He’s a bit of a workaholic too, which doesn’t help. He’s a history and theology professor at the University of Portland, so we don’t get to spend as much time with him as we probably should.
I get more traits from my father than I do from my mother. We’re both overtly sensitive but with me, I can’t hide it. Sometimes I feel like I’m just a giant orb of vibrations and feelings that knocks everyone flat on their back, whereas my dad just puts it somewhere else (fuel for a later explosion). One big difference between us is his unwavering faithfulness. He just accepts things and moves on. I always have to question, always have to argue and always have to ask why until I’m blue in the face. I wish I could let things go as easily as he does.
For example, on this day, as my father drove us down the I-5 at a leisurely pace, I couldn’t stop thinking about yet another dream I had, whereas he would just pass it off as an ordinary nightmare and move on. But as long as I’ve been alive, “ordinary” was a term rarely applied to me.
Last night had been a normal Friday. I practiced a few songs on my guitar (I felt guilty for having neglected it), did laundry and watched a Family Guy episode or two before hitting the sack. Maybe it was the coffee I had so close to bed, but I couldn’t sleep for the longest time. I just tossed and turned as my ears picked up the slightest sounds, from Ada snoring lightly down the hallway to the faint rustle of the maple tree outside my window. Even the glowing numbers from my alarm clock made my room turn into a supernova.
I must have fallen asleep at some point in the night because I woke up with a start. My body felt ice cold from the inside out, like an IV drip was seeping into my bones and filling them with liquid terror. My breath was frozen. All my limbs were outside of the sheets, stiff as boards. They felt exposed and naked and I had visions of some monster coming and gnawing at them, or perhaps a small hand coming out from underneath my bed and peeling my toes and fingers off. I wanted nothing more than to stick my arms and legs inside my sheets and keep them safe. The fear was so real.
But I couldn’t move. Not because it was physically impossible but because I didn’t want to.
Someone was standing in front of my door. At first, I thought it was my housecoat hanging on the hook. My room was as dark as I’d ever seen it, and without turning my head to look, I knew the lights on my clock went out. As my eyes adjusted to the depths, I remembered that my housecoat was still in the dryer and this “thing” had dimensions and breadth to it.
I lay there watching it for what seemed like minutes. I don’t think I breathed once for fear of drawing attention to myself. I didn’t know what it was, but it kept very still, which was more disturbing. Sickening shivers worked up my spine.
A spotlight suddenly flashed through my room in one swoop, illuminating everything with precise intensity. For a split second I saw the thing. Saw a hooded coat made of oily, wet fur and then a face, no eyes, but one wide, white smile. The smile parted. Black gums. An abyss.
And then…
BLAAARP!
My alarm went off.
And in an instant it was the morning. Bright sunshine filled the room, exposing its harmless nooks and crannies. There was nothing at the door and everything was as I had left it. Gentle wafts of bacon and coffee drifted in from downstairs. It was just another dream.
I shuddered at the memory. My mom eyed me suspiciously in the rearview mirror.
“That’s what you get for wearing a sweater with holes in it.”
The air conditioner that my father had on full-blast definitely didn’t help, but I rolled my eyes and leaned my head on the cool window. Cars zipped past in all directions, the fields by the highway were bright green under the sharp, clear sky and defying autumn’s cold approach. Next week would be October and it still felt as fresh as a June day. At least we had that. My dreams would be a lot more poignant had we been enraptured in the normal fall weather of dark skies, howling winds and driving rain. Normally I loved the storms and the prickly atmosphere that went with Halloween and all things creepy. But two scary and remarkably realistic dreams, plus one alarming stranger in the lobby, and this accompanying anxious feeling, all had me a bit on edge.
Feeling eyes boring a hole into the side of my head, I turned and saw Ada staring at me. In her hands was a fashion magazine, in her ears, her iPod. I noticed how perfectly manicured her nails were, the brilliance of the red polish and the preciseness of the application. I didn’t need to look at my own hands to know what they looked like.
She narrowed her azure eyes. “What is with you lately?”
“What?” I asked, a little too defensively.
“I haven’t seen you this spacey since…,” she trailed off.
I gave her a sharp look and didn’t dare look at my mom in the rearview mirror. I knew she was watching me carefully.
“I’m fine,” I said sternly.
She leaned in a bit closer and lowered her voice.
“Did you have another dream again?”
I sighed and nodded.
“Same one?”
“No, different. Still as f—,” I stopped, remembering where I was, “—messed up, though.”
“I didn’t hear you screaming your head off this time.”
That was enough for my mother to get involved. I knew she had been waiting for an opening.
“What are you talking about?” She turned in her seat to look at us and focused in on me with motherly concern. “Are you having nightmares, Perry?”
“I don’t know if I would call them nightmares,” I replied as nonchalantly as possible. The last thing I needed was for my mother to start worrying that I was going Looney Tunes. She’d always been far too eager to jump to that conclusion.
Ada snorted. “She woke me up yesterday with her screams, totally messed up my morning routine. You should be glad you were out jogging mom; she was a mess. Totes.”
I shot Ada a look, more annoyed at her use of the word “totes” than anything else.
Mom gave me a sad look. “Screaming, Perry, really?”
I rolled my eyes and focused on the scenery flying past. “It was nothing. I don’t even remember what it was about.”
That was a total lie. I remembered it more clearly with each hour. Sharp, pointless details like the snags that ran along the lace trim of my nightgown.
I could feel my mom and Ada still staring at me. They were worried. It was the last thing I needed.