HOME | DD

Description
Fantasy

Some things are too easy to forget, like picking up the lottery tickets, or stopping by the bank on your way home. Other things… aren't as easy, like trying to remember whether or not you are awake.

     I supposed I could've just pinched myself, but would that have worked, since I was dreaming my whole life? If every feeling I had ever felt, every relationship I had ever been in, and pretty much everything else that I have grown to know had all been part of a dream, then why would pinching myself feel any different than the morning before, and the one before that?

     I lean on the bathroom counter and stare at my reflection as it tries to tell me what had happened last night. *When did I start dreaming?* I had come home from work, welcomed by a delicious dinner: Roast Beef and Mashed potatoes with gravy and fried onions – a bit of a redneck's meal, but I still loved it, and Susan knew that. Then I had washed up and sat back in the living room while Susan cleaned the kitchen. Another hour passed and it was time for her to leave. I paid her in advance for the wonderful meal and thanked her before she walked out the door. Her hand was on the knob when she stopped cold, looked at the check in her hand, and turned around to look me in the eyes.

"You're a special man, Mr. Petersen. It truly is an honor to work for you."

     I didn't know what to say to her. I was tired, and had even had a few drinks, so I nodded and gave her a quick, and possibly inaudible, "Thank you." She glanced again at the check and reluctantly walked out the door. I don't know why it took me so long to put her actions together – the way her eyes pry into my back when I eat her meals, the way she seems to make every one of my footsteps as clean as possible – but when she turned her head away from me, I realized that she had given up hope. Either that or someone she had loved dearly had just passed away. That's usually what those types of frowns mean, right? She wasn't walking out of my apartment with such a grave face because she had fallen in love, but more likely because she had lost love. So the gasp of surprise and joy that left her lips when my hand prevented the door from closing surprised me little.

"When I say thank you, I mean that it is more of an honor to have you work for me, Mrs. Trenton."

     She had smiled, and at the return of her hope, I knew that she felt more for me than she let on. I had only wished that I had grown to know her more. I only knew her name and the fact that she could cook. Most men would jump into a relationship with that knowledge alone, but I also knew one more thing about Susan Trenton, and that is that she is a very special girl and completely out of the league for most men. I guess I am a special man, after all.

     She had smiled, and replied in such a gentle, yet shy, voice, "You don't suppose I could spend the night, do you Mr. Petersen? I'm afraid the weather is just too unmerciful for me to walk home tonight."

"Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt too much. But if you are to have my bed, then I insist you call me Richard and not Mr. Petersen."

     We stayed up late – well past midnight, talking about our lives: where we grew up, how we were schooled, and how our relationships were with our parents. I had learned more about Susan that night than I had in the entire three years that she had worked for me. We even shared the same bed that night, keeping each other busy with our love making until the sun came up. I would call in sick that day, and it would be the truth. I was sick… with love.

     *But when had I started dreaming?* My reflection tells me nothing other than the fact that the bruise beneath my right cheek and the gash in my forehead had not come from love making. Well, what else had happened? My eyes widen in remembrance. It was not the sun that had signaled the end of our romance. It was the street lights. It felt so much later that night than it really was, and so I automatically mistook the streetlights for the sun. *Yes, that's right.*

     Yes, we had made love, but it was still early morning when we had drifted off to sleep. I remember the dream I had that night. *Do You? Or was that already part of the dream?* I had dreamt that we were at my mother's funeral and Susan had bought me flowers: roses – several of them, each with their own personal glow. I had dreamt next that we were at her mother's funeral, and I had done the same, only I brought her daffodils, each with its own personality. We had been together in my dream, and we had given each other our hearts. *Was it real?*

     I had woken up around 8 a.m. this morning, and the bed was empty. Naturally my first thought was that she was a whore, and I would have to hire a new maid that night, but I wouldn't give in to that assumption so easily, so I jumped from the bed and searched for her. The kitchen was empty, though still spotless. The living room – clean. Bedroom – smelt like sex. I had come to the bathroom door and was relieved to hear the shower running on the other side. I pressed my fingertips against the wood and felt myself rise to the humming of her voice. It was so sweet, and a symphony I knew well. The wood was warm beneath my hand, and I could feel the rough texture beneath as I slid my hand off.
*But then…*

     Then is when I had stopped dreaming. The sound of the rushing water stopped cold, and the warmth beneath my hand instantly died. I knocked on the door, curious. "Susan? Susan?!" Yelling didn't help my headache, which suddenly filled my head to every corner with intense pain and heat. I rushed in the bathroom and found nothing. The shower was off, and had been off for a long time. I hurried to the kitchen, and found a pile of T.V. dinners next to the microwave. The living room smelt of wine. My bed – empty and very lonely. *It was just a dream.*

     My reflection tells me that it was All a dream, that there never was a beginning. I shake my head and look at my arm. *It was just a dream. No need to fuss.* I sigh and rinse my face off before walking back to the bed with the skin of my forearm held between the nails of my thumb and forefinger. I squeeze, trying to assure myself that I am truly awake. I squeeze and hold it there until I gasp with the pain and blood drips onto the carpet. *It was all a dream.*