Till We Dream Again
How do you remember silence? How does the thing you remember most about a night of drunk sex is hearing nothing? But I swear everything was silent. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but that’s what I remember.
Even though it felt so good to finally have him inside me. To finally feel his weight on top of me. To wrap my legs around his back. To have him stare in my eyes. I must have been moaning. My lips touched his ear. His were on my neck. I must have been screaming but silence is all I remember.
And when I woke up on his chest the next morning, my mind took me back to the first time we met. Him reaching for my hand and telling me his name was Justin. Me telling him my own name. Steve shadowing.
There was something there even then. Something ironic about the entire scene, familiar even. Like deja vu but more subtle. It wasn’t like I’d been inside Justin’s house before, but him. He seemed so familiar.
But Steve had brought me there so I kept it cool. I didn’t want to be completely disrespectful. They were friends, good friends. And Steve and I were…whatever we were. We were friends, yes. A bit more even. But we weren’t actually anything.
I met Steve the end of first semester, the semester I decided I wasn’t going back. It was actually my second year in university, but I already knew this wasn’t what I wanted. Studying biology in class was one thing, but when I took an internship at Sick Kids my first summer, I knew I couldn’t do it.
Seeing people younger than me fighting for their lives every single day. Knowing too many of them wouldn’t make it. Knowing even the best doctors in the world could only save some of them, and that the others were terminal. That thought was too much. I went back to school for one more semester, but had already checked out.
Sometimes I think the whole Sick Kids thing was just an excuse, though. A really good one, but an excuse all the same. University was really just a way for me to get out of Valleyfield. A full scholarship meant my parents didn’t have to pay for anything, and I could live in the city I’ve dreamed of since before my accident.
But going to class four times a week for something that never really excited me wasn’t going to last. I knew that pretty early on. And when I finally decided I had enough, the city opened up even more.
Plus being on campus reminded me too much of being in Valleyfield. Everyone belonged to some kind of group, every boy belonged to some girl. I caught myself having to be careful again, almost sneaky about who I hooked up with. Taking those walks to different dorms was like taking those walks to different boys houses back in high school. And I wasn’t about to relive any part of my existence in Valleyfield.
Not here. Not in Toronto. Not now, not ever. I had already started waitressing the semester before I dropped out. I told my manager I can take on more shifts and he gave them to me.
Waitressing was perfect. I saved up enough money for first and last in less than two months once I started getting better shifts. That was huge since I technically shouldn’t have been staying in my dorm room, which I was right up until I moved out that April.
But that wasn’t the best part. The best part about being a waitress was meeting all these people. I loved it. Without even trying I got invited to nightclubs, theatres, concerts, private parties. And in most cases I didn’t have to pay for anything. Just show up, or I should say just get picked up and go.
Being a waitress also put me in some awkward situations. On more than one occasion, I got called out by girlfriends for being too friendly with their guys. Or that’s what they thought. It was my job to be friendly, but they took a flip of my hair at the wrong moment as flirting. Or the way their guy smiled back at me when I introduced myself as me leading them on.
More than anything, though, it was my eyes. I could approach a table straight faced, act like a bitch on day two of her period and still stir up some kind of insecurity from whichever female on the other end of the table was wondering why I’m flirting with her boyfriend.
Of course it wasn’t true. Most of the time. But sometimes. Sometimes it was just way too much fun. And way too easy. Guys can be such dicks, especially when they start thinking with it. And especially when I wanted it.
All it took was an extra smile, a glance or two a moment too long. Some guys would come find me, searching through the restaurant like a little puppy looking for its owner. Sometimes I took their number, but most of the time I politely lied and said “Sorry, but I’m already taken.” Just like that, in a pretentious, almost sarcastic tone, then watched them pout on the way back to their seat.
But other guys, the ones I wanted, the ones that looked too delicious to risk not tasting. Those were the ones I plotted on. Those were the tables I checked up on one too many times, barely looking at the girlfriends when going over the specials or asking if they wanted dessert.
Those were the ones who left their numbers on napkins or their business cards under plates. Sometimes I got bold and left my own number on the bill, carefully creased and set on his side of the table.
“Is there a reason you’re only looking at him,” they would ask. Or more directly, “I’m sorry, but I don’t appreciate you flirting with my boyfriend/fiance/husband right in front of my face.”
I always apologized. Told them there was some kind of miscommunication. “I’m just trying to be friendly,” I would object. “I would never intentionally do anything like that.”
Sometimes they bought it. Mostly they didn’t. That’s how I met Steve. He was at my restaurant with a friend, a girl. Grey eyes, straight dark brown hair, cute but nothing special. I couldn’t tell if they were together or not. It really didn’t matter at all, though. When she got up to go to the bathroom, I walked right up to him.
“Hand me your phone.” Steve didn’t even flinch. He unlocked his phone and I dialed my number.
“Use it,” I told him. “Nights are usually better for me.”
But it was an odd thing with Steve. We hooked up a few times, but it always felt more like a friendship. Like a silent agreement that if none of us had anyone else for the night, we would end up together. And together didn’t mean we did anything more than watching a movie in my room, or smoke a joint and pass out on the couch. And neither of us cared if the other slept over, which was normally a no no, especially for me.
I couldn’t say we were together, though. And now here I was laying in his best friend’s bed. His best friend underneath me counting the beauty marks on my back. And it all felt so familiar. Scary almost.
“There was a boy, and we spoke to each other,” I continued. “Like back and forth like it was real life. Different conversations all the time. And then he always asked me if I was dreaming, and I asked him the same thing. We both knew. We both knew we were dreaming. But we both knew we were two real people. That somewhere we both had our own lives, and that we would each wake up in different homes, on different beds, till the next time we saw each other.”
Justin didn’t say anything. I thought he fell back asleep. But he just stood up, calmly. He looked at me, still not saying anything.
“The alcohol finally wear off?” I smiled but was being serious.
“Till we dream again.”
My turn to stare. “Till we dream again.”
Scared now again. Genuinely. Justin started pacing the room but never took his eyes off me. I sat up, sheets at my ankles.
“There’s no fucking way this is possible.” Justin sat at the edge of the bed, close enough so he could put both hands on my face.
“Are we dreaming right now?” I couldn’t answer. “Tell me; are we fucking dreaming?”
He kept my face in his hands. We stared. In a way it was still a dream. That we were in the same room, same apartment, same city. It was incredible we were living in the same world at the same time.
“It’s real.” My first words. I held Justin’s wrists. “All of it. It’s really, real.”
His eyes were first to tears. I was still catching up to the moment. Justin finally pulled away and opened his drawer.
“If this is a dream I shouldn’t be able to sniff this. Everything would be perfect. I would wake up right before I put this straw to the plate.”
Justin inhaled. Deep, hard. He shook his head and opened his eyes.
The following is an excerpt from my upcoming novel BEAUTY SCARS. Would love to hear your thoughts.
My current novella THOUGHTS OF A FRACTURED SOUL is out now. Find it on Amazon, Chapters, or Barnes and Noble here.
