Don't Wake Me if I'm Dreaming Page 3

  “Is that how your aunt died? Did she also?” Aimee refrained from saying the words.

  “No. She was sick from old age. I remember that much.”

  Aimee sighed a little. “What are they about, your dreams?”

  “They change after a while.” I thought for a few seconds trying to decide how much I wanted to share. “Sometimes I’m trapped somewhere or lost in a forest. Sometimes car wrecks, I don’t know, but I do know they feel real and when I wake, it’s as if I actually lived it. Seriously, if I weren’t in my bed, I would think it really happened and I remember every last detail, as if I were really there.”

  Aimee glanced at her food, evidently having lost her appetite. She didn’t know what else to say as she sat absorbing our conversation.

  “I know it’s a lot. Sorry to unload all this on you. I probably shouldn’t have,” I said, poking the straw in the cup.

  “Stop it. I’m just upset it took you this long to tell me. I can’t imagine how you’ve dealt with this alone. You said Sam doesn’t know?”

  “No, and I don’t plan to tell him. I think about all the times it screwed with my head, and the damages it’s caused me. I can’t share that burden with my brother. It’s senseless.”

  Aimee sat in thought a moment. “Juilliard…we were seventeen during the audition. Was that after your aunt told you about your mom?”

  “You’re good. It was about a week after she told me. I should’ve known better than to audition at the time. I should have rescheduled or made an excuse. I don’t even remember the flight to New York. I was still in shock.”

  “God, you’ve hidden it so well this whole time. It’s like there’s another you I don’t even know. You’re a lot like your mom in that way, hiding things.”

  “I suppose.” I smirked.

  “You never told me what happened during the audition. I remember calling you afterward and you were reluctant to talk about it, so I let it go. I wish I would have pushed harder to get the truth out of your stubborn ass.”

  “I guess now you know.” I smiled meekly for a brief moment, remembering the stage, the judges’ staring eyes, and the way the lights shone across the polished black grand piano. “It was beautiful, just like in the movies. It was supposed to be at minimum a forty-five-minute audition. I rehearsed and played each song hundreds of times by heart and even days prior with complete composure, knowing the truth about my mom. Surprisingly, I made it through The Well-Tempered Clavier, it was one of her favorites she often played, and I was okay playing it. And I did well with Wanderer Fantasie and another piece by Schumann, but like an idiot, I tried playing Debussy’s Clair de Lune. It was the easiest piece of the bunch, and I botched the hell out of it. They let me start over with that piece, twice actually, but my fingers became limp each time. I pictured that being the song she chose to… you know. It was like I was no longer on stage, but instead in a distant place watching her. Like a fly on the wall, I guess, and the strangest thing was that it felt peaceful, for her anyway. I pictured her leaving peacefully as if she no longer had a care or fear.” I could still visualize it as I did while on stage. “I didn’t even react to the thought. I did nothing but sat still, motionless, my fingers faulted on the keys.” I unknowingly zoned out in contemplation, reliving the moment.

  “And that was it?”

  “I heard the conversing, a judge said, ‘thank you, that’ll be all.’ I was probably just over thirty minutes into the audition, and just like that, it was over. I think it was at that moment I finally let her go, and along with that, I gave back the gift she gave me. I haven’t played the piano since.”

  Aimee sat motionlessly, the only movement was a trailing stream of tears. She reached to hold my hand, but, not wanting to cry myself, I reached for her glass, pulled the wrapper from the straw, and took a drink of the partially melted malt. “You should eat, now that you’re eating for two.”

  “Yuck. No. When you pictured it, I mean, in your mind, how do you think she did it?” She swallowed hard with anguished eyes.

  “I think she drowned herself in the tub, candles surrounding her, her favorite piece playing in the background, Clair de Lune. I don’t think she was scared. I think she was ready and just slid into the water. It makes sense as to why my dad ripped out the tub and put in a shower. But every time I think of it, I can hear the music, and see her slipping deeper into the water.”

  Aimee wiped the steady stream from her face with her sleeve. “This breaks my heart. Your mom was the kindest woman on earth. She would have never intended to hurt you guys. Had she even had a clear thought, she would have known better. She loved you guys so much. We may have been young, but I remember I was always jealous of how good she was to you guys.”

  I smiled halfhearted.

  “You can audition again you know. It’s not too late.” She tried perking up a little.

  “What am I going to do with a degree in music? I already have a steady career and Matt would never be okay with moving to New York. He’ll never move far from the fire department. I’m not even sure I’d want to live there either. Besides, I haven’t played in years, and that’s not going to solve any of my problems. They’ll just follow me there.”

  “About that. After everything you just told me, you need to see a doctor, like yesterday. I can call in for a substitute to teach my class and take you. I don’t want you to…” Her eyes trickled heavily, again. “Oh my God, I can’t even think of that!” Her hands slid up inside her sleeves and cuffed them over her eyes with a silent weeping sob.

  “Geeze, I’m the one who should be falling apart here, but I think you’ve covered that enough for the both of us.”

  “Sorry. I can’t help it.” She wiped off her cheeks. “This is like the saddest story ever. I wish I could take it all away from you.”

  “Me too.” I stared back out the window.

  I had a small splinter of relief after talking with Aimee. To say it out loud, and not be condemned as insane gave me hope that maybe it was much worse in my head than it really was. And undeniably, she was right. I needed to see a doctor, and pronto.

  ***

  After a long and very miserable workday, I remembered I was supposed to meet up with Matt. We’d managed four consistent days apart already, and I was craving every ounce of his attention and knew a date night was past due. Or at least it was until I glanced in the rearview mirror realizing Aimee wasn’t kidding, I did look like shit. “Lovely! Sleep deprived, partially bloodshot eyes, un-waxed brows, talking to myself, again. Ugh, such a hot mess.” I also noticed before turning the mirror that I had done a half ass job smearing on makeup this morning. At this point, I didn’t even think a quick beauty makeover at a Shiseido counter could fix the reflected image glaring back at me in disgust. There was no way I’d let Matt see me like this. I needed to evade the situation with urgency and think up a legitimate excuse as to why I would willingly go another moment without seeing him. I knew if I said I wasn’t feeling well, he’d drop everything to take care of me. “A migraine it is,” I said, hitting the phone command button on my steering wheel. “Call my sexy man,” I instructed.

  “Calling my sexy man,” the voice command replied.

  The sound of disappointment in Matt’s voice after rejecting his predicted offer to care for me emanated with much guilt. It wasn’t common practice in our relationship to be dishonest. I just wasn’t ready to tell him the truth about my personal ordeal and was feeling too transparent to hide much from him. I promised him I would sleep it off and meet him in the morning for brunch, leaving him somewhat satisfied.

  After hanging up with Matt, and out of sheer guilt and a promise to Aimee, I called my physician’s office and scheduled an appointment. In the meantime, I had only a few days to mastermind a strategy for dealing with my sleep issues, and to rehearse the undesirable conversation that would take place between the doctor and me.

  ***

  Hours later, I sat channel surfing between reruns of I Love Lucy and infomercia
ls. It was past midnight, and my eyelids began morphing into what felt like heavy dumbbells. I glanced at the clock with an exasperated sigh. I could hardly keep my head lifted. As tired as I was, I had resisted the urge to sleep until now. As I began drifting into slumber, my mind instantly went to the forest man dressed in black. My eyes flew open with desperate hope to stay awake. Swiftly, I got up and ran to the closet to get dressed. I decided if clothing crossed over to the dream, it should be more than a sports bra and pajama shorts. I slid on jeans, a T-shirt, and running shoes. I looked around the closet for a moment, sensing I needed something else. I remembered an old gift from my brother I’d forgotten about until now.

  I considered calling Sam and venting about my dreams turned bloody nightmares, but he’d probably laugh and tell me nightmares are figments of the imagination or some load of crap and to go back to bed. I also didn’t want to risk slipping out mom’s secret, now that I was on a roll with confessing to Aimee, and the impending conversation with the doctor.

  I reached up on the top closet shelf and grabbed a shoebox shoved in the collection of other shoeboxes. Under the lid was a stack of holiday cards and letters Sam wrote over the years after I left for college.

  Under the assortment of cards and photos lay a folded up handkerchief that mom had embroidered our last name initial onto. I unfolded it, removing a small handgun and box of bullets Sam gifted me. I accepted the present, humoring him, and put it up for safekeeping with the hope of forgetting about and never needing to use it. I stuffed the cards and letters back in the shoebox, grabbed the gun and a handful of bullets, and returned the box to the shelf. I ambled through the room trying to figure out how to remove the clip sneaking a glance at the dresser mirror. I frowned at my reflection that looked like a druggie about to rob a convenience store.

  It didn’t take long to figure out how to load the gun. I had no clue how to hold it, let alone use it, but decided it wasn’t rocket science and figured it was as simple as cocking it and pulling the trigger. I returned to the sofa, and for what it was worth, I was attempting to take the gun into my dream. If my clothes crossed over into my dream, I didn’t see a reason why the gun wouldn’t, too. I had no clue why the dark hair man appeared in the forest, but I hoped not to find out unarmed. I tied my shoelaces in doubled knots and snuggled into a comfortable position holding the gun between my hands and chest. I checked at least a dozen times to see if the safety lock was on.

  I wasn’t able to fall asleep as quickly as I hoped. I lay there with my mind consumed in thought of the forest, which faded out into thoughts of Sam as I held the gun. We were pretty close growing up. He was always overly protective, probably because I was four years younger, his only sibling, didn’t have a mom to watch out for me, and dad was always working. And, of course, no matter my age, I was the baby. He wrote telling me stories about his two children, Parker, who’s now seven, and Paisley, five. Sam would go on in the letters about how much they reminded him of us when we were growing up. Parker’s talented and gifted in school; much like his dad, but his features resemble his mom, Erica, with her dark hair and brown eyes. Paisley, polar opposite in appearance, has golden hair and pale green eyes like our mom and Sam. She also carries the same ingenious gene as her dad.

  Eventually I felt myself slip away, anticipating my return to the forest.

  ***

  After stepping out from under the spider’s web in the cluster of trees, I glance at my hand. It worked. I’m holding the gun. I securely place it behind my back in my waistband. As I apprehensively pace my step, the inside of my head rolls through different scenarios. What if I just walk past the boy or don’t look at his face? Or what if I just swim around him? I glance at the water remembering the bloody coldness and thought better of the idea. Besides, where else would I go, other than to the boy for answers? As I approach the blond hair boy, it’s almost like I’m compelled to look at him. My eyes are drawn directly to his face. I stop, this time allowing nearly ten feet distance between us and watch transfixed as he stares down at the water. It’s as if there is something in there seizing his attention. I heedfully take a few steps closer, careful not to disrupt him, and stretch my neck, lifting myself on tippy-toes to catch a glimpse in the water. A woman’s body lay just under the shallow surface.

  “Oh my God.” I breathe, feeling the sudden urge to vomit. “Stay back! Don’t go near her!” I cover my mouth and hold my ribs in horror. The boy doesn’t respond to the commotion. My mind goes in every direction, his mom, my mom. I can’t bear to look at the motionless body that lies lifeless like a porcelain doll.

  I stoop in a low crouch and slowly step toward the boy, stopping a foot shy of him. “Do you know her?” I point without looking at the body.

  He lifts his precious face and looks up across the cove.

  I can see in the distance the man has returned, standing in the same place as before. I reach back as if needing reassurance the gun’s still there. “Do you know that man you’re pointing to?”

  The boy shakes his head no, pointing to me. Still looking across the water, he drops his hand back to his side, returning his gaze back into the water.

  “Me?” I ask.

  The boy nods his head agreeing.

  “I know him?”

  He doesn’t respond this time. His undefined gestures leave me curiously stumped. I look up again, but the man is gone. I straighten, looking around, checking behind me, but he has vanished, the same as the boy had in previous dreams. It takes me a moment to accept the fact he’s gone, without a trace.

  “I won’t hurt you,” I speak softly, slowly reaching for the boy’s hand. Without thinking, I glance at the water, finally recognizing the lifeless body belongs to Aimee. My throat constricts with each panicked breath. I inhale a few short gasps to regain composure and keep from startling the boy. “It’s only a dream.” I close my eyes, taking slow breaths. I refuse to look back into the water, as I open my eyes. “Did that man do this to her?”

  The boy looks up at me, but I instantly turn my head, avoiding his gaze. I want answers, not visions. He reaches to touch my hand, but before I can respond, his little hand folds tightly around my fingers. I feel a tug on my body, a gust of wind flows around us as I close my eyes in fear.

  I warily open my eyes a few seconds later feeling the gust of wind evaporate. I take in our new surroundings. “What just…where are we?” I look around muddled by the change in scenery. We managed to appear inexplicably at a campground. In front of us, the smolder of dying fire puffs in the air, and blue and yellow tents stand in the distance. I look at the boy’s face realizing I’m sustaining my vision this time, but it seems that we’ve somehow traveled into his memories and are somewhere else within the forest. I head toward the tents but find nothing unordinary within them, just sleep gear, luggage, and clothing. I notice a small stuffed dinosaur. “Is this yours?” I ask, noticing he followed me.

  The boy nods with a smiling beam as he reaches for the toy. Camping equipment surrounds the tents. It looks as though a small group hiked down here and set up camp, and then fled, leaving it unattended. I see trails ahead, each leading into different directions. One follows a wide stream under a bridge; another appears to lead up to the road. Briskly, I take the boy’s hand and head up toward the road.

  “Sasha.” I hear my name and freeze, looking around I see nothing more than forest. The little boy appears not to have heard it. “Sasha.” The hairs on my arms stand as a shiver rolls through my spine.

  “Who’s there?” Releasing the boy’s hand, I reach behind my back, firmly gripping the gun, swinging my hand forward. “I’m armed. I will shoot!” I warn. I feel a hand touch my shoulder and reactively pull the trigger.

  ***

  Following the loud bang, I sat up with my arms extended, holding the gun. A piercing echo booms in my ears. My eyes quickly focused on the brick wall across from me. I looked around and noticed Matt near my shoulder, and jerked a hand to my chest, breath whooshing from my lungs. His ha
nds were raised in surrender, looking as if seeing a ghost.

  “Have you gone mad?” His voice pitched much higher than normal.

  I stared addled for a few seconds. My hand reflexively released the gun, letting it fall to the floor. “Holy shit!”

  “Easy now.” Matt lowered his hands and pressed a finger to his ear. “Are you okay?”

  “Who’s Kay?” I shouted.

  “Are. You. Okay?” His tone matched mine.

  “Sorry, I’m so sorry! Yes! I thought the safety was on. I’m so sorry.” I turned to face him. “What are you doing here?” I pressed my ear against my shoulder hoping the ringing would dissipate.

  Matt reached for the gun and assessed it for a moment. Removing the clip he checked the chamber. “About that, I think you might have forgotten about our plans for breakfast.” He briefly glanced at me.

  “Breakfast?” I tried processing his words.

  “Generally the first meal of the day.”

  “I know what it is. I just… I can’t think straight right now.”

  “Clearly,” he mumbled, setting the gun on the coffee table, glancing at me before setting the clip next to it. “I tried calling you from the diner. Vance was there. He said he hadn’t seen you, so I came here and almost got shot.” His brows furrowed with a mixture of expressions.

  I reached behind my head for my cellphone on the armrest. “Three missed calls, all from you. Is it seriously almost ten?” I leaned over to confirm the time on the oven clock. “I’m sorry.”

  “Enough apologizing already. Where the hell did you get a gun?”

  I curled my legs to my chest, embarrassedly dropping my face onto my knees. “Sam,” I mumbled.

  “Will you explain what just happened? I mean, logically, if you were scared of an intruder your door would be locked. I’m missing a few pieces to the puzzle.”