Dream Me(11)
When the pain tore through his calf, searing the flesh all the way up to his groin, he’d been thinking of Babe, and he called out her name.
The way she gripped a racket in strong, capable hands. Gliding across a red rectangle of clay in pursuit of a small yellow ball in a game they called tennis. Her legs were powerful and she moved with joy and confidence.
She was so alive.
Her mind so blissfully pure.
Four
When I pulled into the driveway of my house, the woman who’d offered me a ride earlier in the day was just pulling out. Cummings’ Emergency AC Repair.
“Back so soon?” Mom was surprised to see me.
“Hey, Mom, I saw the air conditioner lady earlier today. Why didn’t she fix it?” The house was still hot and the fans were still whirring.
“Some part they don’t keep in stock. She’ll be back tomorrow. Her name’s Delores Cummings but she likes to be called Dee. Oh, and Baby . . . it’s not all bad news. Dee helped me move your bed into the third bedroom and guess what? You’ve got your own air conditioning room unit. Dee says the central air vent doesn’t reach into that room for whatever reason.”
I went to my new bedroom and opened the door. The room unit was belching out cold air with a fierce rattle guaranteed to drown out any competing noise. I thought regretfully of the barking tree frogs I wouldn’t be able to hear at night anymore. But it was cold and cold was good. And there were actual blinds that covered the windows. No more early morning wake-up calls from Billy the bug man.
There was my bed all made up with the pink patterned cover. And there was the side table with the green plastic vase and the gorgeous pink blossoms. I looked around the room imagining my stuff in it—plotting how to make it look like more than the boring cubicle it was. I noticed Mom hadn’t moved the framed photograph from the other room which was fine with me since I had my own favorite posters which would be arriving with the moving van. I was already scoping out where they would all go. But my mind kept going back to the picture that somehow inserted itself into my dream. Dad must’ve put some love into it when he picked it out for me. I couldn’t just abandon it to the now empty bedroom that would eventually get turned into an “office”—our family’s code word for junk room.
I found a hammer in the garage and re-hung the photo, centered directly over the bed in my new room.
__________
By the time I brought my dad home from work that night, I was a lot more familiar with Sugar Dunes, Florida and the Crystal Point Yacht and Country Club.
After dinner I set up my laptop in my room and Skyped with Perry. Everything seemed almost normal. Almost like I was back in Cali, sprawled across his bed working on homework together. Almost. But after a while, we both had other things to do. Truth was, I was getting tired. I hadn’t slept well the night before, but I was going to have no trouble sleeping tonight.
Zat
Luckily for Zat, it was only a few minutes’ walk back to the community center. Luckier still, Sahra was still there. Sahra, whose father could still move mountains to make things happen. Who still exerted influence for the brief remaining time before his family left the dying Earth for good.
Zat’s leg was swollen and purple by the time he fell through the threshold, his head falling against his outstretched arm, preventing an even worse injury. The skin split and peeled back to reveal muscles and cords beneath its surface. Zat was delirious, rambling nonsensically about an old man alone in a boat in the middle of an endless blue sea. About a girl with red hair that tumbled from her head.
He would never last the night.
Someone had to give up a coveted spot to leave this ruined Earth in favor of the dreams of a long ago soul. Someone who had possibly been waiting his turn for months. Even years. A few people grumbled this was a waste of resources for a boy who most likely wouldn’t survive the journey, let alone the night. A misuse of the transporter which would require another thirty days of recharging before it was ready for the next person. But not many people cared about this program anymore. And Zat was going to die. This day. This hour. This minute.
This was his time, selected by fate.
Unless someone or something intervened.
By the time Zat was placed in the transporter, there were barely enough brain waves to complete the operation. Sahra stayed by his side until he was gone. Until only the shell of his abandoned body remained.
BABE’S BLOG
Have you ever had a dream that seems to go on all night? Maybe it did or maybe it just felt like it did but . . . phew!
__________
THE DREAM . . .
I’m walking along the beach minding my own business and enjoying the day. Picture-perfect, almost cartoonish waves breaking to my right. Dazzling white sand dunes rolling by on my left. In a place where the sand dips between two dunes I see a beachside café with brightly colored sun umbrellas silhouetted against a cloudless blue sky. Someone is sitting by himself at one of the tables, his face hidden in the shadows. I decide to climb up the dune to get a better look but the sand slips from under my bare feet when I try. The more I struggle to climb, the more the sand slides, and I get nowhere. My knees and thigh muscles ache from exertion but still I can’t make it. I can give up, go back to the beach and continue my walk, but some inner voice drives me forward. I need to see what’s up there. I need to see who’s up there. And then he’s standing above me, reaching down to offer his hand. I didn’t see him get up from the table, he’s just there. His hair’s thick and wavy, a light creamy brown. His eyes are the same shade of green as the sea oats. He smiles as though he’s been expecting me and I shiver with recognition. I know this guy, but I don’t know him. Suddenly, I’m shy. Speechless. Awestruck. And then I wake up.