Dream Me(19)

“Were you looking for me?” Zat steps out from behind a leafy maple tree. He smells like cocoa butter. No, he smells like the lavender conditioner I use in my hair. His eyes are one hundred percent pupil, deep and black like a bottomless pit. It feels like I could fall into them, which scares me a little.

“How will I know where to find you the next time?” I ask him.

“I’ll always be right here.” He reaches out and places the palm of his hand lightly against the contour of my cheek. My face flushes hot at his touch.

“There’s so much I want to say to you before you go.” I need more time with him. More answers. But he’s like sand—slipping through my fingers.

“Say it, then. Please. I want to know.” Pain overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t help but groan, “My . . . stomach . . . hurts . . . so . . . bad . . .”

“I know, Babe.”

“You know my name.” It isn’t a question.

“As you know mine.”

“My stomach hurts, Zat. Please don’t go.”

__________

Then I’m awake, doubled over and perspiring from the pain in my gut. The mob of boiled peanuts is rioting in my stomach which confirms to me there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. My light’s still on. I glance at the clock, and it’s 3:30 in the morning. I’m still wearing my tennis work outfit.

I go to the bathroom and bend over the toilet, hoping for an end to my misery. No luck with that. Then I sit down on the toilet. A little luck with that. I wander out into the kitchen and gulp down a bottle of water. I go back to bed, undress, and turn off the lights. For the rest of the night I toss and turn, trying to get back to Zat. He told me where to find him but what did he mean? He cradled my face in his hand when he said it.

I want to get back to him and the feeling he stirs up in me.

Except the stomach-pain part.

And of course, the now familiar forehead-hurting part.

Comments:

Sweetness: heres what i think just happened. i think your subconscious is trying to punish you for breaking up with perry. ur headaches are stress headaches becaue you feel so bad for hurting him.

Babe: I wish I knew what my subconscious was trying to tell me. Right now I think it’s trying to kill me.

RoadWarrior: Oh my! I have made a note not to try boiled peanuts when we’re down there.

DreamMe: He told you everything you need to know.





Zat


Everything is new, and therefore everything involves a learning curve. The process hasn’t been easy. Often it feels like frustration is his dominant emotion.

Learning to weave himself into her dreams is like navigating a maze. His dependence on her is something entirely new and a little frightening. Logic dictates that he must be dependent on Babe, but his dependence goes beyond the parameters of his new world. He feels an emotional dependence quite foreign to him.

Zat has always been a dreamer. A loner. Self-reliant. His family sensed this in him at the earliest age when he set himself apart, establishing himself as separate and unique. When he made the decision to part ways with them, no one was surprised. Everyone knew Zat would create a path uniquely his. His family never doubted the day would come when they’d say goodbye to this beloved and baffling son.

Zat, the dreamer.

Zat, the wanderer.

Zat, the one whom they called Love.

And now the wanderer ends his wandering to wait for the girl who comes to him eagerly, yet sporadically and unreliably.

He must always be prepared. Always vigilant. Always a step ahead in order to find her. If not, he must learn to wait for her to come to him.

This is the balance.

And this is the hardest part.





Six


I made a point of walking along the marina before work the next morning. I wanted to see the Buells’ yacht and how it measured up to the others, considering it belonged to an extra special VIP and all. So I wasn’t surprised when I saw The Lucky Lady. There wasn’t any sign that proved it belonged to the Buells but I had a few clues. First, it was new in the marina, or at least it hadn’t been there the last time I walked by. Second, it looked like a baby cruise ship before it grows up. It hogged more than one marina slip and seemed to have its own ecosystem, not to mention a labor pool that was probably bigger than all the other crews combined. It almost blocked out the sun from where I stood.

When I was done gawking, I hurried off to work so I could get there before opening and coordinate the FAB luncheon with the club’s kitchen staff. Bing unlocked the door for me and reminded me about ordering the sandwiches the minute I walked in, which was exactly what I was hoping to avoid. I’d envisioned myself greeting him and then going to the phone and calling the kitchen, proving I was able to take charge of a task without being told. I hate having to be reminded of something I’m just about to do. If Bing was my dad I would’ve said, “I know. I was just gonna do it.” But of course I couldn’t talk back to Bing like that, so I just smiled and picked up the phone.

__________

I began to fixate on the Buells as a way to alleviate my boredom at work. If they had everyone else buzzing with excitement then they should be entertaining, or at least distracting. Mattie Lynn and LeGrand were the story—it didn’t take me long to catch on.

I didn’t have to wait long for them to show up. Only an hour after opening, Mr. and Mrs. Buell made their grand entrance. I immediately noticed the change in Bing when Mrs. Buell offered him a lazy hand in greeting.