River of Dreams

by Jan Nash

  Finn closed her eyes, and the dream spilled back into her mind.

  * * *

  Noah bobbing in the water. His eyes open, scared. “Finn! Help me. Please.”

  The kelp wrapped around him like a web. And in it, something she hadn’t noticed last night, something small, wriggling up through the tangled pieces. Something red and yellow and green.

  “Come find me, Finn,” Noah said.

  What?

  Noah hadn’t said that last night. Before she could respond, the red-yellow-and-green object burst free, flying right toward Finn as Noah was seized by threads of inky darkness that grabbed him from below. She watched, helplessly, as he was pulled into the depths.

  “No!” Finn screamed.

  She heard a loud CRACK and—

  * * *

  Her eyes opened.

  Moby Dawson and a few of her classmates were staring at her. After a moment, everyone turned away, except for Moby. “You’re bleeding,” he whispered, pointing at her hand. She looked. She’d snapped her pencil in half. There was blood on her finger where the jagged edge of the pencil had cut her. “Shouldn’t hold on so tight,” he offered, smiling. Finn forced herself to smile back, but her heart was pounding.

  What was going on?

  TWO

  Finn sat by Noah’s bed, Eddie’s head resting on her foot. She was supposed to be calculating the area under a curve, but she couldn’t focus. Instead, she watched her brother. His breathing seemed ragged. She put a hand on his forehead. He was definitely warm. She stuffed her pad of paper into the textbook and slammed it shut. Her math grade was headed for the toilet, no doubt about it. Without Noah, she was barely hanging on.

  The last conversation they’d had was because she’d needed his help. She was stuck on a practice problem and went to find him, walking through his open bedroom door without knocking. He got angry, and she almost left but forced herself to stay. Remember The Plan, she’d told herself.

  Finn had realized a long time ago that high school wasn’t for people like her. She was ordinary and loved simple things: books, long walks … pudding. High school was teenagers vying for glory. Finn was the background all those stars moved in front of, like a night sky during a meteor shower. So The Plan was to endure high school and escape to a small liberal-arts college where she’d meet other quiet people trying to figure out who they were and what they wanted.

  Swarthmore was her first choice.

  But to get there, she needed great grades, and to get those, she needed Noah. So that night, she let him yell at her and then apologized profusely. When that didn’t work, she offered to bake him a batch of oatmeal-chocolate-chip cookies. Deal. It took him five minutes to figure out the problem and twenty minutes for her to understand his explanation.

  When she stood to leave, he stopped her.

  “Besides water,” he asked, “what are you afraid of?”

  “You writing something for school?”

  “No. I’m just wondering.”

  “That’s very profound.”

  “Yeah, that’s me. Profound. So what is it? What are you afraid of?”

  “Having to go to my safety school.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Still,” Finn said. “It’s what keeps me up at night.” It was clear from the look on his face that her answer was disappointing. “What about you? Other than spiders, what are you afraid of?”

  It took Noah a long time to answer.

  “Not knowing,” he finally said.

  “Not knowing what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe everything.”

  “That’s way deeper than my safety school answer, but it feels like a recipe for a lifetime of unhappiness.”

  That night, she’d gone to Jed’s for dinner. His mom was making fried chicken, which was Finn’s favorite. Noah was asleep when she got home. The next morning, he was in a coma.

  Finn knew she’d missed something in that conversation. But no matter how many times she replayed it, she never knew what it was.

  * * *

  Finn crossed the backyard toward the shed where Nana grew the herbs for her home remedies. She opened the door and was overwhelmed by the smell, a mix of grass and flowers and general herbal-ness. As if all of nature were crammed into that tiny room.

  Nana turned around from the stone bowl where she was pounding together an aggressively green poultice. Finn recognized it as the one she used on Noah’s skin to stave off bedsores. “I thought you had a study group.”

  “No one was prepared, so we put it off until tomorrow.”

  “Are you spending too much time talking to Noah and not enough time doing your work? He and I will both understand if you need a different study location.”

  “I’d miss him. Did you notice his breathing doesn’t seem quite right?”

  “I did. I spoke to the nurse. She’s going to come earlier in the morning.” Nana smiled at her. “You’re a good sister.”

  “I wish I could do more than monitor his breathing.”

  “That’s more than what you should have to do.”

  Nana never left after Noah lapsed into his coma, because Julia had taken her new job. Nana didn’t try to parent Finn, but she also didn’t ignore her. It was like Nana was always holding a finger up, checking to see which way the wind was blowing. Some days, Finn got a lot of attention; other days, she didn’t. Nana didn’t pry, so Finn wasn’t exactly sure how she knew when Finn was down, but she always did. And then there would be some extra bit of kindness, a freshly baked cake or newly washed favorite sweatshirt. When Finn had to stay home from school with a cold or stomach bug, Nana would sit with her, reading aloud from some old book, her faint Irish accent making the words roll musically into one another.

  Nana had been one of the things Finn had missed when they moved out of the city. Her brother’s being in a coma was a hard price to pay for getting Nana back.

  Nana scraped the poultice into a smaller bowl. “Should we call your mom?”

  There was no avoiding it. “I’ll get my computer.” Finn headed out of the shed, feeling Nana’s eyes on her back as she walked away.

  * * *

  Finn set the computer on the tray above Noah’s bed, and she and Nana sat quietly, waiting for Julia to pick up. Nana pointed to the cut on Finn’s hand.

  “What happened?”

  The cut looked angry around the edges.

  “Faulty pencil.” And then, because that sounded ridiculous, she added, “It broke in my hand.”

  Nana turned and headed to the kitchen right before the familiar beep of the video connection being completed. On the computer, Finn saw her mom sitting in her apartment in front of the large picture window. She lived high above Oslo, and when she called during the day, you could see mountains and fjords in the distance. But it was winter and very late. Tonight, all you could see was black.

  “Hi, sweetheart. You look tired.”

  “Did Nana tell you to say that?” It came out with more attitude than Finn had intended.

  “Why would Nana tell me to say that?”

  Nana walked back into the room, the bowl of green goo in her hand. “Because I said the same thing this morning.” She looked at Finn. “So could be it’s true.” Nana picked up Finn’s hand and rubbed the poultice on her wound.

  “Margaret,” her mother asked, “is she getting enough sleep?”

  Nana spun the computer around so she was on camera. “Don’t worry, Julia. I’ll make sure she does.” When Finn spun the computer back, her mom had a worried look on her face; when she saw Finn, she covered it with a smile.

  “How’s Noah doing?” she asked.

  Finn glanced at her grandmother, who looked away.

  Finn’s grandmother was old-school. She grew up on a farm, way out in the country. She subscribed to a “know your neighbor, help your neighbor” way of life and was the most open and loving person Finn had ever known. Finn couldn’t remember Nana ever averting her eyes from someone.
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  “Finn? How’s Noah?” her mother repeated.

  Finn forced herself to pay attention. “Good. All things considered.” She centered the camera on Noah. There was a long moment as Julia took in her sleeping son.

  “Hi, honey. You would have loved the boat trip I took yesterday. Six hours on calm seas to the platform. I saw a pod of whales.”

  There was a pause. Finn wasn’t watching the screen, but she knew her mother was doing what she always did.

  Waiting … hoping Noah would respond.

  * * *

  Finn and her grandmother sat at the kitchen table over a dinner of chicken in gravy with green beans and homemade bread. It was delicious, but Finn couldn’t bring herself to finish what was on her plate.

  “So are you going to tell me?” Nana asked.

  “Tell you what?”

  “What’s going on. I see it. The wheels are spinning.”

  Finn shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

  “Sweetheart, we’re family. It doesn’t have to be something. If your socks are too scratchy or your toothpaste’s too minty, I want to hear about it.”

  Finn knew that if she didn’t tell Nana what was going on, Nana would ask again. And again. Not with any malice, just with love and concern, so she could figure out how to help. It was impossible to resist, and Finn knew that, eventually, she would tell Nana the truth. Why delay the inevitable?

  “I don’t usually remember my dreams, but last night I did. It’s made me … jumpy.”

  Nana carried her half-finished dinner to the garbage can. She scraped it into the trash. “What was the dream about?” She asked so quietly that Finn barely heard her.

  “I was on an ice sheet, but for some reason I was really hot.” Finn stopped, hoping that would end the conversation. But Nana waited for her to go on. “I melted through the ice and into the ocean and … Noah was there. He woke up and said he needed help.”

  Her grandmother came and sat down in the chair next to her. She took one of Finn’s hands. “No wonder you’re sad.”

  “I can’t get it out of my head. At school today, I even fell asleep and dreamed the whole thing again.”

  “So maybe I’m right, and you’re tired.”

  Finn smiled as she moved the food around on her plate. “You’ve been right before, Nana. I suppose it’s possible.”

  “It must have been hard to see Noah,” Nana said. It was, but Finn wasn’t ready to talk about it, so she stayed silent. Nana let it pass. “You know,” she said. “They say that in your dreams all the people are you.”

  “And if I’m Noah, what’s that mean?”

  Nana leaned to kiss Finn on the head. “I don’t know. It’s just something I’ve heard. I’ll make you some tea to help you sleep tonight.”

  Finn stood and picked up her plate to clean it off. Nana took it. “I’ll clean up. You start your homework.”

  Finn headed toward her room. Something made her turn around. She saw her grandmother, phone in her hand, headed out the back door.

  * * *

  Finn turned to the next page in Fahrenheit 451. The line “… with nothing to say” was at the top, staring back at her. She realized she couldn’t remember the beginning of the sentence from the previous page. In fact, she couldn’t remember anything that had happened in this chapter. She set the book facedown on her nightstand and tucked her pencil into the pocket of her shirt so she’d remember to sharpen it. The English assignment would have to wait. Thank God the paper wasn’t due until next week.

  Finn looked around at the pale-yellow walls of her bedroom.

  Her parents had always been cool about letting Finn and Noah decorate their bedrooms. Finn picked a pale yellow to use as a background for her constantly changing collections: A photo of a vast desert landscape she ripped from a magazine would replace a takeout menu that had made her laugh because of the crazy misspellings; the picture she and Jed had co-drawn during lunch would replace the jacket from one of her father’s vinyl records.

  As she looked around now, it struck her that since Noah’s coma she hadn’t changed anything. The room was stuck. She was stuck. They were all stuck.

  There was a knock. “Come in.”

  Her grandmother opened the door, and Eddie padded into the room and jumped up onto Finn’s bed.

  “I made you tea.”

  “How bad does it taste?”

  “I added some honey.”

  “To sweeten the bad taste?”

  Nana set the mug on the side table. Finn could tell she had something to say.

  “I’m not going to lapse into a coma, Nana.” Nana blinked hard, and Finn immediately regretted the words. “That was a joke. Sorry, I know it wasn’t funny.”

  Nana sat down on the bed. “In your dream last night,” she asked, “how did Noah look?”

  Finn watched Nana age in an instant, and she suddenly realized just how hard this must be for her. She was with Noah all day. She sat at his bedside while Finn was at school. She probably talked to him. It must feel so sad and lonely.

  “He looked good,” Finn said, ignoring the memory of his pale skin and limp body. “Remember how blue his eyes are?”

  Nana nodded.

  “I didn’t get that good of a look before I started drowning,” Finn continued, trying to find a path out of the lie. “You know me and water.”

  “It’s never too late to take lessons, sweetheart.”

  “So I can swim in big lakes filled with slimy creatures. No thank you.”

  Her grandmother reached out and tucked a stray piece of hair behind Finn’s ear.

  “You can swim in a pool.”

  “Or I could just avoid water for the rest of my life.”

  “Or you could do that.”

  Nana kissed her on the forehead and headed out of the room, leaving the door open so Eddie could find his way back to Noah when he was ready. Finn reached for the mug and brought it to her nose. “It smells like garbage,” she said to the dog. “Honey-glazed garbage.”

  But she’d rather sleep through the night than drown in her dreams, so Finn held her nose and took a sip. It was wet sand on her tongue. She drank it quickly and then held the empty mug out for Eddie to see. He must have been satisfied, because he jumped off the bed and headed toward Noah’s room.

  I should change out of my clothes, Finn thought. She lay down instead. It took only an instant before she was asleep.

  * * *

  It was dark.

  Finn put her hand out and hit a wall. She turned around, arms extended, and took another step. Almost immediately, she felt another wall. She reached out all around her. She was standing in a space no more than four feet wide.

  She ran her hands down her body, felt her jeans and T-shirt, the clothes she’d fallen asleep in. And in the pocket of her shirt, the pencil she’d tucked into it. She pulled it out and banged it against the wall. She reached out and touched the spot to feel if she’d made a dent. Yes. She hit the wall again.

  And again.

  And again.

  The pencil broke but not before it made a small hole. A shaft of flickering light pierced the dark space, bringing with it a cacophony of muffled sounds.

  She pressed her eye to the hole. She saw … what? Finn didn’t know. It was like movies, or pieces of movies, images, but flying by so fast.

  People: running, walking, falling, kissing, chasing, and being chased.

  Monsters and storms.

  Alien worlds, fire, water.

  Every color imaginable.

  Flowing over and around the room where she was. Rushing toward her and away. As if she were in the middle of a river, a fast-moving river of …

  She must be having a dream. But she’d never been aware of having a dream before. There was a name for that, wasn’t there…? Lucid dream. This was so strange, as though her dream had dropped into everyone else’s.

  A woman on a large purple butterfly glanced in Finn’s direction just as a noxious odor, like rotten eggs or a tho
usand blown-out matches, blew into the tiny room.

  Finn pushed down the feeling of nausea the smell caused. “Hey!” she called as the woman sped by. “Over—”

  The rest of the sentence died in her throat.

  Her father, Conor, was standing right in front of her.

  Not dead, strapped in an airplane seat at the bottom of a lake. But right there on the other side of the wall, unaffected by the flow around him. The images, the movies, moved away from him, almost like they were repelled by his presence. Finn saw him lean to look through the hole. She stepped back so he could see her. “Daddy, it’s me, Finn.”

  But before he could see her, something pale shoved him aside. Finn rushed forward and looked through the hole to see what was happening. Conor was a few feet away, unharmed, looking at—

  Noah.

  Barely more than a wisp of smoke. Noah was screaming at him, but no sounds came out of his mouth. Noah, or what there was of him, rushed at his father again. Conor flicked his hand. Noah broke apart, the pieces of him spinning away as if they’d been caught in a gust of wind. Finn watched them disappear.

  “Noah!” Finn screamed.

  She looked back at her father. Conor leaned in, but this time, he just covered the hole with his hand. The smell, the sulfurous smell became overwhelming. And then, a buzzing sound filled the room. Her head pounded as though something was trying to get inside it. She covered her ears and slid to the ground, trying to keep it—whatever it was—out. Her brain felt like it was on fire.

  She wanted the buzzing to stop; she wanted everything to be quiet. She tried to think of something, anything, other than the pain.

  Her favorite sweatshirt popped into her head. The one she’d dropped in last night’s dream. How soft it was. Fit just right. And the words on the front. Emily Dickinson. Hope. Feathers. It’s a bird, Finn thought.

  The buzzing stopped. The horrible smell was gone.

  Her head throbbing, Finn stood up and looked through the small hole in the wall.