Don't Wake Me if I'm Dreaming (13 page)

I
learned bereavement was a dark and dangerous place to be consumed for the mentally unstable. Not a thing could have brought comfort on this cold gray morning. The weather had changed overnight; the humidity was now a cold, damp mist. I sat on the windowsill staring at the granite sky, watching as a backing of wind shuffled the clouds. My thoughts swarmed around the nonsensical arguments of marriage, the time wasted discussing something Matt and I both knew would eventually happen. I slipped further in thought reflecting the past nine months since his death. The apartment neared silence; only the radiator heater and water pipes made noise with the exception of my crying. I cried, but this was nothing new; the times I spent crying felt like an era. As expected of a grieving girlfriend, I isolated myself within my apartment, with as much solitude as I could manage from the outside world. Not a soul could bring comfort except Matt’s, which I was certain didn’t linger.

I wanted privacy and nothing more, and I was granted that, for a time. I took an extended leave from work, but was eventually replaced when I elected not to return. It wasn’t only his loss that claimed my psychological wellbeing, but guilt, guilt beyond measure, guilt that I had a hand in his death, which felt like retribution from the underworld. I’d become sick, and not just physically. I was ill because I was given a gift twenty-five years ago; the inability of a good night rest, and the ability to foresee my future.

Each night, I fell asleep, hoping and praying Matt would find me, he didn’t. And like before, series after series of empty dreams replaced the dreams of him. Once he had passed, he never returned to visit my sleep. I would fall asleep looking at his picture, praying he’d find his way to me, but he never returned, not once. I was merely out of my mind with despair.

For a while, Aimee tried watching out for me, but with Scott’s recent birth, it triggered my forest dream chronicle to resurface, making me more insane by the minute, and wanting to avoid them.

My brother Sam had stayed over for a week, but his family needed him as much as I did, and he couldn’t reach me, I was too far lost.

It was just past ten a.m., and I was still in my pajamas picking the crust from a piece of cold toast, crying while watching a movie when I heard a knock on my door.

“Enter.” The doorknob jiggled, “Coming, I’m coming, hang on!” I realized the door was locked.

“Hi, baby girl.” My dad’s smile couldn’t conceal the concerned look only a parent was capable of expressing.

“Dad!” I reached hugging him. “What are you doing here?” I was stumped by his unannounced visit.

“Are you going to invite me in?” His smile slowly withered looking me over.

“Uh…” I turned, glancing at the bombsite that surrounded me. “It’s a little messy in here.”

“I cleaned your room until you were thirteen, I can handle messy.” He brushed his silver hair back with his hand, glancing around.

I stepped aside letting him enter. The second the door closed, I scurried, collecting cola cans, tissues, and dirty dishes.

“I think you know why I’m here, and if it would make you feel better we can clean house, first. I’d prefer that.” He looked around, not seeing a surface clear enough to sit on. “Then we’ll talk, but I’m not leaving until we do.” I recognized too well the rugged, uncompromising fatherly tone he always had when demanding his way.

I stood staring at him a moment as if he spoke another language. “Perfect. I was just about to start in on the kitchen. The broom is in the laundry closet.” I pointed, heading into the kitchen.

My dad helped me tidy up the place in silence. I hadn’t realized how bad it was in here, but we managed to fill an entire garbage bag between the contents of the refrigerator and left out food wrappers. We overstuffed the dishwasher, washed and folded laundry, and threw out a load of towels that sat damp for a week in the washer. It took nearly two hours, but the apartment was once again habitable.

“You look malnourished,” he said. “Let’s order Chinese. Does anyone deliver lunch around here?”

I headed into the kitchen and dug through the junk drawer finding a menu. I wanted to tell him the nearest Chinese restaurant was four thousand miles from here, and to have a safe drive home.

“I’ll have a number four with noodles, not rice. I’m going to take a quick shower.” I handed my dad the menu.

“Please do.” I returned after cleaning up to find him watching TV. He was comfortable with his feet propped up. “I opened the window for fresh air and noticed a bullet in the wall. Was that always there?” he asked.

I twisted my lips a moment, trying to decide if I should play dumb or provide an explanation. “I shot the wall. I mean it was an accident, but yeah, I put that there.”

“Do I want to know the story?”

“Probably not, but you’re going to make me tell you anyway.”

He smiled. “Years away, and you remember me like it was yesterday.”

“I fell asleep on the sofa, scared, with the gun in my hand for protection. I woke, scared, and fired a round. That’s it. I shot the wall.”

“Sam said he gave you his gun.”

“He did,” I agreed.

“I’m glad the wall was the only casualty. Well, take a seat, no sense in dallying. We have about ten minutes until lunch arrives.”

I sat in the armchair and faced him, tucking my legs under a throw blanket, and my hair behind my ears. “I’m all ears.”

“See, here’s the thing, it doesn’t work like that. I’m all ears, you need to start talking.”

“About what? You sound just like Sam.” I involuntarily glowered.

“Fine.” He stood and closed the window before pacing the room. “When I lost your mother, you were probably too young to remember, but I struggled with it for a long time, and I still do. I never allowed another woman in my life, not one I intended to keep around for more than a few hours, maybe a few days.”

“Dad! No!” I made a sour face.

“The point is I couldn’t bring myself to move on. Let me tell you, loneliness is a dangerous place to be consumed in. I spent many nights with a bottle in one hand, and a gun in another.”

He now had my attention, and I listened to his every word.

“I drank for years and found myself in an ugly place. The house was run down, my health was shot, and I was dangerously depressed.”

“What stopped you from going over the edge?”

“You and your brother. You two needed me. You guys didn’t need more death. I couldn’t do that to you. I loved you too much.”

“And mom didn’t?”

He looked at me for a long moment. “Damn that old goat. She told you.” He shook his head referring to my great aunt. “She did. She loved you both more than anyone, but she didn’t love herself, not enough to stay alive. She gave up on herself and it killed me right along with her.”

“Why did she do it?”

“Well, I think you already know the answer to that. She couldn’t help it. She was sick, very sick, and she suffered a great deal.”

“How come you didn’t help her?”

“Sasha, I had no clue at the time it was that bad, and she did her best to hide it from me. Didn’t help things I was always away working. I knew something was bothering her, but she wouldn’t tell me a thing. And trust me we argued about it. It was always at night. That woman hated going to bed. I lost my Ella because not a soul knew about her illness except for that bitch aunt of hers, and she hid it from me, too. I never had a chance to help.”

“And so she killed herself.”

“She did.”

“How?”

He looked at me a long moment, “I won’t lose you, and I’ll stay here however long it takes to help you get back on your feet.”

“How did she do it, dad?”

He walked over to the window and looked outside. I waited, patiently until he was ready to speak.

“I found her in the tub.” I knew that was more than he was able to share and left it at that.

“I’m not her, and I don’t need saving.”

“No, you’re not her, you’re my daughter, and I’m worried about you. Your friends are worried about you. Sam was worried sick. He was crying on the phone when he left here, ready to leave everything to stay and care for you.”

“I don’t need saving. I don’t intend to kill myself. Sheesh!” I stared angrily, my cheeks flushing.

“Look at you, Sasha, you’re a damn mess. Your apartment looked like a homeless shelter. We don’t need to talk about your hygiene, but a trip to the spa would do you good. I have foot-long carrots in my garden with fewer roots growing than you got on your head.”

I reached touching my wet hair. “Fine, I’ll get my hair done and hire a housekeeper if that’ll satisfy you!”

“That boy left you a ton of money, and I bet you haven’t been out long enough to spend a damn dime.”

“I didn’t ask for his money, nor do I care about it.” I huffed.

“Well, you should. He worked his ass off so you could have everything, and here you sit with nothing. Is this your way of thanking him?”

I stood, throwing the pillow. My blood began boiling. “How dare you come into my home and treat me like a child. You have no business here talking to me like this.”

“Well, where the hell do you get off thinking it’s okay to just give up on yourself. That boy is rolling in his grave right now, pitching a fit at the woman you’ve let yourself become.”

“Enough already!” I bawled. “You’re guilty you couldn’t fix mom and think you’ll do right by her to fix me! Well, I hate to tell you this, but I’m not broken, and you can’t fix me, so get over it!” My expression matched my snotty tone. “You’ve overstayed your welcome.” I tramped to the door. “Have a safe trip home.”

“Your scrawny ass will have to pick me up and carry me through that there door if you think I’m leaving you like this. Now sit your ass back down.” He snapped his fingers, pointing to the chair.

“Fine!” I sprung toward him, grabbing his shirt, yanking it. “Get the hell out of my house!” I snapped, never in my life had I felt such anger toward my dad.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” he said, undaunted.

I balled up my fist and hit him in the chest, then hit him again, several times. “Just leave already!” I cried, spitefully. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” He wrapped his arms around me in a bear hug as I hit him again. “There’s my little fighter. Get it all out.”

I held my body stiff, rejecting him, pulling my head away. “Get out! I hate you!” I cried through my teeth.

“Keep fighting, baby girl, keep on fighting.”

I almost couldn’t breathe he held me so tight, and all at once, my body surrendered, I pressed my head against his chest and cried uncontrollably. “Daddy, I miss him so much it hurts.”

His arms loosened to a gentle hug. “I know you do, baby. God, I know you do.” He stood holding me for a few minutes, letting me cry in his arms. I felt his tears fall on my arm. “You’re going to be okay. Come hell or high water, I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay.” He held me for a while longer, until a loud knock met the door. “Just a minute.” He eased his grip, but I wasn’t ready for him to let go. I felt a sense of security that I had always felt when he comforted my childish wounds.

“Sir, I have my car running with orders needing delivered.” The voice called from the hall a moment later.

I stepped back, dabbing my eyes with my shirt as my dad headed to the door and quickly made a cash exchange for our food.

We sat at the table with our meal cooling in front of us. It was the first time I had seen the table’s surface in a while.

“So tell me about that little baby of Aimee’s.”

“He’s a chubby little guy. He looks just like her, but his hair is lighter like Vance’s.”

“I bet they’re great parents. What did they decide to call him?”

“Scott.” I bit my lip.

“Do you not like the name?” He read my face.

“I do. —Dad, did Aunt Ivanna ever talk about mom’s dreams?”

His blue eyes tightened hearing her name. “I didn’t like that woman, not even on her death bed.”

“Did she?”

“Sort of, but she didn’t tell me until after Ella passed,” he was wary, answering.

“Is that why you didn’t like her?” I twirled noodles around the chopsticks, not interested in eating.

“Take a bite and I’ll answer your question.”

I did as he asked.

“She told me your mom lived two different lives. The one we knew the other—well, her dreams were too much for her.”

I swallowed my food. “Did she tell you what she dreamed about?”

“Take a bite.”

“Dad!”

“Sasha!”

“You take a bite!” I stuffed my mouth with noodles and mockingly chomped. “I’m eating!” I said. A noodle fell from my mouth, making us both smile.

His face returned to seriousness. “She told me Ella had the same dreams for sometimes weeks at a time. I don’t know, sweetie, that woman was bat shit crazy.”

“And…” I was much more serious this time, taking another bite to encourage him.

“Well, I know they were bad. I remember a few times waking her from nightmares. She would be terrified and screaming. She said Ella told her she would see things… like… knew something was going to happen before it did. She said she would dream of the future and that sort of BS.”