Dream Me(13)

Sandman: Hey Baby! Hey Sweetness! How you 2 beautiful ladies doing today?

RoadWarrior: Hello there. I came across your blog while doing research for an upcoming trip my husband and I are planning to the Gulf Coast. I must say it’s not the travel blog I expected to find but I’m hooked on your story and love your descriptions. Please keep going. We’re retired and hope to be taking our RV down there come November. Best of luck to you.

Babe: Thanks for the follow Road!

DreamMe: Great topic. Hope we get to see more of your Dream Boy.

Babe: Hi DM. Can’t say if we will or won’t since I write about what’s really happening in my life. Thanks for the follow.





Zat


His last memory is of a pain so deep it can’t be endured. And then this. This lightness. He can’t get over the lightness and the incredible new strength in his legs. He moves with ease. He picks up objects effortlessly. The pain is gone and Sahra is nowhere to be seen.

Am I dead? Is this what it feels like to die?

He’s somewhere white and very bright. He knows bright from the sun that’s murdering his Earth, but this isn’t that kind of bright. This is a gentle brightness. He looks down at his arms, his legs, his lean but muscular torso covered by a soft, thin material, and he doesn’t recognize himself. And yet it’s him, he knows that. How do you know when you are you? One only knows and it can’t be explained.

He brings a hand to his forehead and then sweeps it back across the top of his head. Hair. Such an odd sensation but strangely pleasant. A soft rumble plays in his ears. He can barely make it out but it comes and goes in regular intervals. He stands on his now strong legs and looks in the direction of the sound. Beyond the white hills, something sparkles in the distance like a glittering blue jewel.

He must be dead. Only death can bring such lightness. Such freedom.

A chair appears. An umbrella above him casts a shadow over his face. He sits down by the table that has materialized near the chair. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he rests them atop his knees. And he continues to stare in the direction of the rumbling blueness that shines like a gem.

He directs his gaze upwards and is confused by the blueness above him, when he thought it was off in the distance. But the blueness above him is flat. A matte blue unlike the dazzling peek of blue between the soft, white hills.

He stands and then sits. Stands again and then sits again. There’s something beyond those white hills. Someone.

Sahra?

He follows the soft rumbling sound to the place where the white hills dip to offer up a glimpse of the glistening blue. He sees her. The girl. Babe.

She’s beneath him in elevation. He stands above her by a good two or three body lengths. She’s struggling to climb. To him? Can she see him? Does she even know he’s there? His heart pounds within his muscled chest walls. It pounds in time with the soft rumble and thump of the blue which he now knows must be the sea. The sea that he’s dreamed of since . . . since before he has a memory of not having dreamed of it.

And there’s Babe. Climbing. The powerful muscles of her legs straining to deliver her to him. He reaches down, holding his hand out for her, and she looks up at him as though she knows him. As though she has always known him the same way he’s always known her.

And then he knows he’s arrived.





BABE’S BLOG


GOODBYE PAST . . . HELLO FUTURE!

I find huge dead cockroaches in random places around the house, probably the result of Billy’s visit. It’s as though what they fear most is dying alone, so they make a mad dash to any well-traveled path where at least their bodies will be discovered. One night at twilight a truck drives slowly down my little street, a fog of insecticide floating in its wake. I hold my breath and run back into the house.

Life here feels wild and dangerous. Only the constant vigilance of Billy the Bug Man and the poison-spewing truck defends us from insect invasion. And the sudden, violent afternoon thunderstorms are a reminder that Mother Nature’s in charge and I’d better not forget it.

__________

On Thursday, the moving van arrives and Mom and I transform our house into a home—home being the place where all your junk is. Seeing my possessions again gives me a feeling of continuity. Even though I’ve just been transported into another world, here come all the things to remind me I’m still me. My book collection, a few stuffed animals I’ve had since forever, posters, the rest of my clothes and some miscellaneous items I’ve kept mostly out of habit and loyalty. Being reunited with those otherwise meaningless objects fills me with unexpected joy.

__________

Ever since the night I’d dreamt about the boy who pulled me up the slippery slope of the sand dune, I haven’t slept well. Each morning I’m more exhausted than the day before, and my mind feels like mush. Mom is worried I might be coming down with something but I think it’s just getting used to my new surroundings. But that isn’t me. I’ve always been able to sleep anytime, anywhere.

By Thursday night, I’m so tired that I’m ready for bed right after dinner even though it’s still light outside, but I know Perry will be waiting patiently for my Skype so I go in my room and shut the door behind me. When did this feeling of missing Perry turn into a dreaded feeling of duty? It kills me to feel that way about someone who’s made me so happy and been such a supportive friend. I know a lot of my feelings toward him have more to do with security and gratitude but that doesn’t make it easier.