Woken

by Michael Alexander

WOKEN

  a short story

  by Michael Alexander

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Copyright © 2012 by Michael Alexander

  WOKEN

  For years I could never remember having dreams.

  Or a dream for that matter.

  To be honest, I couldn’t even tell you when they started. All I could tell you is that I remember suddenly having them.

  I’ve never really been involved with other people’s dreams. It's not something that comes up in casual conversation, nor is it usual dinner conversation. And when I get to thinking about dreams, and life and how this or that ended up happening when it happened, I really don’t recall much of my life. Seems most of it is just a blur.

  The morning I woke up from another night of extremely deep sleep -- as far as I can recall, I have only slept deeply -- and realized I had a dream, I didn’t know what to make of it. But I knew somehow, I probably shouldn’t been so surprised about it.

  But I was.

  It was an odd dream. I couldn’t see anything, really couldn’t feel anything (I didn’t have enough experience on dreams to know if this was normal or not) but I could hear things. Or one thing. A beep.

  Beep…beep…beep…beep

  Same beep-sound, repeating over and over. It didn’t last long, and suddenly I was awake in the morning. I shook my head, thought about it for a minute, and pushed it aside. That helped in the meantime.

  I didn’t dream the next night, or the next, or the next after that. But I did have it again. I couldn’t tell, but it seemed the same length.

  Beep…beep…beep…beep.

  Always the same beep, sometimes four of them, sometimes more, sometimes less. But always the same beep.

  And then it all changed...

  --------------------------

 

  I love a run in the morning. The wind in my face, rush of blood in my veins. The pounding of the pavement beneath my feet. The sweat as it pours off my face, my limbs, and my hands. I’m sure it would be smart, but I don’t like to use sweatbands or anything of the sort. I just don’t feel as satisfied after the run when I had used them. So I stopped using anything of the sort a long time ago.

  Today I kept to the path. Sometimes I don’t and I run through the grass. Moving around trees, greeting the dog-walkers, I miss the hardness beneath the soles of my shoes, but love the smell in my face of nature as I disturb the morning dew from the night before. While I prefer the slapping of my feet hard and firm on the stretch of the running trail over a haphazard run through the grass, every once in awhile it's good to have a variation.

  I make sure to get up for the early sun as it is just coming up and over the horizon.

  And while that is all fine and good in the fall, winter and spring, summer can be painful. Sunrise at 5:45am just doesn’t make the best of runs, although admittedly I still do it.

  Again being on the same path, some people, walkers and some runners say it gets redundant or plain, it gets boring and they lose interest in running because of it. Yet to me it almost always feels different each day I run it. Same scenery, same plants, almost the same people and animals. Just thinking about it at times distracts me some from the run. Sometimes it distracts me so much I don’t realize how far I’ve gone, leaving me wonder how long I’ve been running.

  Today was like that. Today I was enjoying my distraction, the body moving almost of its own accord, like a train on rails that you just told to move forward and it had to obey for nowhere else to go but on the rails.

  And then the pain hit me.

  It was excruciating. My legs were running, the fresh air in my lungs, and then it felt like a million stings on my body, all at once. The breath I took in hit my lungs like ammonia, I coughed and couldn’t pull another breath after. I reached for my throat and my skin burned. I looked down at my hand in shock, and my legs gave out from under me. I hit the pavement hard and smacked my forehead against the ground, and blacked out.

  Beep…beep…beep…beep…beep

  I don’t know how much time passed, but I regained consciousness and lay still, making an assessment of what happened. Legs still feel there. I could feel the cold cement that I was laying on, the pressure of the clothes on my body, the feel on my shoes.

  I took a slow, deep breath. No pain though there was some still soreness, and cautiously inhaled again and again. My eyes hurt behind my eyelids, and woodenly put my hands up to feel them. After finding them intact, I opened them to look at my hands to check for...I don’t know, blood, dirt, something. At first it was hard to see them, and I didn’t register why. Pulling them closer to my face, I saw there was nothing on them. I pulled them away again, confusion at first why I couldn’t see them clearly, when I realized why.

  It was dark outside. There was hardly any light to see them by. I sat up suddenly to look around, but that was a mistake. I’m not sure how long I was lying there, but I got a head rush and had to put my head down, holding it in place, until the dizzy spell went away. I can’t quite think of where I am. And what brought me awake?

  I could hear the sounds of the night creatures stirring around me. A dog bark in the distance. A car horn somewhere behind me. That must have been it.

  Dark! I jumped up now in earnest, looking around.

  Odd, no one was there. I would think that someone might’ve found me or, now thinking about it, I would have been in the hospital.

  I ran home, not too hard, worried that I might have hurt something serious and not yet know, and getting into my apartment on Fourth Avenue and Cherry Street, I undress quickly and give myself a good look in the mirror.

  No bruises to speak of, no blood. Satisfied, I jump into the shower.

  Drying off, I noticed my answering machine light blinking. I hit the button, head over to the fridge, pull out some juice and drink while I listen to the messages.

  “Hi John. It’s me, Janice. I know, we already talked and planned it, but I don’t know…well, I guess…anyway, I don’t know. Why is this so hard? Well, John, yes, I would like to go to dinner tomorrow night. Could you, uhm, pick me up at 6:30? No, 7:00. No…yes…no, 6:30 is fine. Ok? Thanks. Look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Bye!”

  CRASH!

  I looked down and saw my juice bottle in pieces on the floor, the juice everywhere.

  That didn’t bother me. What bothered me was the time.

  8:00! I picked up the phone and called her.

  “Janice? Janice! Oh god! I am so sorry! I don’t know how to explain--”

  “Uhm, sorry, who is this?”

  Pause. “It's John.”

  “John? Oh -- John! Hi! What’s up? Uhm, did you get my message?”

  “Yes. Yes! I did get your message. That’s why I’m calling. I am so sorry! I don’t know what I was thinking. No, honestly, I don’t --”

  “John? It’s okay. I -- I understand. I, well, I don’t understand but its okay. I thought you wanted to go to dinner, so I called, like you said, and I kind of knew that if I didn’t accept your offer for dinner right away I might lose my chance, but if you don’t want to go out tomorrow night then, well, don’t beat yourself up over it. Well … thanks for calling though. I mean --”

  I didn’t know what she was talking about. Of course I wanted to go out with her. That’s why I asked her a couple of days ago. I’m the one that messed it up. What was she talking about?

  “Janice? Janice! No, wait, Janice. Wait. Can I talk? Yeah? Okay.” How do I put this? “Janice, I just got your message. I don’t know what happened today, but I am sorry. I fell down this morning while I was running, and when I got up, I was still on my trail from earlier, but it was dark. I hit my head, blacked out, and over 14 hours later, I got up and it was already 7:00.”

  “You hit your head? Oh no! John, a
re you okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I mean yes, I’m fine,” at least I still hope I am. Something seemed off, now that she asked, but couldn’t put my finger on it.

  “Are you sure?” Genuine concern was in her voice. “I mean, if you're sure, then you're sure. But, if you're not, I could -- well, I mean, should you see a doctor?” She stumbled over her last bit of speech.

  “Yeah, I am pretty sure. I probably should see someone, I know a physician at work and I could see what he thinks.”

  She sounded uncertain. “Ok, John. At work? Ok. I think you should see a doctor though. Are you sitting down right now? No? You should. You might have hurt something and not know it.” That’s an echo of what I was thinking. Hearing her say it didn’t make me feel better about it either. Just more doubt now if I am ok.

  “No, Janice I’m fine. Really. I ran back home about an hour ago, took a shower, and I am fine. No bruises, broken bones. Nothing sticking out where it shouldn’t be.” she laughed at that one. Good. Ease the tension a little bit. “Look Janice, the reason I called is because, as I said, I got your message and what I was trying to tell you was I really did want to pick you up. I could be there in half an hour or so, if you still want to go. I know it’s later, but I didn’t want you to think I blew you off.”

  Now she was the one pausing. What she said next made me really worried that something is wrong.

  “John, I just left you that message about an hour ago. Don’t get me wrong, but if you wanted to go out tonight, I could still make that happen. I couldn’t go out as planned tomorrow though--”

  “Tomorrow?” I cut her off, concern hitting me almost as hard as my earlier spill.

  “Yes, tomorrow. Uhm, John? You only asked me out to dinner last night. You wanted to go out on Thursday to avoid the ‘date night traffic’ as you put it.

  “It’s only Wednesday.”

  I looked at the digital display on my answering machine, and it confirmed what she said.

  The only thing that bothered me now, the factor that didn’t add up and later on that night would result in too much pondering and a resultant migraine, was small, simple, but scared me deeply. It was a minute detail that would result in a string of actions, activities and concatenation of events which would forever alter my life.

  Per Janice, today is Wednesday.

  But the problem now?

  This morning when I woke up, it was already Thursday.

 

  **********

 

  Even after everything that started buzzing through my head, I didn’t have a dream when I went to sleep.

  Last night I ended the call with Janice on a good note. She continued to insist that I should lie down, call a doctor and get checked out immediately. I kept up with the pretense that I was totally fine, that if the doctor saw me he might want to run some tests, which would all be a waste of money and time, and would end up telling me nothing was wrong.

  But she only let up when I told her that if I did see the doctor, I probably would miss out on a first date with a very beautiful woman, whom has a pretty full-mouth smile, full lips, and a head-turning figure to die for. She laughed when I ended by telling her that she should be the one to see a doctor to make sure nothing’s wrong by accepting the dinner date with me.

  It did make me puzzled why she would hedge and haw a bit whenever I mentioned my physician friend at work though. Was she already seeing him? I’ve seen them talk on and off, but he never once mentioned to me that he asked her out. Didn’t even say he liked her. How did he describe her? Oh yeah.

  “Dude, she’s like the fresh morning breeze in the air that you wish you could hold onto forever, but then realize it is just too good to be true. You go for it if you think she would accept a date.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean, Brian?” He dodged a punch I threw at his arm.

  “Well, you’ve known her for months, but never talk with her. I mean, look at her! Long legs, nice hips, round full breasts. And how she walks!” He pretended to swoon. “Seriously, though, I understand why you wouldn’t want to talk with her. It's intimidating, to say the least. Even for a guy.

  “But that’s why I have no problem talking with her.’

  “Uhm, what?” I smiled. “Are you gay? No problem if you are! Don’t get me wrong--” It was my turn to dodge the swing now.

  Laughing, he said, “No man, I’m not gay. I just know I don’t have a chance. So, no fear of what she thinks of me when I talk with her. I have nothing to lose.”

  So, I asked her out. I had nothing to lose.

  I’ll admit I was scared immensely. In fact, I thought my knees were going to buckle, especially when I walked up to her and said her name with a questioning tone of voice. She had turned around with a big full smile on her face, and it lit up like I had just awarded her some major amount of prize money.

  Worse were her eyes -- they sparkled.

  “Yes?” she said lightly, leaning forward a little with her hands thrown behind her back.

  I hesitated and frowned, stumbling back a bit.

  “Janice, right? Hey, well I would like to ask you out on a date. A full date. I mean, not a “full” full date, but a full date. Dinner, walk, you know. Thursday night. To stay away from the date traffic on Fridays and stuff -- er, Saturdays. You know.” I didn’t even have to look in the mirror to know I was probably the color of a radish. My ears were hot.

  She was trying to suppress a giggle. That wasn’t helping me out at all.

  “A date? John, right? Look John, here’s the deal,” she started, and rocked back and forth a little on her heels. I didn’t like the way this was sounding. “I haven’t even really met you before. Don’t get me wrong or anything. You are a very cute guy, handsome, too. The only problem is that I need to handle something before I could give you an answer. But,” she smiled, “I would love to go on a date on Thursday with you, but can I call you tomorrow with a definite answer?”

  I slowly turned around to walk away. “its okay, Janice, really. I thought it would have be--” and stopped. I looked back at her face. “Wait. You would like to go out?”

  “Yes.”

  “With me?”

  “With you.”

  “On Thursday?”

  She laughed. One humorous, gorgeous lilting laugh. Putting her hand to cover her mouth after the fact, she said, “Yes! But could you just let me handle something and then call you to really confirm it?”

  “Yes! Oh, sorry,” I had almost shouted that last one. Damn, I feel like I’m in grade school going on a first date or something. “yes. I can wait. It's no rush. I don’t want to wait…” my eyes widened and I took a step forward. “That wasn’t supposed to come out! I definitely want to wait. No, I mean I definitely can wait, until you call me that is. You know what I mean, right?”

  She laughed, and then so did I. Her eyes sparkled, big, full-mouth smile, and all the tension washed away.

 

  **********

  There’s an old saying, “All good things must come to an end.”

  Whoever said that was truly an asshole.

  Oh, “Good things come to those who wait.” That’s another one that the author of should have just shut his mouth.

  The problem is that I have waited, for a very, very long time. I’m in my early-thirties. Ok, so I’m 32. I have dated a few women, slept with a couple of them. I didn’t date continuously but always had long times in between dates. I even went on a couple of blind dates. (Don’t do it. Well, maybe you could and it would go great, right? Well, mine were horrendous. At least what I remember of them. I think I tried to block them out, because I can’t seem to remember them all that well. Go figure.)

  So I have been waiting. A pretty long time, too. And now that I finally am supposed to go out with someone who is downright beautiful, a woman too, responsible, late 20’s….

  “All good things must come to an end.”

  Mine didn’t even seem like it started, much less coming to
an end.

  Yeah, a real asshole.

  So, back in my apartment, phone call resolved, situation under control, I ate my dinner. Cleaning up the dishes, I turn the TV on for some background noise.

  I’m washing a cutting knife when it slips in my soapy hands. Trying to grab it before it hit the floor, the sharp side of the blade cuts open the palm of my hand.

  “Shit,” I said, slightly under my breath.” I pick up the knife by the handle from the floor, put it in the sink, rinse off my cut (“Damn that stings,” cringing in pain) and towel dry while I’m walking to the bathroom for some medical gauze.

  After patching up my hand, I give the sink one look, turn away and go to bed.

  Maybe I should have done something different. Maybe I should have eaten some more greens. Maybe I should have gone over to a friend’s place and had a drink; or to the doctor like I said I would (or at least my colleague).

  Maybe, maybe, maybe.

  But whatever I did today, whatever triggered it to happen again, I dreamed again.

  Only this time, right before the dream started, I woke up and screamed in pain.