory, but the memory was gone.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember it again, but this time, a different memory came to him.
In his mind, he could see Alyssa lying on his bed in his apartment. She turned to face him, her hair a mess.
“Luke, am I a good caretaker?” she asked, her eyes filling with tears.
Luke grabbed her, and kissed her all over. He started with her neck, then her collar bone, then her arms, then her cheek.
“You’re a great caretaker,” he whispered, kissing her earlobe. “You took care of me today.”
She started to cry, leaking hot tears on his shoulder.
“You’re a great caretaker,” Luke repeated. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re not.” He let her continue to sob onto his shoulders as he held her tight.
When Luke returned to the present, he felt the memory slipping from his mind. He knew he was running out of time to undo the unlove potion.
“Please, let me remember this one,” he begged. “Let me remember just this one.” He could feel tears forming in his eyes, but he wiped them away. He knew that he could not cry anymore. The tears would sting the boils on his face.
The pain began to flare up again slowly at first, like a mosquito bite, but then it sped up and engulfed his whole body like a summer wildfire.
Luke clutched his chest and screamed. He screamed bloody murder. He screamed so loud that he thought his vocal cords were going to burst out of his throat.
He heard feet pattering. Then, the baby blue curtains were flung open and the psychiatrist stood there, looking serene.
“What’s wrong?” Dr. Jones asked.
Luke would not stop screaming as he scratched his face and chest.
The psychiatrist calmly took a needle and inserted it into Luke’s arms. Luke finally stopped screaming and fell into a deep slumber.
* * * * *
When Luke awoke, it was pitch black outside. He felt a little better, but he could still feel the blotches on his skin.
He climbed out of his hospital bed. He needed to get out of there. He wanted to get back home.
He passed a mirror, and stripped off his hospital gown. He stood there stark naked. He needed to see the extent of the inflammation.
Boils covered every part of his body. They were on his chest, his arms, his face, his elgs. He turned around. They were more on his back, his ass, the inside of his thighs. It was like some parasite had made Luke its permanent home.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he thought he looked like a monster from a horror movie. Disgusted at himself, he shuddered.
After dressing himself in his own clothes, he looked around to make sure he had not forgotten anything. His cherry blossom was on the bed, so he picked it up, and
inhaled. It smelled fresh. He did not recall why it was important, but he knew it represented something very important to him. Something to do with Alyssa. He could not remember what she looked like. He could not remember her passions or hobbies. He could not remember the way she smelled.
He stuffed the flower into his pocket. All that could be solved later.
He opened the door and peeked into the hallway. No one was there. He stole into the hallway, turned a corner, and arrived in the bright lights of the waiting room of the Emergency Room. The exit was just on the other side of the ER.
Peeking around the corner, he saw a single triage nurse sitting at the triage desk. It was not someone he recognized. Luke strolled past her nonchalantly.
The nurse looked up from her computer, and smiled. “Are you lost?”
“No,” Luke said. “Just visiting.”
The nurses nodded, and returned to her duties.
Luke breathed a sigh of relief when he arrived at the exit. The automatic doors slid open and he stepped into the warm night air.
Then, he heard someone scrambling behind him. He turned around and saw it was the triagenurse. “Wait! Stop! Visiting hours were over hours ago. Who are you?”
Luke turned around and sped away.
Behind him, he heard the nurse scream, “Security! Security!”
Luke rounded the corner and kept on running. After a minute had gone by, he looked behind him and saw no one chasing him. He could not hear the triage nurse’s screams anymore.
He continued to run, then he hit his head on something solid.
Recoiling, he rubbed his aching forehead. He saw that he had run into someone. An old man in rags. A homeless old man.
“Watch where you’re going,” the old man scolded, rubbing his own head.
Looking at the old homeless man, Luke was reminded of that bum he saw that day a year earlier, the bum to whom he had given ten dollars. It was even before he had met Alyssa. It was earlier that day.
The young homeless guy had asked him whether he would still want to know the love of his life, even if she ended up breaking his heart the hardest.
And Luke had said no.
And the bum had replied that Luke should come see him if he needed to.
Luke felt his boils start to flare up. He scratched them until they bled. He was beginning to look like someone whose cat had scratched every part of him.
Hiding In His Dreams Page 15