She sighed. It was just as well; it probably wouldn’t have worked out anyway. She put her foot on the gas and focused her thoughts on the road ahead.
Chapter 8
“And what did the doctor say?” Irene inquired.
It was Friday. The week had flown by in a blur of house showings, phone calls, and listings. But somewhere in the midst of all that activity, Sierra had been able to get in touch with her primary care physician and ask him about her tiredness, her dreams, and her long bouts of slumber. She had gone to see him on Thursday and was now being questioned by Irene.
“Well? I’m waiting,” Irene prodded.
Sierra groaned, realizing that nothing but the entire story would do for her sister.
And so she began. “He asked me a lot of questions about my sleeping patterns at first. When I told him that I thought I’d slept for three days straight this last week, he had a hard time believing me.”
“I can understand why.”
“When I told him about the nature of the dreams, he became concerned about points of stress that might be affecting my dreams. He asked me if my job is stressful, which to me was an idiotic question, because whose job isn’t?” A bit chagrined, Sierra realized she might have actually told the doctor that his questions were idiotic.
“I’m guessing you let him know what you thought of his questions,” Irene said dryly.
“He didn’t seem to take offense,” Sierra said. “He just told me that stress can definitely affect sleep patterns, and that sleep deprivation has been known to cause irritability, hallucinations, and of course tiredness. He also said that people who are depressed have prolonged sleeping habits and some of the same symptoms I described to him. After his physical examination, he found nothing out of the ordinary, and he suggested that it might be good for me to see a mental health specialist. He suggested a Dr. Elisabeth Cayden.”
“So, the doctor thinks you’re crazy?”
“No, the doctor doesn’t think I’m crazy,” Sierra shot back, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice. “He’s merely suggesting that my problem is a mental rather than a physical one, and that talking to a professional about it might not be a bad idea.”
“Are you going to?” Irene asked.
“I don’t know yet,” Sierra replied truthfully. “I haven’t had any more dreams all week that I can remember. Maybe the dreams and the sleeping were my mind and body reacting to stress, and now that I’ve addressed taking care of myself, it will all go away.”
“Well, I hope you’re right,” Irene said. “I’ve been really worried about you, especially when you sleep like that and can’t even hear your phone ringing. Maybe you need to take a vacation and kind of get away for a while.”
The idea seemed like a good one. “I’ll give it some serious thought,” Sierra said. “As I said, I haven’t had any dreams all week, so maybe that ship has sailed and I can get back to normal.”
“I hope you’re right,” Irene repeated, still sounding worried.
Sierra also hoped that she was right. The dreams disturbed her well-being, not to mention interrupted her ability to function properly in her life. Now that they’d stopped toward the end of this week, she hoped that everything would return to normal.
Chapter 9
“The time has come for action. The time has come for change.”
Boisterous clapping and amens filled the packed church.
Sierra was no longer surprised at opening her eyes and being in an unfamiliar place. She knew she was dreaming, and she was becoming an old hand at adjusting. After a quick scan of the crowd, she fixed her eyes back on the pulpit, like everyone else in the building.
“We have tried to patiently wait for them to give us our rights, to one day wake up and realize the error of their ways and come to the table of brotherhood with love and fellowship,” the speaker continued. “But it seems that they will need a push in the right direction. And I don’t know about you tonight, but I’m ready to give them that push.”
More applause rained from the crowded pews of the sanctuary. In looking around, Sierra could see that the entire church was filled; people spilled into the hallways beyond the main hall, and even down the stairs that led to the outside of the building. Tonight was definitely standing room only.
Five ministers stood in the pulpit behind the current speaker, nodding their heads and giving their approval. The heat was once again stifling. Sierra was unsure whether the air conditioner was incapacitated or nonexistent. Regardless, no one but her appeared to notice. The single-mindedness in the atmosphere could not be denied. The excitement was electric and palpable.
To Sierra’s left was Mary, who seemed completely recovered from her ordeal in jail. Sierra took a look at her own hands and gingerly brushed her scalp, face, and forehead, confirming that she too was healed. Apparently they had moved on from the wounds and violence of the last two dreams. Their outfits, however, were similar to those they had worn in the last dream. They wore shirtwaist dresses with A-line skirts that reached just past their knees. The only difference between their dresses was their color: Sierra wore black and Mary wore white.
Sierra felt a sense of community and togetherness in this church that she had never experienced in her whole life. Living in this time was dangerous and constrictive, yes—but despite the danger and injustice, everyone in the room seemed to be sure of their purpose, and they were working toward a common goal.
Together, the confusion Sierra felt at being back in this dream again and the powerful words of the speaker stirred her emotions. She felt light-headed in the boiling room.
She sat down, though everyone else remained standing, took a church fan from the back of the pew in front of her, and began to fan her face, hoping that the feeling of faintness would pass. She felt a gust of air to her left and looked up: Mary was holding another fan and fanning away, her face full of concern.
Mary sat down on the pew next to Sierra and got close to her ear. “Are you all right?”
“I’m all right,” Sierra said. She gave Mary a smile to reassure her. She got back on her feet and joined the crowd in listening to the remainder of the speech.
“We started this boycott because enough was enough. We started this boycott because it is imperative that we finally take a firm stand against injustice. And believe me when I tell you that it is working. Believe me when I tell you that they are confused now. They never imagined that we could come together and stay focused for such a long period of time. They never imagined that our mothers and sisters and grandmothers and wives would be willing to walk so far, and so long. They never imagined that they would be willing to lose their jobs and withstand threats on their lives as a sacrifice to their future. And they never imagined that we would continue, just as we are continuing, until our demands are met and we’re able to ride buses that are integrated from the front to the back. We will not stop until this is accomplished.”
The audience responded to the hope and energy of the speech with uproarious cheers. They waved their hands in the air and slapped their palms in agreement with the speaker’s call to action.
“Repeat after me,” the speaker commanded. “The time has come.”
“The time has come,” the entire congregation echoed.
“The time has come.”
“The time has come.”
“The time has come.”
Sierra felt tears flowing down her cheeks as she chanted along with everyone else.
The chanting continued for timeless minutes before finally dissolving into a chorus of another hymn.
Everyone joined hands and rocked with the rhythm of the song.
And the song went on and on.
Finally, the first speaker left the microphone, and another speaker stepped up to give out information about where pickups for the car pools would be for those who were planning to help with the boycott. “If any other volunteers would like to be drivers for the coming week,” he said, “please come to the front
of the sanctuary after benediction.” He then said a prayer and dismissed the meeting.
Hugs and greetings broke out all over the sanctuary, with people talking to everyone they knew, as well as those they didn’t.
Mary couldn’t stop talking as she exited out of the pew before Sierra. “Aren’t you excited? This is so exciting! It’s working. Our plan is actually working. You know, I believe that the more threats that come our way and the more the city tries to intimidate us, the closer we are to breaking them. I mean, it’s been how many days? Fifty or so. And no one, I mean no one, not one Negro, has gotten on a city bus. This is it. This is the movement. This is what we’ve been living for.”
By now, Sierra had figured out that they were a part of a long-standing bus boycott to integrate city buses, and she remembered the admiration she’d felt for the people involved when she first learned about these efforts as a child. Now, somehow, through this dream, she was getting to take part, at least a little bit, in this important historical moment. The feeling was beyond anything that she could have ever imagined.
She tried to come up with a response to Mary’s enthusiasm, but couldn’t adequately communicate the rush of emotion she was experiencing. She settled for, “Yeah, this is all really overwhelming.”
Mary began to usher Sierra through the crowd to the doors outside, stopping to say hi to different people along the way. The greetings were geared toward Sierra—or rather, Dorothy—as well, and Sierra tried to respond appropriately to everyone who addressed her.
Eventually, the two women made their way out to the hall. By that time the crowd on the stairs had dispersed, so they had no trouble making it to the sidewalk. When they did, Mary began to walk in a determined direction down the street—and Sierra, for lack of anything else to do, followed.
Mary was so full of excitement that she hardly seemed to notice how quiet “Dorothy” was, and she chattered on as they walked.
Sierra took note of the houses they passed, which all looked the same: modest, one-story homes with very well-kept yards.
They crossed the street and entered a commercial stretch. Lining the streets were storefronts that practically hugged each other in their closeness. The first was the local drugstore, marked with white letters and a pill bottle above its door. Directly to the left of the drugstore was a small grocer—who, according to the name written on his front window, was named Bill. Next to Bill was a butcher whose windows were darkened, though the shadow of meat encased in glass counters could be seen through the window.
Sierra took in the community and made a mental note that everything people would generally need was in walking distance of their homes. She breathed in the air and noticed that even here in the city—and that’s what this place looked like, with its paved streets and streetlights—she could still smell the freshness of the country air and see fireflies dancing in the twilight. She looked up and could readily see the starry sky. Their surroundings were very . . . relaxing. Sierra laughed at herself for thinking such a thought at a time like this.
Such is the nature of dreams, she thought. I’m totally relaxed in one moment and then taken to the height of anxiety and fear in another.
“Dorothy, what you smiling about?” Mary asked in a be-mused voice.
Sierra snapped out of her reverie and decided to be honest about her feelings. “I guess I’m just at peace, Mary. I feel content right now.”
“I feel peace too,” Mary said. “I feel like right now, at this very moment, we’re at the point of something big. I feel that we’re a part of something bigger than us. This is our purpose. In this moment, I feel I’m doing what I was put on this earth to do, and that does make me feel sure and content.”
Sierra hadn’t expected that kind of response, but she could understand how Mary was feeling. She’d felt it the moment she opened her eyes in the church. She’d felt it in everyone around her at the meeting. She could feel it inside of herself as Dorothy. It felt wonderful. She was living in the moment.
Mary stopped in front of a one-story that looked similar to all the houses they had passed. The house was old but sturdy, with four wooden steps that led to a wooden-planked porch. The black shingles on the façade blended into the night, but even so the house was oddly nonthreatening. The window facing the street emanated an orange and yellow light that created a light show on the well-kept lawn, and as Sierra peered at the glow, laughter sounded from inside the house.
She followed Mary as she walked up to the door. Mary knocked, and two minutes later the door was opened by a tall woman with skin the color of butterscotch and the kindest eyes Sierra had ever seen. She wore a housedress that was red with white lilies all over it, and a white apron spotted with stains here and there in a pattern that almost looked designed. She used the bottom of the apron now to wipe her hands as she spoke.
“Hey, baby, y’all back, hunh?” the woman addressed the young women.
“Yes, ma’am, Miss Patty, we are,” Mary answered for both of them.
“Well, y’all come on in. I expect you’re probably hungry by now. Why don’t y’all come in the kitchen and grab a plate.” Miss Patty held the door open for the two women and waited until they entered before shutting it behind them.
Sierra found herself in a living room full of people. They were all talking and laughing together. It wasn’t a big room at all, and it was crowded. A couch stood to one side of the space, and a dining room table and chairs lined the other side of the room. Those who weren’t sitting on the couch holding a plate and eating were at the dining table. The floors were hardwood and well worn.
The walls were covered with pictures, but Sierra didn’t have time to inspect them—Miss Patty walked straight through the living room and toward the kitchen, and beckoned for Sierra and Mary to follow.
The smell captured Sierra before she even got to the kitchen. The air smelled of fried fish—an aroma that reminded Sierra of her mother’s house. Suddenly, she missed her mother’s cooking.
Miss Patty was already serving up ample helpings of the fish onto two plates and asking for details about the meeting at the church. Mary was only too happy to provide the particulars for her.
Surprisingly, one chair at the quaint, round, dark-wood table in the kitchen remained free, despite the fact that the kitchen was almost as crowded as the living room, and Miss Patty insisted that Sierra sit there. So she sat, ate, and eavesdropped on the other conversations around her.
Everyone was abuzz about the boycott—how well it was going, and how long it might take before the city would relent and allow integrated seating on the bus. Some thought the change would take a month, while others thought that perhaps the decision might be made within the week. No one seemed to feel awkward with Sierra sitting there; just as at the church, they all seemed to know her.
Miss Patty’s food was absolutely delicious. Sierra marveled that she was so comfortable and everything felt so familiar, even though this place and these people were actually all new to her. She sat back and played the part of observer, taking in the excited atmosphere of bonding and togetherness.
This is so nice, she thought—and once again she was overwhelmed by the feeling of being a part of something important and bigger than herself. Once again, she felt compelled to confront herself about what she was doing with her real life. The heavy feeling that she sometimes felt around her heart when she was awake was returning to her now in her dream state.
Suddenly, a hand was on her shoulder, squeezing gently, and a male voice as charming as it was warm asked, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
Sierra jumped a little at the sound of the deep, melodious voice so close to her ear, and she turned toward the speaker. There, standing behind her, was someone who had to be the best-looking man she had ever seen in her life. She was startled enough to actually come out of the chair that she was occupying before seating herself slowly again, utterly chagrined at her reaction.
The stranger stood looking down at her, smiling as if she wer
e the cure to all his illnesses. That was the last coherent thought that she was able to muster up before big hands gently took hold of her face. In real life, a strange man who approached her in such a familiar manner would get a swift slap. Oddly, in this dream, such a reaction didn’t even cross her mind; she felt too relaxed to do anything at all, though she couldn’t tell if the dream or this man was the source of her feeling of calm.
At any rate, Sierra didn’t get a chance to ask any questions or even answer the mesmerizing man’s question before he came in for a kiss that she was sure was meant to be comforting but instead rattled her equilibrium and made her knees go weak.
The man slowly released her and looked into her eyes, still holding her. Sierra couldn’t manage to say a single word.
“Dorothy, hey Dorothy!”
Someone was yelling her name from across the room. Sierra turned toward the sound, but no one was there. Then Miss Patty, Mary, and all the people in the kitchen were gone. As Sierra turned her head back around, she saw that the man was gone as well, and she was standing in the middle of an empty kitchen. There was no laughter, no food, no people, and no conversation—and then there was no light.
Chapter 10
It was the start of another week and a new month, March, though the weather outside still didn’t want to quite recognize that spring should be in the air. Sierra had gone a whole week without any dreams before having the one about the church meeting over the weekend. Unlike with the dreams that had preceded it, however, she had slept only through the night; the next morning, she woke up at a normal time. The dream was also different in that she experienced no violence or fear. In fact, she had found it inspiring, and quite enjoyable. Even now, she thought about the kiss that ended the last dream and felt a tingle of excitement.
Nevertheless, she was kind of aglad that she had already made the appointment to see Dr. Cayden on Monday. Today was the first day of the work week, and she was hoping for some answers and a fresh start.
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