Dream Me(31)

I close the door to my bedroom and crank up the old clunker of an air conditioner, and then get out my blog journal to take some notes. After about thirty minutes all I’ve written is “I hate Mr. Buell,” over and over again. I go on Crystal Point’s website and sign in under Dad’s name and click on “Member Information.” Mr. and Mrs. Buell turn out to be Clyde and Grace. I go back to my journal and write “I hate Clyde” about a hundred times.

I grab a book I’ve been reading and flip my pillow to the foot of the bed so I’m facing the picture on my wall—the photo of a café on the beach which first led me to Zat. It brings me peace—the place that never changes. If I part my lips just a bit I can taste the salt in the air. The sea is emerald green near the shore where white-peaked breakers collapse onto the snow white sand. Further out it’s such a deep blue that even the bright cloudless sky isn’t a match for its azure allure. Zat’s out there somewhere. I just have to look harder . . . if I can only fall asleep.

As it turns out, I don’t have to look at all.

__________

I take a seat at one of the small tables at the beachside café. Zat sits down beside me. He seems as happy to see me as I am to see him. It’s my first time there with him, my first time there at all. Before, I’d seen it only from the beach below.

“Where were you?” I ask. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve been right here . . . thinking about you. Watching you. Wanting to speak, but afraid to.”

“You should’ve said something. It’s been hard without you. I needed someone to talk to.”

He looks down at his hands, collecting his thoughts for what he’s about to say next.

“I can’t keep hurting you, Babe. The headaches are my fault. There are things you don’t know about me—things I should have told you by now.”

“Is that why you came back?” The food that’s appeared on the plate in front of me seems so unappetizing.

“I came back because I sensed you needed me. It wasn’t an easy decision.”

“Please don’t ever disappear like that again. I can deal with the headaches.”

I look down at the table and the food’s now gone, although no waiter had been there.

“Babe, I should have told you this a long time ago . . . the day we met.”

I feel a distance between us which translates to actual physical distance—the small table, no longer small. We lean forward to hear and be heard.

“Tell me what?” A cold fear grows inside me. What he’s going to say has the potential to break my heart, I know that. Only his silence guarantees my happiness. “I don’t need to know anything other than I want to be with you. I choose to be with you. And I know you want to be with me too. You said once you understood what it was like for Perry to love me.”

“You don’t choose to be with me, Babe.”

“What do you mean? Of course I do.”

“I chose you but you didn’t choose me. When you know me, really know me, then you can say you chose me. But you don’t know anything about me. You don’t know where I’m from. You don’t know about my life. You don’t even know who I am.”

My heart pounds. The fear squirms like a creature struggling to escape.

“Then tell me where you’re from.” It’s the least scary of the questions and a way for me to prove I want to know him better. In reality, all I want to do is turn us away from the dark turn we’re about to take.

“I’m from Earth, just like you.”

I think this is strange. I don’t tell people I’m from Earth. Maybe California. Or maybe Sugar Dunes now. But I let it pass because I’m afraid to go deeper.

“Do you want to know what they call me?” he asks.

“I know your name is Zat.”

“I’m called Pioneer 675875826453829. My family, my friends, call me Zat. It means love.”

But his beautiful eyes don’t speak of love. They still observe me with a distance I can’t ignore. Our table grows even longer and we’re now about a body length apart from each other.

“Love,” I cling to that promising word. “Why all those numbers? Why Pioneer?”

“That’s my signature. The last real identity to mark my time on Earth.”

None of this makes any sense to me, and his answers to my questions are doing nothing to bridge the gap growing both literally and figuratively between us.

“Where is your family? Let me meet them.” It occurs to me only then I should have known this. Should have asked this question long ago. After all, Zat knows everyone in my family, even if they don’t realize it. They’d all been present in my dreams at one time or another.

“You can’t meet them,” he says sadly. “Not now. Not ever.”

Why can’t it just be me and Zat? Why does there have to be more than that? But now I’ve come this far, I have to keep going. I have to know everything. Will it cost me? Will I lose him? My lip trembles and I start to cry.

“Please don’t cry.” He leans across the table, which shrinks back to its original size, and takes my hands in his own.

“Your family loves you. The name they gave you means love. Why can’t I meet them? Are you afraid they won’t like me?”