By the time I filled my parents in on everything, ate dinner, and survived a lecture of responsibility from my dad that was honestly unnecessary, it was nearly ten. I was exhausted, mentally and physically. I slumped upstairs to my room and hit the sheets without a second to spare. The sheets were warm around my legs, and the fabric smelled of pure comfort. I guess that scent is different for everybody. I lay still, thinking over the events of the day and the improbability of them all being actual reality. I thought about how my mind was probably just seeing things in a desperate attempt to be sentimental. I had always been an overly sentimental person, trying to make connections with the past and never wanting to let them go. I stared up at my white ceiling full of colorful pictures. Pictures of family. A few of me and Annalise sprinkled here and there, and even some of a particular creature that Annalise loved capturing through her lens- that is, if they would let her. Butterflies. I never knew why I kept these pictures here. Sometimes they were painful, but then other times, they were a comfort. They were part of my family too, in a way. Now, the glistening eyes of all these subjects stared down at me with a purpose. As though searching me. I met each one of them with nothing to reveal. It was in this moment that I realized what I must do. There was only one way I could tell if my musings were, in fact, truth. I had to dream the same dream again. And pay close attention this time. I had to notice every detail, absorb every crevice of the boy’s features. I had to know if my musings were in fact, truth. For the first time, I was welcoming this dream instead of dreading it. Fiery with my new resolution, I swiftly nestled under my sheets and reached over to switch off my light. After a few blurred seconds, the world around me went black.
In my dream, I was flying. I was flying desperately, as I had the many nights before. The scenery was the same. The rain was the same, beating me like a drum. I passed the same streets. I smelled the same smells. Even the same people passed my confused flutters along the street. And the faithful music pulled me closer and closer to the porch I had become so familiar with. It was all a repeat, just as I had expected.
One thing, however, I noticed was different. As I came upon the porch, I saw a form. The same form. Yet different somehow. The strumming arms were stronger, and the voice deep as the sea. An occasional roughness was present in the sound, reminding me of rolling waves that disrupt the calm waters, yet add dimension and depth to it’s surface. As I flew in closer to land on the railing, I squinted my tiny eyes in order to better see the sheltered form. My legs hit the wood, and my heart fell into my stomach as I saw the final identity of the figure in front of me. It was him. It was the young boy all grown up.
I observed him intricately as he walked closer to my spot on the rail, taking in every detail as though I would never see him again. I wanted to remember everything when I woke up. My mind flashed back to today. It was as if the two memories were playing back side by side in my mind. The crash. The voice. The beautiful face knocking on my window in apology. The music. The eyes. It was him. I had to be. I was sure of it.
I woke up suddenly after the dream hit it’s close. The usual cold sweat drenched my trembling form and my irregular breathing disrupted the otherwise peaceful night. I knew what I saw. This boy was real. And he was here. And for some reason I was supposed to recognize that fact.