Something To Dream On

by Rinella, Diane

  “Her leg is fractured. I rescued her.”

  “Like, seriously? Why would you care about a dog?”

  Wow. I've known Laura quite a while, but clearly we don't know each other at all. It's not like we have ever been masters of deep conversation, but I’ve heard her stories, time and time again, about all the bad things that happened and the marks left both on her body and her soul—stories that make my heart bleed. Has she never listened to me? Maybe I neglected to share what I want out of life, because I knew someday I’d have to leave her behind. “Yes, like seriously. A lot has changed. I need you to respect that.” I open the door and step aside. I hate being a total dick, but if I don’t, she’ll keep ambushing me and eventually I’ll cave. This girl is capable of taking me places I can’t allow myself to go. The zipper between us is the only thing stopping her from making my head spin.

  With a shrug, she heads out, and then slips in a quick kiss on the cheek. I feel like a prick as I start to close the door, but that feeling disappears when she spins around, grabs me, and slips her tongue into my mouth. God, this girl can kiss! Her hands grip my back and pull me in tightly against her tits, reminding me of a damsel clinging for rescue. My dick twitches in response as I remember the talent of that tongue when it's in other places. She goes for my zipper. “Come on, Jensen. Let me have another taste of that long, wide—”

  The last of my compassion disappears. I resist the urge to shove her off of me with my hands by doing it with my voice. “If you want something long and wide, there's a produce stand down the street. Go grab yourself a cucumber. I said, no!”

  The amount of force must have been good because her eyes have gone wide and are locked that way. Gauging from her bark and attempt at standing, Etta is taking it pretty seriously, too. “It isn't a game this time?” Laura asks.

  “No, I'm serious. Please, go.”

  Laura gives a demure nod and finally leaves. I close the door and slide my ass down to the ground. Etta looks like she is asking what the hell that was all about, but something tells me she already knows. “Do you hate me now?” She nuzzles her face into mine. “Why are you being so nice? I’ve been a dick, and I fear my past may someday blow up in my face, and I’ll lose Lizetta.”

  Etta’s bark is a soft rumble that threatens if I pull any shit, she’ll kick my ass.

  “I won't. Believe me, I won’t.” Lizetta’s smile crosses my mind’s eye. I let out a happy sigh as my head slams back into the door. I am seriously smitten.

  I brace myself for the sound of the door slamming. It’ll be just like a kick to the head as yet another person tells me to go to hell.

  Go to hell? Hmph! The joke’s on all of you. The keys to the kingdom have been fused into my backbone.

  The door shuts with a respectful click that turns my attitude solemn. I turn back to stare at the barrier. The fact that he was kind enough not to slam it deepens my hurt. Jensen really isn’t like those other guys. He never was, though for a while he sure played the part well. I just wish the real him could see the real me. Shoot, I can’t see the real me any more. How long has it been? A couple of decades?

  I stare at my boots as I hit the bottom step. I hate wearing combat boots with a skirt and Jensen knows it. He’s no idiot. Of course he’s figured out I’m hiding track marks. I need to go back and tell him what else is going on—how I’ve become smelly cheese in my brother’s sick game of cat and mouse. He will help me then. He has to.

  I want to head up, but my feet flee to my car so I can hide from the truth. He doesn’t want me. He abandoned me. The dirty bastard! Why am I not worthy?

  Screw you, Jensen! This is me leaving something behind for once, even though we both know I’ll be back—because I’m not strong enough to stay away—because you are my only friend.

  What the hell am I going to tell Larry? How can I walk back into that house a washed up old bitch that can’t turn a free trick? I need to stop off at the liquor store and load up. I’m gonna need something a lot more blissful to get me through this night, but at least that will get me started. Lord knows what I am going to have to do now to get what I really need.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Wednesday, May 17

  Moby freaking Dick! Why did I choose to be an English major? Is helping kids worth having to read this book? Dare I even call it a book? This thing is like the world's most glorified paperweight. Never before have I rooted for mankind to lose. The only good thing to come out of this book is a Zeppelin song.

  I dig out Zeppelin II, skip to the eighth track, and crank that baby. The drums hit, and all is right with the world. With my axe in hand, I wail along with Page. Sometimes I forget how good I am.

  The drum solo kicks in, and I kill the Zeppelin in exchange for doing finger exercises. My foot starts tapping, and I’m basically jamming with myself, creating my own beat.

  Ah! Finally, I'm able to get somewhere. I go to the song that I've been working on for the last few weeks. It flows along, but the moment I get to where I left off writing, I feel like I’ve jumped off a cliff and smacked into an ocean of boulders. I back up a few bars, give it another go, and manage to add on a few notes before stopping. “That sounds stupid.”

  Sounds stupid? How old am I? I haven't said something that I've written sounded stupid since I was twelve and about two months into learning how to play.

  I give it a repeat and then jam on it a bit. The flow starts off heavenly before something smacks it down. What the hell is wrong with me?

  My back goes to the floor, and I stare at the ceiling. Why am I so stuck? I can't say it’s never happened before—although it's pretty rare. In the past, I just called Larry and we worked it out.

  We would also get wasted.

  Maybe I'm just expecting everything to come too easily. Maybe I just need the right inspiration. I used to go for long walks and would come back with a song. That’s probably all that’s necessary.

  With the intent of borrowing the neighbor’s wagon to take out Etta, I head for the door. A glimpse of the picture of Mom and the painting she did stops me. I touch my hand to the glass, caressing where the photo of the painting lies underneath. The patches of dried grass remind me of how I once shriveled and withered. Slowly I am turning green again.

  My eyes gaze upward, to the stars on the top. I want them to gaze to the image of Mom, but the thought of doing so brings pain to my brow.

  The actual painting should be here, just like it hung in my room for years. I need to call Mom and make amends. Only a person who fears himself would hide from his own mom like this.

  Inside the green field sits a little dot next to a tree that reminds me of the one I planted in memory of Granddad. That area was once barren. Since I planted that tree it has sprung to life. That is where I need to be.

  I pet Etta. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I really need some me time.”

  With my guitar on my back, I head out for greener pastures. I can’t still be this pissy when Lizetta gets here.

  My toes press into the cool tile of the kitchen floor, raising my body so that my lips can get closer to Jensen’s. Our eyes stare into each other’s, and the sparkle they share coats me in happiness. A simple kiss leads to another, then another, then more gazing. Then I ruin it with a giggle, making Jensen laugh. Oh dear God, that was awesome! Can I do only this for the rest of my life?

  This is how it’s been since our first date at Bert’s. For weeks we have fixed dinner at Jensen’s on Wednesdays and had Saturday night adventures at movies and pinball arcades. He’s already become a fixture at my house for Sunday night family dinner. It’s barely been a month, and we’ve got a routine down.

  You’d think with being so young we’d rebel against this sort of thing, but it’s the life I’ve always wanted. As for Jensen, at the end of one date, he’s already planning the next. From date to date he brings me the feeling of stability. It’s still surprising, because with all the gear around here, it’s hard to get the rock star—a gig here, a date there—image out o
f my head. I’ve yet to find notches in his bedpost though.

  Actually, I’ve yet to make it into the bedroom much at all, which I’m fine with, for now. Becoming the occasional domestic couple is something that I am ready for with him, but revealing the physical aspects of my glory can take a little longer. Jensen doesn’t seem to have a single hang-up with my body, and while that is comforting, I can’t say that I share those feelings about my curves. It’s unfair, because the hormone rushes he gives me make me want to spread him all over me like salted caramel on ice cream.

  Jensen finishes tossing the salad while I grab some juice out of the fridge. The same four bottles of beer that have stared at me every time I’ve opened this door grab my attention. I know they are the same ones, because someone wrote a date on them in Sharpie. It’s about five months ago—around the time Jensen quit the band. Celebratory beer left in memory? “Hey, what’s the deal with the dates on the beer?”

  When I turn back around, Jensen has paused his tossing.

  Crap!

  Then again, I’m surprised it’s taken her this long to ask. Can I brush off the truth a little longer? How can I ever tell an angel of a woman, whose dad was an alcoholic, that I’m basically a recovering junkie who used to womanize, all so he could hide from reality? The thought of hurting her makes my heart ache. I want to do right by her though. Not telling her is probably worse.

  Maybe I can ease into it by giving her the end of the story, then fill her in some other time on the terrible person I was that got me there. “That’s the date I gave it up. I was tired of feeling like garbage all the time. Since then, I’ve been pretty cautious about what has gone into my body. If I see a daily reminder of how long it has been, I’ve less desire to ruin it by going back to my old habits.”

  “You don’t drink at all?”

  I need to tread lightly regarding the meaning of those relics. At first I thought I only had to quit drugs and hard alcohol, but on my first day of “sobriety” I had gone through nearly an entire case of beer when I decided it wasn’t strong enough and almost made a call. Clearly everything had to stop. “Yep, not since the date on those bottles. I plan to let them stay in there until I die.” The strength of that statement may have made it sound like I had a problem. Dammit. I did, but I don’t want to freak her out.

  “Not even a drop?”

  “I’m just not all that interested in it now. The last time I even considered it was on Granddad’s birthday. He was such a Cognac lover that I thought of toasting his memory.” But that was paving a fool’s path. “It seemed shallow, so instead I went to a spot I frequent and planted a tree in his honor. Every now and then I hang out there and think of him.” There, a simple truth. We need to let this go now. I grab a piece of lettuce out of the bowl and feed it to her. “Enough dressing?”

  She winks at me. “Not if you want to forget you are grazing like a rabbit, but it will do.”

  As much as it is a relief to hear the man in my life doesn’t even touch beer anymore, there is something really odd about the situation. Something big must have prompted his lifestyle change. Who makes a display out of when he changed his eating if it wasn’t for a life-altering reason? It’s another puzzle piece in the picture that is my boyfriend, and it’s one that makes me feel like my skin is too tight.

  Life altering … Like a Tower of destruction?

  These random thoughts are disturbing.

  I grab the chicken breasts from the oven and we plop ourselves on the floor in front of the coffee table to watch the hockey game. I long to dive into the food that looks so fantastic, yet I can’t resist pausing to enter harassment mode. “You’ve ruined me forever.” Jensen snickers. Without looking away from the game, he sees that I’m building up to something. “I can’t even look at Burger Hut anymore. Truthfully, I walked there a few days after our date at Bert’s. One bite of those processed fries after having just been reminded of how real potatoes taste almost made me gag.”

  “Good. The chemicals there will pickle you.”

  “Then again, having a salad with so much stuff that it is like eating a pizza is kind of crazy when actual pizza exists. Croutons, cheese, meat, olives—you’ve just disguised the ingredients under the lie of dressing instead of tomato sauce and crammed in a bunch of lettuce. You’re a strange man with food rebellion issues.”

  He sucks his lips together. They complement his scrunching brow. I wait …

  And wait …

  He’s got nothing, which is ridiculous because there’s not nearly enough stuff on here to make this anything like eating a pizza.

  His attention goes back to the game. While he’s wrapped up in the action on the ice, I put a cluster of my croutons onto my napkin, place tomato chunks on them, and then top it with cheese before slipping it in front of him. He raises an eyebrow to it. The best I get out of him is a slip of a smile, and then a kiss. “Cute.” His eyes go back to the game.

  He’s letting me get away with that? It wasn’t hysterical, but normally it would get a stronger reaction. “That’s it. Next week I am making my infamous Chocolate Cherry Salad.”

  Nothing.

  “It’s a real thing.”

  Jensen fails to react. I don’t even get a blink. I did say that out loud, right?

  “Hey.” I touch his arm. “You okay?”

  His eyes go to my hand. “Yeah, I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, and I had to deal with a lot of stuff.”

  A lump forms in my throat. He may not be lying, but I am pretty sure that he is hiding something. I fear pressing further, because it might be that he wants to breakup and doesn’t know how to tell me. I should change the subject. We can talk about the—

  No. If something is really wrong, I want to be here for him. “Anything you want to talk about? You can tell me anything. I promise.”

  Though his expression remains constant, my gut tells me he is running a gamut of emotions. Finally he puts down his fork and turns toward me. His eyes search into mine as he caresses my cheek, stalling out my heart. “It’s fine, honey. I promise.” He kisses me, and while his gentle touch conveys adoration, my comfort dissipates as he wraps his arms around me and the hug turns tight. I feel it might be one of desperation.

  Something is not right here. It’s so easy to surrender to him like this—to dare let myself think our relationship is one that can last. My gut tells me it’s true, but the ugly voice of doubt chips away at the fulfillment I feel when I am with him. How do you continue to put your heart on the line when it tells you the situation is magic, yet your mind senses a red flag waving in the distance?

  The kiss ends. Another quick one, along with a smile, follows it. A moment later we are back to watching the game, and Jensen returns to being the man I’ve dated for a month. Still, I can’t shake what I know in my heart.

  Whatever is on his mind does not bode well for us.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Thursday, May 18

  Why have my calls for Rufus’s mom to pick up his ashes gone unanswered? Not only was it horrible of her to dump him here to be euthanized, but now she has fully abandoned him. For months, my friend has sat in a walnut box on my desk. Can she not see that he was worthy of love? Maybe she’s had a hard life filled with so much suffering that she had to turn away. I have to have faith in humanity and believe that there is a reason. Still, Rufus deserved better.

  Griffin walks past my desk on his way to a file cabinet. He backsteps and stops, looking down at me looking at Rufus. The warmth of his hand on my shoulder is comforting. “I know. I have sympathy for him too.”

  “Today it is more like empathy.”

  Griffin and I know each other so well that I can see his pressed lips and downcast gaze in my mind, even though my sight remains on Rufus. “You finally ready to talk about it,” he says, “or are you gonna tell me you are fine again? We both know you are not.”

  I close my eyes, not wanting to look at Rufus while wallowing over only having a taste of how he felt. “The distance in Jen
sen’s voice last night has me concerned that he is discovering I may not be what he wants.”

  “Yeah, I figured His Studness had something to do with it.” Griffin pulls up a chair and takes a seat next to me. His leaning in with clasped hands is his way of signaling that he is here to share the load. Frankly, I’m not sure how he can help, because the emotions flowing through me …

  Well, I just can’t seem to grip them.

  “This is lame. Sure, Jensen was a little distant, but is that really a red flag, or am I stupidly insecure that I’ll be abandoned like Rufus?”

  “Has Jensen given you any indication that he doesn’t want you?”

  “No, and maybe that is the problem. I can tell something is wrong. God, am I being a total idiot? I really have nothing to go on other than my gut.”

  He takes my hands, and I can tell what’s coming. Griffin knows that when I get confused, a little direction goes a long way. “Lizetta, have you considered that maybe you have nothing to do with whatever is wrong? It’s a new relationship. He may not be ready to open up. Generally, when it comes to the needs of others, you are selfless, but that is not how you are acting now. You are assuming the problem is your fault instead of accepting that the best way to help Jensen might be to give him space and be there when he is ready. It’s just like how I asked you this morning if you were okay, and you told me yes because you weren’t ready to talk. Why is he different? Because your heart is on the line?”

  He’s got me. “Yeah, that’s exactly why.”

  His grip tightens, lending me strength. “There is more though. Why do your eyes keep floating to Rufus?”

  I didn’t realize they were, but he is right. My eyes are dead on him right now, and I can’t get the smile on his face when we played fetch out of my mind. It’s like he is sending me a message from beyond that I can’t get. “Rufus was such an amazing dog. The way he faced his final day with courage and grace was admirable. He allowed himself to see the beauty in his last moments and drank it up.”