Trust me, babe

Chapter 8

Kathryn

"You know I had an awesome dream last night," Persimmon told me, her green eyes sparkling with excitement. "The only downside of that dream was it being just that. Just a dream. I mean, if only it had been real it would've been absolutely perfect."

"Oh, great," I said, contemplating whether I should encourage her to go on with the story or rather just ignore her and concentrate on my geography project instead. Though I doubted it really even mattered: she'd probably tell me about it anyway, no matter if I encouraged her or ignored her. Persimmon was that kind of a person who didn't really even care if people listened or not. She just loved to talk. And, especially, talk about all her crushes.

"You know, we were in the cinema, and then he was there again," she babbled, simultaneously mixing her coffee with her spoon. "And this time, oh boy..." Her gaze drifted into the distance, a dreamy look on her face.

"This time what?" I asked. If she had to tell me this story now then she better tell it quickly and without all these dramatic pauses so that I could then finally concentrate on my geography project. I had barely been able to get started with it and it was due tomorrow.

Though knowing Persimmon I was pretty convinced that after finishing this story she'd just start babbling about something else. I couldn't understand how she herself ever managed to get any of her work done. She was the worst company if you wanted to get something done — which made it rather questionable that I so often hanged with her while simultaneously trying to do my homework — but the best when you needed distraction.

"This time we kissed," Persimmon sighed.

Persimmon had been at the cinema with Louisa last Saturday night — the night of our not so successful surfing trip. After that she hadn't talked about anything else but the guy who had sat next to her there. It seemed to me that she hadn't been watching the movie at all but rather that poor guy. But honestly, I was happy about it as it was probably thanks to Persimmon's ridiculous crush on that guy that she hadn't mentioned our surfing trip nor Samson even once this week.

"And it was so sweet — the kiss," she continued. "Until I woke up and realised I was kissing my pillow. Then it wasn't sweet anymore. Then my mouth just felt horribly dry and my pillow annoyingly wet."

"Eh, great," I said, flipping my pen in my hand, waiting for the moment I could fully delve into my geography work.

"Then I just had that horrible devastating moment where you mourn for the dream that you thought was true — and for which you would give anything to make it true. But you are forced to accept the excruciatingly painful fact that it was just a dream. And, to make matters even worse, the more you think about the dream the more hopeless it feels that it could actually ever become true. I'm sure you know that feeling."

"Err, yeah," I said. "I know that feeling." I didn't mention that for me the more common problem was the hopeless despair and self pity you faced when you woke up from a nightmare just to realise it hadn't been just a nightmare but a replay of an actual scene from your own past. No matter how hard I worked to push certain thoughts and memories away at daytime they would still haunt me at nightime, in my sleep when I was the most vulnerable.

I kept flipping my pen between my fingers, glancing first at my geography book and then at Persimmon, wondering whether the latter would keep claiming my attention or if I could finally give my full attention to the one it currently should belong to.

To my surprise, Persimmon's mouth remained shut as she stared at her coffee with a sad smile on her face. After the silence had lasted for a couple of minutes I decided that maybe this was my cue to finally really get to work.