Don't Wake Me if I'm Dreaming (5 page)

I laughed lightheartedly in agreement with what now read SøS. “You think so, huh?”

“All in good time.” He flashed his dimpled smile at me.

I looked out across the water, blushing. “Mister Stephens, that’s a rather bold assumption.”

“Ah, well, I probably won’t get the chance to do it later, and I couldn’t just leave the O hanging around forever.”

“You’re rather self-assured, aren’t you,” I stated rhetorically speaking.

He turned facing me with a short laugh. “You see, it’s all part of my master plans.”

“Do enlighten me, please.”

“All righty!” He hindered a moment in thought. “First and foremost, I intend to muster the courage for a little chitchat with Doug.”

“Ah, I see, and tell me about this
chitchat
you plan on having with my dad.”

“No problem.” He smiled clearing his throat. “I’ll say something like, Doug, I promised we used protection, I’m just not sure how it happened. It was likely her fault, but I intend to make an honest woman of her.” He held in the laughter that escaped after I playfully shoved his arm.

“Psssh right, you’ll have to do better than that if you intend to walk away with both legs.”

“All right then, how about this.” He stood up straight and scratched his head a second. “Doug, the last year has been the best of my life. You see, I met the most amazing woman, your daughter, and man does she ever make the world go round. She shows me how good it feels to be loved. She’s brilliant, kind, has a heart of gold, she can’t cook worth a lick, and she’s slightly irrational at times—”

“Irrational?” I interrupted. “And you enjoy my cooking just fine.”

“Would you just let me finish?” His lips pulled to the side suppressing a smile. “But she’s beautiful and she take’s my breath away. I promise you,” he stepped closer to me, “if you allow me the honor, I’ll prove to you and her, that I will love her unconditionally. That I will take care of her without question, and I will always give her the best of me, if you allow me to marry her, sir. So how did that sound, not too cheesy I hope?”

Touched by his words, I smiled tenderly. “Assuming he approves?”

“After I give you the most romantic and amazing night of your life, I will get down on bent knee, and say,” he knelt down on a root in front of me, “Sasha,” he took my hand, “it would do me the greatest of honor if you will say yes, that you agree to give me your sweet sugar forever and become my wife. And this is where you say—”

“Guess you’ll have to wait to find out.”

“Aw, come on, give me something.”

“Here, a token of my love.” I handed back his hat, then hopped down from the stump and wrapped my arms around him. “I love you, but there is no need to rush any of this. I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t need a ring to hold that promise.”

“I love you, too.” His voice saddened, but his brown love-struck, puppy eyes held mine a moment before he leaned in for a juicy, lasting kiss.

When he attempted to move his lips from mine, I reached, grabbing his shirt, pressing him against me. “Not so fast, lover boy.”

He took a seat on the stump and helped me on his lap.

I wrapped my legs around his midriff, locked my ankles behind his back, and then leaned back against his legs, tipping my head back. My eyes stretched across the upside-down view of the water.

His hands rubbed the denim swathed around my hips then he released a small and delightful laugh. “I could chew these off with my teeth about now.”

“Oh my! You don’t suppose the people on the boats would mind us making love on a stump, do you?” My voice strained, using my stomach strength to pull myself back up.

Matt shrugged indifferently. “I say we give ‘
em
a show.” His hands slid up the inside of my blouse lifting it slightly. “I’m just messing with you, baby. No one gets to see my girl’s tatas but me.” He grinned.

“Then we better go inside.”

He helped me to my feet and pulled his sweatshirt back on.

“Hang on a sec.” I reached into my blouse pocket and pulled out my cellphone. “Will you stand by the tree? I want a picture of you and your declaration of
foreverness
carving.” 

He turned his hat backward, then knelt by the tree, and exaggerated a smile as he pointed to our initials.

“You’re such a dork.” I took the picture and presented it to him.

“That’s a keeper. Our grandkids will appreciate it someday.”

“Ha! That’s a very dubious assumption, but you’re full of those today.” I laughed. “You’ll be lucky if I settle on trying to keep a plant alive.”

He took my hand. “You wouldn’t give me a baby if I asked?” His tone holds some humor.

“No!” I said with a humorless laugh.

“What if I beg you on a bent knee?” He knelt down.

“I’d tell you you’re getting your jeans dirty, and the idea of unwed conception does nothing for me.” I grinned, pulling him back up. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“So marry me.”

“That was a very weak proposal, and graciously, it’s being declined.”

“Ouch. Hop up.” He knelt back down and lifted me on his back.

I rested my head against his and hugged his shoulders. “Isn’t it enough to just be loved?” I asked kindly.

The lake house neared emptiness, except a few pieces of covered antique furniture, a broom in the doorway, and a few boxes on the kitchen counter.

Matt lowered me to my feet in front of the fireplace. “No beds. They’ve already been moved.”

“I don’t mind.” I glanced at the wood floor, indifferently.

He touched my face with his fingers and slid one to my lips. His face wore little expression, only hooded eyes. I couldn’t get enough of that look, the same look a puppy gives when it’s yearning for affection. He looked around the room, then walked toward the table and removed a sheet. “Will this do?” He shook the dust from it.

I nodded slightly.

He draped the sheet over my shoulders then unbuttoned my blouse, each button, taking his time. He stroked his hand along my side, touching my skin tenderly as we kissed.

Bedroom talk was never his strength, but after a little clumsy verbal foreplay while undressing me, he gave me a lingering kiss before unbuttoning his pants.

“We had our first kiss here,” I whisper in his lips.

“Actually, it was over there.” He glanced at the kitchen remembering. “I thought you were going to sock me.”

“It was a little brash to assume I’d embrace a kiss in front of your mom!” I faked a small scowl, remembering. “It was sweet, though, and you kept me waiting long enough.”

He laughed. “Come on, it was two days after we met, and I was already introducing you to my parents.”

“That’s because you’re a momma’s boy.” I sniggered. “And you brought me here to swim, not intending for me to meet your parents.”

His short laughter held a surprise. “I knew they’d be here. I wanted to show you off. And, it was a tasteful kiss when she wasn’t looking, and you were teasing me wearing that little ruffle summer dress.”

“Huh, it was awkward, and the dress was pleated, not ruffled.” I smiled, rolling my eyes.

Matt pulled his shirts off. I ran my hands over his chest, tracing the muscular curves. It was gorgeous as the rest of his athletic body. He playfully flexed his pecks. “Is that sexy or what?”

“Mmm,” I good-humoredly moaned. “Way to turn me on.”

“Come here.” He pulled me to him, his voice susurrated into a whisper. “I love you more than you can imagine.” He kissed me, again.

“I love you.”

Sex came naturally with him, always comfortable. We fit together well, and he was gentle with me, even when things got a little wild. He always wanted to try new positions, and in the most unlikely places. Most often it worked, except the time I was on top and we caved in his wicker hope chest, and he ended up with six stitches in his hip. We also broke the leg on his parent’s table. We discovered sex in a hammock doesn’t work well. Broke the wall-mounts on his bathroom sink, and dented the hood of my car one night in his garage. The real humdinger was in a family bathroom at the airport after not seeing him for five days—my shoe slid in the toilet, getting stuck in the drain. Regardless, we had fun, and the times he wanted to take it slow and easy, like now, were just as enjoyable. He knew when to be romantic, and often tried. It wasn’t always graceful, but it was entertainingly sweet.

Matt’s hands grabbed my waist, pulling my body against his with a loud pleasurable grunt.

I grabbed hold of his shoulders, lifting my back from the floor, but he pressed his chest against mine, pushing me to the sheet. His eyes met mine with an amorous stare. “You like that don’t you?”

“Yeah.” The word escaped in a pant.

His hand moved to my chest, staying there only a few seconds. With a swift movement, he was gripping the sheet above my head and his lips were on my neck.

I felt a little friction burn on the small of my back when he braced his fists on the floor and trembled out a pleasurable groan. I rubbed his shoulders allowing him to finish.

Matt rolled on his back to catch his breath. “It amazes me how that never gets old.” He showed a dimple.

“Let’s never be that couple that grows tired of sex and sleeps in different rooms.”

Both dimples appeared this time. “I like that.” He turned onto his side and pulled the sheet over my chest, resting his hand on my hip.

“Like the idea of always having sex or sharing the same bed?”

“Well that too, but I meant you were talking about us like we have a future together.”

“Ah, well, only time will tell.” I kissed the tip of his nose.

“It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“It does for now.” I reached kissing his lips, claiming the sheet, and headed toward the bathroom to avoid furthering the marital conversation.

“You’ll change your mind and want to do it sooner than later,” he hollered after me, with a confident laugh.

“We’ll see about that.”                 

C
hannel surfing became a nightly habit; it kept me awake even at ridiculous hours. Unfortunately, there was nothing remotely interesting on basic cable TV. I sat texting with Aimee and Matt, but they eventfully stopped responding. I tried doing yoga in the studio, but it made me that much more tired. I even sat in front of the piano reading sheet music and laced on my pointe shoes just to see if I could stand tippy-toed. Nothing could slow the hours from creeping, and a great weight tugged at my eyelids as the numbers on the clock stared at me, inviting me to rest. I thought about going for a run since it had been a few days, but didn’t want to be outside in the dark alone. I began thinking about my last dream and remembered the gun crossing over with me, which sent me rushing to the closet.

I changed into appropriate forest apparel and collected the gun. This time, I locked the front door. After finding a comfortable sleeping position on the bed, I closed my eyes and tried relaxing, but instead began laughing. The mental image of Matt’s expression after witnessing the bullet lodged into the wall was priceless. Yet, he still wanted to engage in the forever-biding
topic of marriage. That conversation gave my mind something to ponder for a while before drifting to sleep.

***

T
he water is untouched, and the crisp scent of trees fills the air. I marvel a moment over the beauty of the lake. My mission is clear, find the man and save Aimee. I just have to figure out how.

I’m still unsure if there is a connection between the man and Aimee’s lifeless body, but I’m not exactly sure there isn’t. I tuck the gun in the waistband of my pants and prepare myself for the unknown.

I see the little boy standing at the shoreline as I walk toward our usual meeting scene. I stop just short of him and try to smile “Hi.” I wait a few seconds to see if he will respond, but it’s as if he doesn’t notice me standing here. I glance to the water but don’t see Aimee’s body this time. I stretch, looking further into the water to be sure. “Will you take me back there, to the campground? I need to find the man from the other side of the lake.” I point across the cove. “I think he might be a bad man, and I need to tell him to go away.” I stand staring, waiting for a reply that doesn’t come. “Okay then, where are your mommy and daddy? Can you take me to them?”

The little boy lifts his inquisitive green eyes and looks across the water. My eyes follow, but find nothing more than the usual surroundings. I extend my arm, offering my hand. “It’s okay. I’ll help you find them.”

His eyes study my hand before he reaches for it. With a warm little grip, I feel the same rush of air as before enveloping my body.

My feet are suddenly against new dirt. Promptly, we return to the campground. I briefly scan the untouched surroundings, following the boy’s lead to one of the tents. He crawls in retrieving his dinosaur and returns wanting to hold my hand, again. “Do you know where to go from here?” I ask and don’t receive a verbal response, but he leads us, seemingly knowing which direction to head.

We reach the top of the trail. I take a deep breath in preparation, meeting the man face to face as he swiftly approaches. He’s wearing the same tuxedo as in previous dreams. His hand is cupping a small object. The little boy grips my hand firmly, turning his face into my leg. I fearfully reach for the gun, and swing my arm in front of me, pointing it at the man’s face. “Stop—stop now!” My voice breaks, sounding more terrifying than threatening. My unsteady hand has me equally scared for the man’s life.

Abruptly the man freezes; his gorgeous face is horribly distraught as he glances down to the little boy then to the gun.

“Please, I need your help,” he speaks, slowly, apprehensively. “I want to help his mother, but I can’t without your aid.” The man’s smoky, stout voice expresses honest concern. He slowly opens his hand, without any other movement, letting a necklace slip through his fingers into a dangle. As the swaying stops, I recognize the heart shape locket. It is identical to the one Vance gifted Aimee on their first Christmas together.

“How’d you get that?” I break from the boy’s grip, snatching the chain. The man’s intense eyes meet mine. I gasp, pinching my eyes close, fearing a reaction. I wait for a piercing, or gust of the wind, something, but feel nothing other than humiliation. I skeptically open my eyes, glancing at the man’s muddled expression. “Who are you? This belongs to my friend! What have you done to her?” I ask, demanding an answer, as the gun shakes uncontrollably in my hand.

His distressed gaze meets the gun that remains aimed at his chest. “I’m Jack,” he speaks, trying to suppress his fear.

“I don’t care about your name!”

“I answered your question,” he states, swallowing hard.

“Why are you here?”

“There’s been an accident.” He glances at the little boy again. “It’s his mother. The driver didn’t see her in time. She needs your help.” His previously fretful tone gains more control when speaking.

Confused, I hesitate a moment, now fearful of an accidental shooting I lower the gun. “Help how? Where is she?”

“I’ll show you.” His face softens. “Trust me.”

I unintentionally huff. “Trust you?”

“Your options are slim right now. Trust me if you want to save her.”

I nervously place the gun in my waistband. “Okay, I’ll help. No funny business though.” I glance back at the little boy. “What do I do?” 

The man steps forward until his face is a foot from mine, my breath never more uneven. I study his silvery blue eyes, feeling uneasy and doubting him, and for a very brief moment our eyes meet. My vision changes, nearly taking my breath. I am now seeing into Jack’s thoughts, in the same way the little boy showed me his thoughts, only I can’t control anything I am seeing, I’m only able to watch and wait as if I’m not even present.

A short distance away, I see two people on the shoulder of the road looking over the guardrail yelling out. It takes a moment before I recognize Vance’s blond hair and voice, and Aimee’s cry. I try to yell out for them, but am unable to make a sound.

“Scott,” Vance yells.

“Scott, come to mommy, baby!” Aimee sounds frantic.

They both call out several times. I realize they must be the little boy’s parents as he runs toward them from my direction. I helplessly try yelling, wanting them to know he is here, running toward them, but nothing happens. A silver car with dark windows rounds the twisting narrow corner ahead. As Aimee and Vance turn to face the road, they notice their son. My heart pounds violently in my chest, helplessly witnessing what I fear will happen next.                                           Aimee screams, darting to grab her little boy from the car’s path. Swerving to miss the boy, I watch the screeching tires slide across the asphalt to a stop, missing Scott by a foot, hitting Aimee instead.

“Nooooooooo!” Vance yowls as he helplessly watches his wife’s body roll over the car’s hood. Instantly, Vance grabs the boy into his arms, pressing the boy’s face against his chest and darts to Aimee’s side. He sits the boy down and lifts his wife into his arms. The car door swings open, releasing a horror-stricken young man.

“I didn’t see her. I’m sorry.” He rushes to Vance’s side, placing a hand on Scott’s back, tearfully pleading his sorrow. I am helplessly paralyzed as they grieve over her lifeless body.

The vision is gone. My body goes limp as Jack grabs my arms to catch my fall. His face turns to a blur, and then all goes black.

***

I
shot up in bed, covered in sweat, gasping to catch my breath. Momentarily disoriented and scared, I half anticipated seeing Jack as my eyes adjusted to the streetlight from outside the bedroom window. I felt something poking into my backside, and reached, feeling the gun, placing it on the nightstand. I shed my clothing as I rushed to the bath and turned on the shower, stepping in before the water adjusts to a comfortable temperature.

Still not having gained my composure from the shockingly cold water or traumatic nightmare, I collapsed against the shower wall, panting, as the water drenched me. I held the shower curtain to keep from toppling over while catching my breath.
It’s only a dream, a stupid, fake, irrational, senseless dream
. I thought in anger. My thoughts swarmed around Aimee’s body, her son, the silver car, and the man from the forest, reliving the dream in my mind. I had no clue how the guy ended up in the forest, in a tux. I wondered if perhaps he was driving by when the accident occurred and stopped to help.
How could he have stopped when none of this ever happened?
I continuously strolled through a rollercoaster of emotional bewilderment as I tried to rationalize the dream, but it was senseless attempting to rationalize something that made absolutely no sense and was completely out of my control. I made myself stop the rampant battle of confusion that was in my head. I would have to let it go and pray my dreams would dissolve into a new series. Hopefully something a lot more pleasant, but I’d willingly take on any nightmare that didn’t share the continuous death of my best friend.

I dried off and dressed, this time in my pajamas. I was determined, come hell or high water, not to return there, to that dream. Within a matter of minutes, I consumed three shots of tequila before swigging from the bottle, sucked the juice of a lime, brushed my teeth, and crawled into bed intending to pass out. It had taken a short time before the alcohol settled in, making me into sap. I did my best to clear my head of Aimee’s tragic death, and instead thought of Jack, which was easy from my drunken stupor. Not his vision, nor his purpose, just the man I had just met in my dream. His every detail flooded me as if our encounter was existent. I clearly visualized his face, his deep almost black hair, the dark five o’clock shadow outlining his sharp jaw. His eyes gave me chill bumps remembering them glistening as if absorbing the sunlight. They were a perfect silvery-blue, like crystals. He was amazingly flawless, attractively so. As handsome and kind as he was, seeing him again in my dreams was not worth the agony of subjecting myself to another night of witnessing Aimee’s death all over again.

With a final yawn, I pressed my face into my pillow, feeling myself sinking like an anchor, passing out.