by Oakes, Tara
When I was a child, the dreams plagued me, causing screaming fits and endless tears. I didn’t know that I was the only one to have these nighttime fantasies. I thought everyone did. It was a second-grade assignment where we were asked to write a small page about our favorite dream that I realized I was different.
The kitty cats and unicorns that my classmates spoke of were foreign to me. My mom helped me with that homework assignment, convinced she could ensure a good grade. Though, I suspect she wanted to save me the embarrassment and ridicule that the truth would have brought.
For however upsetting the dreams made me, I know my parents were equally affected. There were endless doctor appointments, specialist referrals and testing to determine what ailed their little girl. When no cause could be found, and a corresponding cure no longer a possibility, the diagnosis given was psychological.
There were weekly therapy appointments, nightly melatonin treatments, and finally an arsenal of prescription elixirs to mask the symptoms.
They never worked, though. Short of sedation, there was no barrier that could be put in place to keep the dreams at bay.
I am the only girl I know who has never had the right of passage sleepovers that pre-teen girls subject themselves to. The risk was too high. Mom went to great lengths to keep my torment hidden. Other than relatives, there were never overnight guests in our home, and when there were, creative excuses were given to the rare witness to my calamity.
It’s amazing how adaptive children can be. It became my normal… the girl who had to sleep at home, never inviting her friends to spend the night.
It was successful though. The careful plan than mom and dad had constructed when I was young had helped me to navigate those awkward teen years without any ridicule for my hidden disorder. It was our little family secret.
That privacy and secrecy paved the way for my approach to many things in life. My college years were spent living at home, commuting to and from daily classes at Easton University, while my closest friends dormed in the coed living quarters on campus.
After a long night of studying, partying, or trying to act like your normal college undergrad, I would then take the forty-minute drive back home to the safety of my own bed.
Those habits die hard. I still sleep alone, although now as a young adult I have the luxury of my own little apartment, carefully chosen with only a nearly deaf little old lady as a wall-sharing neighbor.
The curse has other lasting consequences. Besides my two best friends, no one knows about the nightly visits to hell I endure. To keep that from changing, I take great pains to keep others at bay, a safe distance where my secret will remain secure.
The possibility of sharing time with a boy is not even an option to me. Because of that fear, I rarely accept anything beyond a second date. It’s easier to make random excuses, however untruthful, to avoid the type of affection that will lead to sharing my life with another. It would only lead to their discovering my secret and then hightailing it out of there, far away from the mentally unstable freak that has nightly panic attacks.
I convinced myself long ago that I was only protecting myself and my heart from the inevitable.
So now, lying here, awaiting the calmness that will eventually overtake me as the episode passes, I struggle to remember the details as they once again fade.
The damp sweat beading on my skin has long since chilled, slowly drying and disappearing along with the cause of its outbreak. I sigh loudly, thankful it has passed, relieved that the rest of the night will pass uneventfully.
I sip from the glass of water set out on my nightstand just hours before. My throat is raw from the effects of the dream, and so the liquid works some sort of magic on the aching flesh as I swallow.
My breathing has slowed. My pulse evens. I take the ribboned hair tie from the bedside drawer and clumsily tie back my thick wavy hair from the sweat-moistened nape of my neck. A chill has taken over, and I slip my feet back under the crumpled blankets that had been strewn about in my fit.
I smooth the crisp linens, straightening the bedding before settling back into the well broken-in pillows. It’ll be easier now. The threat of dark shadows no longer lingers over my sleep.
~*~
No!
Ring all you want. I will not answer.
I toss over onto my stomach to easily pull up at the sides of my oversized down-filled pillow, covering my head like earmuffs. Another ring. Another swear word is mumbled under my breath into the thick fluffy pillow.
Four more rings to go as I silently count down to when the answering machine will automatically trigger itself to end the torturous sound. I have to remember to change the ringer settings-- three rings should be enough, I think.
The last of the mechanical tolls chime before the listener hears my generic yet specific greeting to leave a message. The possibilities are pretty limited as to who’s listening to my pre-recorded missive.
Mom and dad don’t call before nine unless it’s an emergency. I’m not scheduled to work today, so the chances that anyone at the coffee house is ringing me are slim. I stopped seeing Paul weeks ago. I think it’s pretty safe to say that he won’t be calling after the way I left things between us.
I put my money on Courtney or Nina.
The rumbled clicking makes way through the plastic speaker of the nearby phone base on my nightstand.
“Wake up sleepyhead!”
Yup, it’s Court.
“We’re leaving my place now. That gives you less than thirty minutes to get out of that bed before I drag you out of it myself.”
Ugh. I drop the pillowed corners from the sides of my face. I know her well enough not to underestimate her threat. I do recall a specific morning about six months ago when she did just that… dragged me out of my bed.
We had impulsively signed up for some boot camp-styled workout course together during a moment of bloated weakness. I wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the prospect of sweating my pants off by some over-muscled, over-proteined, two-bit drill instructor with a thirst for making women so sick from exercise that they vomit outside on the sidewalk. No, thank you. I chose to sleep, instead.
Courtney literally rolled me out of bed at 5AM to tumble on my hard wooden floor in order to make sure we got to the class on time. I suffered through the ninety-minute obstacle course and bull horned commands only to stop by the Dunkin Donuts on my way home and officially withdraw from the class on their website later that day.
All it took to convince Court to join me in my boot camp mutiny escape plan was an iced coffee and a jelly doughnut.
“We’ll bring a thermos of coffee for the road. Thirty minutes, Leah!” she warns through my answering machine.
I flip onto my back and exhale deeply into the feathered pillowcase before me. Even if I pretend I didn’t hear the message, I know it will be no use. She has a key to my front door, and the last time she threw me from my bed my knee was bruised for weeks. I might as well face this head on.
Especially if she’s got coffee.
~*~
“We were supposed to be on the road ten minutes ago, Leah. How much longer?” Nina calls to me while I’m half buried under my bed, searching in vain for my old broken-in baseball hat.
The morning sun is rising higher through the bedroom windows offering a fair amount of light, but the far depths of this narrow space escape that benefit, leaving only my blind fingers to do the searching.
I flatten my palm and clap it against the smooth wood as my wrist moves about. “Got it!” I call out in echoed victory.
Carefully, I squirm back from under the wooden bedframe and dust myself off before my two friends.
“Fabulous! If we leave now, we can make up those last ten minutes by skipping the third bathroom break at two fifteen.” Nina doesn’t wait for a sign of agreement from either Courtney or myself before she stalks out of the room, fiddling with her mini iPad.
I have no doubt that she’s reworking our entire trip itinerary on that thing, to compe
nsate for my tardiness. She takes the type-A personality thing to a whole new level, that girl. I’m sure every meal, gas, and bathroom break is scheduled with no less than two alternatives apiece.
She and I couldn’t be more opposite in that regard. Where I can just sit back and roll with the punches, she needs to have everything planned out in great detail. If it isn’t, she becomes a mess to deal with… a certifiable basket-case on the edge of a breakdown. For all of our sakes, it’s just easier to let her have her little bit (well actually, a lot!) of control, than to have to be around her when she’s in a tailspin.
Court and I are left behind in her dust as she makes a beeline for the front door, as if that will somehow encourage us to follow. All it manages to do is cause Courtney and me to roll our eyes at each other.
“What else?” my best friend asks, looking around the room for any other pieces of luggage.
I pull up the extendable handle from the small roll-along tote.
“Nope. This is it.”
She casts her eyes down and onto the black rectangular suitcase in disbelief. “You can’t be serious, Leah. For real?”
My eyes widen. “Yes... why?”
She shakes her head. “We’ll be gone for five days. Five whole days and four whole nights. How is this possibly big enough for that amount of clothing?”
For however different Nina and are I in our organizational skills, Courtney and I are just as different in our sense of style. I had thought by now she would have given up on trying to transform me into her little clone. But, every once in a while a little comment like what she just said will pop out.
“Court, this isn’t makeover time. I promise I won’t embarrass you. Just… just don’t start in on my clothes.” I plead with her. I don’t have the energy to fight her off when she gets all fashion police on me.
She thinks long and hard on my request.
“We’ll take it day by day. What you’ve got on now isn’t terrible. Besides,” she reaches over to the long dresser and scoops up the handles of my carrycase of toiletries. “I hear they have great little shops in downtown Salem. We can always buy you some new things.”
I smile, thankful for the moment’s reprieve, and turn to follow Nina’s exit.
“Or… maybe even a whole new wardrobe,” Court suggests.
“Not a chance.” I tuck a few loose strands of hair that have escaped the confines of my navy blue baseball cap behind my ear.
The sound of the front door opening once again draws our attention although the bedroom wall blocks our view.
“We are now sixteen minutes behind schedule! If we don’t leave in the next three minutes, we’ll have to skip the first rest stop. And I won’t care how much coffee you’ve drunk. We will not stop.” Nina’s authoritative voice booms.
Courtney laughs to herself and I let her pass to appease our friend. I look around once more to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything in my rushed packing. Nope. I think I’ve got it all.
The wheels of the pull-along are stiff, having sat unused for months. It takes a little effort to get them rolling smoothly. As I move through the narrow hallway, I pass the opened door to the bathroom. With Court now safely out of range, I take the opportunity to make an inspection. It’s true my cap hides most of my light brown waves, but I think it looks all right. I mean, it may not be perfectly styled like Courtney’s but it’s not even seven in the morning yet and we’re driving in a convertible. I’d like to see what her long layered red hair looks like after the wind has had its way with it. Especially the extensions. That’s gonna be a mess to comb through.
The rest of what I’ve got going on looks decent enough. A pair of light-wash skinny jeans, a white V-neck t-shirt with a thin purple gauze scarf and a pair of dark brown leather strappy sandals.
I’m sure Court would pick this apart and start to foam at the mouth if I let her be my personal stylist, but she’ll have to learn to get over it.
This is as good as it gets, I tell myself as I nod one last time to the mirrored image of my half-asleep reflection.
I pull the door closed behind me and lock the deadbolt. I nod to Mr. Alderson, the middle-aged man from the second floor as he leaves for work dressed in his suit. He and I aren’t usually on the same schedule, so I don’t get to see him often.
His thinning hair and weathered skin show their wear. I know he commutes to work and is one of the first people to leave the lobby every morning.
“Hiya there, Leah! Kind of early for you this morning, hmm? Early shift?” He’s more than cordial. I’m surprised he remembers my name. I recall his calling me Lisa on more than one occasion.
I smile warmly to the man as we match strides through the aging lobby.
“Hi, Mr. Alderson. No… I’m going away with some friends for a girls’ trip.”
He notices my small suitcase and shows an expression of understanding as the information comes together. Once we reach the heavy front doors of the building, having passed the wall of metal mailboxes, he takes pity on me as I struggle to pull the stiff-wheeled luggage, and holds the large wooden-framed entranceway open for me.
The girls have pulled the navy blue convertible up front and center, waiting for me to join them. I can see Nina sitting in the front passenger seat checking her watch, probably making a mental tally of how many minutes my sluggishness has cost our estimated time of arrival in Salem.
“Well, have a safe trip,” Mr. Alderson calls out as he shifts the worn, weathered briefcase in his hands, letting the weight of the door swing shut behind us. He quickens his pace to the parking lot.
Courtney has left the trunk open for my suitcase to join theirs. She’s already added my other carry-on to the pile and I have to maneuver the bags around to ensure that mine will fit. Courtney is applying a thick layer of lip gloss in the rearview mirror and sees my lack of enthusiasm for the seating arrangement.
“First come, first serve, sweetheart. You’re rocking the back seat this time.” She smacks her lips together after her words to evenly spread her gloss.
Nina exits the car in order to lift her seat forward so I can crawl into the cramped back seat. If this is based on promptness, then my butt will be parked in the back of Court’s Infiniti every time. Especially if always-on-time Nina is my competition.
Once I’m semi-settled and moved over to behind Court’s own seat, Nina pushes her seat back and pulls out her trusty iPad to bring up our carefully laid-out travel plans.
Courtney turns the ignition and slowly pulls us out into the building traffic of early morning rush hour. We haven’t been able to pick up much speed yet, but it won’t be long before we hit the main highway from Abingdon.
Nina takes an old-fashioned styled handkerchief from her handbag and uses it to cover her hair, tying it under her chin like a 1960’s style woman out for a Sunday drive. All she needs now is a pair of white gloves and she’ll be as en vogue as Jackie O. Maybe some cat-eye sunglasses, too.
I shift to bring my knees up, snuggling into the leather of the bench seat. Let them keep the front seat. At least I’ll be able to stretch out and catch some of the sleep that they helped to interrupt this morning.
I gently place one and then the second ear bud in, swipe my finger across the screen of my phone, selecting something that I know will help lull me into a calmed daydream if not actual sleep.
I pull the well worn brim of my ancient Baltimore Orioles cap down over my eyes, cross my arms over my chest to add a little extra warmth to the early morning chill, and let the soft purr of the engine work its magic.
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About the Author
Tara Oakes is a new author from Long Island, N.Y. She lives with her husband and their little pet family. She is an avid reader,
a DIY'er and writer of all things romance. With several completed works, A Lil' Less Broken marks her debut into e-publishing.
When not writing or reading, Tara enjoys gardening (without much success) and all things Real Housewives related. Please feel free to contact her as all feedback and fan interaction is much welcomed and highly appreciated.
http://www.authortaraoakes.com
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tara-Oakes/1468537190061965?ref=hl
@Lil_oakes
