Maybe It was Just a Dream
carlet hated sleeping — sleeping meant dreaming and dreaming meant nightmares. It had always been that way, night after night, for as long as she could remember. Terrifying nightmares would jerk her awake, breathless and dewy with sweat, leaving her feeling restless and wanting.
But recently, her nightmares had been interrupted by a dream. The dream wasn’t scary or frightening. It was about a door: an ordinary door, slightly weathered through the years, adorned with brass handles and a floral doorknocker.
In the dream, the door would open — as if meant only for her — and she would pass through it into some sort of lush rainforest . . .
Bright, yellow light peaked through the treetops; she could taste the fresh condensation of dew from the surrounding plants. But, oddly enough, there wasn’t a single sound beyond the door, as if she had stepped into a world of perfect silence. It had an otherworld quality, as dreams often do. Yet each time she stepped into this new world, she was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. And the moment she felt that dread, she would wake up.
It was the third time this week that the dream had interrupted her slumber. Notwithstanding its sheer improbability, it felt real.
Or maybe it was just a door.
Maybe it was just a dream.
Her sleepy, grey eyes shot open.
Narnia isn’t real, she thought as she fought to suppress the dream. People don’t go falling through wardrobes into alternate dimensions, and they surely don’t walk through dream doors into a tropical paradise.
“Stop putting so much stock in a dream,” she whispered aloud. She shook her head, as if to shake the dream away.
A baritone voice came from beside her, “Narnia again?”
She sat up slowly, draping one of her gangly legs off the side of her bed. Without looking toward the voice, she snapped, “Shut up, Jensen.”
Jensen was always in her room before she woke up. He didn’t sleep much, and he hated to be alone. She couldn’t understand that about him; she loved being alone, free from the constant noise of other people. Growing up as a kid with no family could go either way, but there wasn’t much room for middle ground.
Laughing, he shot back, “What? It’s so easy to tell when it’s that damn door dream. You get the funniest look on your face. It’s like I can’t tell whether you’ve had some astounding epiphany or you should be committed.”
His amber eyes softened as he laughed at his own joke. Scarlet looked at him, seated on the floor of her room, back against the wall, newspaper in hand. “I just don’t know what to make of it . . .” she started to say.
She shoved the wrinkled blankets off of her and looked over at the empty, yet perfectly made, twin bed next to hers. Marnie’s up early, she thought. Usually Marnie stayed up all night and slept in late. But instead of gossiping with friends all night like most thirteen-year-old girls, Marnie usually stayed up reading, covers pulled up to her chin and her heart-shaped face softly lit by the reading light above her bed.
What time is it anyway? Scarlet squinted at the clock and read 9:15 am. Damn, no wonder I’m the last one up.
Marnie had lived with the Parsons for years before Scarlet arrived, and Scarlet had shared Marnie’s room since that first day. Both of them had lain in bed, quietly reading into the wee hours of the night when Marnie had suddenly peaked out from her latest novel and asked, “Have you ever felt like you have one, true purpose in life, but you just can’t put your finger on what that might be?” Before Scarlet could even begin to answer, Marnie was already back to her book.
Rubbing her temples, Scarlet continued, “Jensen, it has to be real. I mean, I can still feel it — the warmth of the sun on my shoulders. When I’m there, there’s this part of me that knows I’m not dreaming. But . . .” she squinted her eyes and looked back at the blank, white walls of her room, “I was dreaming.” She flung herself back down on the bed feeling defeated. “Ughhhh! It can’t be real.”
“Okay Crazy, let’s go get breakfast.”
She climbed lazily out of bed, her plum brown hair tumbling down her shoulders in an unkempt mess. She checked her reflection in the mirror and was shocked by her pallor.
“Hey, I’ll meet you down there. I just need to rinse off. Gotta wake myself up a bit.”
“Whatever you need, Princess.” He grinned, and ducked just as a pillow came flying at his head.
Scarlet’s shower was a welcome respite. She stood directly under the stream, letting the scalding hot water pour over her head and wash away all thoughts of dreams and doors.
As Scarlet came down the stairs, she could hear the familiar commotion wafting from the kitchen. It was Monday morning, but more importantly, it was the first week of camp for most of the kids, and from the sounds of it, they could hardly contain their excitement.
Suddenly, the headache hit her like whiplash as she rounded the corner into the kitchen, the same dull ache she had been fighting off for the better half of her young life. At seventeen years old, she probably had had more migraines than the average person had in a lifetime. With it came an uneasy feeling in her stomach, as if there were butterflies fluttering about, forcing her to the brink of nausea. While she had come to accept the migraines as part of her life — much like an allergy, but instead of pollen, her allergy seemed to be to people — she still wished that they would go away.
The headaches often happened at mealtimes, or in class, or at the mall, or walking through the park, or really, any time she wasn’t sequestered in her room. Consequently, she preferred being alone. Solace meant silence, and silence meant her mind could be at ease.
She closed her eyes momentarily, took a deep breath, and willed the feelings away, wishing desperately for an imaginary butterfly swatter. She was only partially successful, but it was better than nothing.
Breakfast was a dozen scrambled eggs, an entire loaf of toast stacked so high it oddly resembled the leaning tower of Pisa, and a variety of sugary generic cereals that did nothing to quiet the mob currently buzzing about the kitchen.
Tess, only eleven but with the superiority complex of an authority figure three times her age, tripped over a pair of soccer cleats and began to berate everyone around her.
“Are you guys kidding me?” she screamed over the chaos. Her blonde ponytail whipped wildly as she looked around the room. “You act like a bunch of animals! Why can’t you all be civilized?”
No one even flinched at her tirade.
Jensen attempted to mollify the young authoritarian. “Come on Tess, be nice. They’re only kids, you know.” He winked at Scarlet, who was still standing in the hallway, watching the scene with a mixture of discomfort and amusement.
“I never behaved like that when I was a kid,” Tess whined, slicking back her hair and tightening her already too-tight ponytail.
“I’m sure you didn’t, but cut them some slack. Not everyone’s as mature as you.”
“Well that is clear as day.” The eleven-year-old huffed as she sat down to eat her cereal, only looking up to glare at the kids disapprovingly in between bites.
Scarlet sat down across from Jensen as they both attempted to stifle their laughter. Jensen got up and made a plate, filling it so far beyond its capacity that it threatened to topple over. He set both the plate and an entire box of cereal in front of Scarlet before sitting back down.
“Are you serious? Who do you think I am, a linebacker?” She pushed the plate of food toward him.
“We really need to fatten you up; you’re skin and bones.” He pushed the plate back toward her.
She sighed hopelessly, absently picking at the toast. “I am not, and I do eat.”
“You snack, at best. You hardly ever eat at meals.”
“I eat constantly. I’m just not into big meals.” The truth was that her headaches killed her appetite and always hit her around mealtime. So, she would steal away into the pantry at odd hours of the day to grab anything quick and portable.
“Well, Hot Cheetos and candy are not gonna help you grow big and strong, are they Lola?” Jensen grabbed the smallest of the bunch, a little girl with a round,...