But You Weren't Really There

"Why are you here?"

I'd been sleeping and dreaming and pretending the world couldn't see me, but your voice eased through me like warm, spiced wine. I wondered for a few seconds where I might be. In the vertigo between dreams, I couldn't remember where I'd nodded off. I certainly couldn't recall how I came to be so warm, under the covers, in a bed, next you.

You've been so distant lately. I haven't seen you or heard from you. I'm not sure you ever think about me at all. But, there you were, whispering into my ear in the middle of the night, just like old times.

I was surrounded by the soft coverlet I'd bought for myself, and the paintings on the wall were the ones I painted myself. This was my bedroom, for sure. I rolled over and repositioned my head on the goose-feather pillow you used to steal from me every time you came over. There you were; your black, accusing eyes stared into my soul.

"Why are you here?" you asked again, but in a new, less curious, more demanding tone.

"This is my bed," I whispered. "You're in my bed." I should have been asking you, but it didn't occur to me at the time to wonder. It seemed so natural that you would be there. You'd been there before. It wasn't an odd situation, nor was it a frightening one.

"But why are you here?" you questioned again, and the truth is, I didn't have the answer you were looking for. I don't think I've ever had the answer you were looking for, because I've never really understood the question. I've never understood anything about you.

"This is my side of the bed," I whispered. It's an old game. I'd claim my side to be the top side. You could have the bottom. Then I'd push you over the edge, and we'd wrestle, and giggle, and then maybe we'd make love.

So I tried to push you off. Because you were on my side. Invading my space. You refused to budge. You wouldn't go over. Instead, you pulled me closer and wrapped both arms around my waist. Your face snuggled into the crook of my neck, and I could feel your hurried, frightened breath against my skin.

"Why are you here?"

End of Shift

It happened just as I was trying to clock out. The numbers teased me by appearing only in my mind and not making their way to my fingers. I couldn't find the correct buttons. Two four, seven...something. That's when it happened. That's when I needed to divert my attention to more pressing matters.
It must not have been real life. There would have been more blood.
Truth is, I was concerned that there wasn't more. The pale yellow bone protruding from her midsection seemed awkward, out of place, as if it had been used as a weapon to kill her. As if it didn't belong to her at all.
She'd been hit by a car, though, and cars don't attack with bones. They tend to maim by brute force of bumper. My theory just didn't pan out.
It was my job to first gather the towels used to apply pressure, and then to hold her slender, limber arms down so that she wouldn't dislodge the bone. I recognized her. She was Holly from Brit Lit. I'd never seen her outside the classroom. I smiled down at her, hoping she'd recognize me as a friendly face.
Alexis--calm, sweet, controlled Alexis--was wigging out. The other girl--the bystander--held towels over the ears. One of them had been ripped halfway off. The bystander moved it into place and then vocalized her fear that our poor victim might remember all this once she was stitched back together. She covered both the ears to minimize her misery. There seemed to be a lot of yelling. After that, there seemed to be a lot of screaming. I wondered if it would help at all.
Off to the side, in the corner of my eye, I could see the bright glow of an odd yellow light.
Not a white light.
Not a tunnel.
Not a life flashing by.
Just golden rays of light peeking through into our world from some other dimension, observing us, judging us, selecting us...

Gravity

My breasts were magnificent.

Truly magnificent.

And so were my thighs.

That's how I knew it was a dream.

Future Tense

Am I awake?

I must be. I remember this from before. The comforting weight of his arm, the light, rhythmic snore, the tickle of his beard against my bare shoulder, all familiar.

Except that it hasn’t happened yet. We never did this, so this must be the part that comes later.

And the part when he accidentally texted me that poem…

“hey

I was listening to the wind whistle
Against the top of my beer can
Trying to figure out what to say
I turned around to tell you
But you’d blown away”

That hasn’t happened yet either.

In the Murky Green

I had a snake dream again.
Not the serpant creeping between my sheets, wrapping around my ankle and pulling me off the edge dream. 
Not the wide-mouth, fangs in my face dream.
Not the dream where I had to beat it to death with a baseball bat.

This dream was in the water. It might have been a river. I got the feel that it was a river. A pipeline, a metal pipeline ran along the bottom, transporting oil or gas or maybe clean water to the masses. I was down there, looking at it, making sure it was carrying along alright.

Or maybe I wasn't there at all. Nobody seemed to notice me in the murky green. Sunbeams cut through the water, illuminating certain things I think I was meant to see, but not to touch. The ever-present worsh worsh of the rushing water throbbed in my ears.

That man plunged in. I noticed his glow right away. He was there to do a job. He was confident in his movements. He had done this many times before.

I don't think he could see the snakes cozied up against the pipeline. I hollered to him to watch out! But my voice did not come. Because, it was true. I wasn't really there.

The snakes reacted. The big, yellow one, as long as a train and as fat as a tree lunged itself at that man. He was quick. With one hand, he reached out and scooped the head, bigger than a basketball, into his hand and tucked it up under his arm. When the big, red one, just as impressive as the one before, tried to strike, that man got him too.

The thrashing was the scariest part. I woke with the image in my head of the three of them curling around each other, tossing the water about in the midst of a cloud of air bubbles. He tried to call out to me, but his voice never came. Because it was true. I wasn't really there.

Hearts

I can hear the wind outside, kicking up a ruckus and threatening to blow us all away. I'm feeling safe and cozy here in the shed. We're playing cards in a circle on the floor, but, I'm not quite sure of the game. We've got lights, but nobody takes them for granted. We are all very aware  that we could be left in darkness at any moment We use the time we have to memorize faces. I know everyone here, even her. She's up there on the sofa with him. She's curled up facing him, but, to my relief, she's not right up against him. I try not to let that jealous ribbon run through me, but it's so hard when she's sitting there, touching his arm, whispering in his ear, stealing his attention.

But she's not.

She's trying, but it's not working. He's staring straight at me, trying to say something with his sea green eyes. I've seen that look before. He's looking for an escape. Her endless prattling is driving him nuts. He winks, and I roll my eyes, indicating that he's on his own. He'll have to figure out how to get rid of her. I'm having too much fun playing cards with our friends.

Still, when she gets up for a beer, I crawl onto the sofa, curl myself into his lap and rest my head on his shoulder. He wraps a strong arm around me, and a gust of wind finally takes out the lights.

Limbo

You need to stay the hell out of my dreams, you little shit.

You think you're so smooth slippin' in when you think I'm not looking, sliding your arm around my shoulder, and acting all cool, as if you'd been there the whole time.

But it's not cool. I'm pissed off. You can't just disappear completely without even a good-bye, or at least a final, departing nod and wink. You can't waltz out, as if you never knew me, never call, never ask about me, never send me as much as a "hey, sup?" And then mosey around in my dreams all night.

I didn't invite you in there, you asshole. I don't know what you're trying to prove when I catch you beside me, giving me that look, that grin, that sigh. Never fight. Never argue. Never start any wars. What fun is that? If you're going to hang around all night, the least you could do is make it interesting.

I think it would have been better if you'd at least tried to be ugly, tried to be mean, tried to put some closure on it. Instead of letting it linger there on the edge, never pushing it over...