. . . I . . .
Really, the most troubling thing about the whole ordeal had been the dreams. Miranda’s dreams were often vague and whimsical, with her never remembering anything aside a few amusing fragments for her to recall to Adrian over coffee. It was…it was if she had plastic wrap stretched around her in dreams. As if she grew a second layer of thin transparent skin that let nothing sink in deep enough to make an impact.
Miranda made a lazy right into the parking lot.
Recently, it was if something had torn away the plastic wrap, and she felt strangely vulnerable without it. Now she remembered every bit of her dreams with almost disturbing lucidity, something she had never done in her entire life.
But that was the only thing the ordeal had really changed. And really, it wasn’t like they were bad dreams or anything. Not good ones either, just…well, dreams.
She threw the car into reverse and carefully settled into a spot.
Last night saw the return of one she hadn’t seen since medical school- the dream of her and Adrian living in a black-and-white 50s sitcom, à la Andy Griffith. Every time she had the dream in the past, she had been profoundly disturbed to see that, in that twisted dreamverse, she was a quaint little housewife who spent her days smiling at people and baking domestic little pastries. Adrian would lose his long ponytail in exchange for hilariously unironic pipe.
But back in school, the dream had been hazy. Now she saw every detail, smelled the cakes (slightly burnt), saw the wax-wane, wax-wane of the smoke trailing from Adrian’s pipe. But the one thing that stood out in her mind most was the three seats at the dinner table, and the fact that when they sat down, neither of them touched their plates. They simply sat and stared at the empty seat, which swam in her vision through the web of undulating pipe smog like a mirage, so small, so empty.
Miranda turned the key, and the car fell silent.
And then there were the dreams that were just plain strange
. Two nights ago she had dreamed of being alone in Adrian’s office, the only light coming from his aquarium of tin-hued fish. Suddenly, a tick...tick...tick
noise started from somewhere, louder than a clock.
She had panicked, scrambling through the mess of papers and files on his desk, tossing manila folders pinwheeling in the air as she grew more and more desperate to find the sound. Then, struck by sudden epiphany, she ran over to the fish tank. Sure enough, sunken into the aquarium’s sandy bottom was a large, slightly trembling egg that let out a cascade of bubbles with each tick.
Miranda fished it out, and the ticking which had grown louder with each passing second suddenly ceased. The egg gave a violent shudder, and Miranda suddenly realized that, somehow, she had saved it from drowning. She soothed it, stroking its pebbly surface, textured like a river stone. It’s okay. It’s okay.
She had woken up with tears in her eyes.
But dreams were dreams. And this was reality, and this was the parking lot of the local H-E-B. She needed to get out of the car before she burnt to a crisp. Spring had come early, and the Texan sun had returned along with it. It was a beautiful blue day. The tree that shaded her car had opened its new flowers to the cool air. Everything was perfect.
, she told herself, letting her head rest on the steering wheel. One minute you get to remember
. She closed her eyes.
edited 19th Sep '10 6:41:08 PM by Latia