Love You to the Moon and Back

A Fiery Spirit - Fall of 2027

I feel the mattress drop as if someone is pressing down on it, and I flutter my sleepy eyes awake. I try to focus on my blurred vision, and on seeing nothing there, I close my eyes again to drift back into sleep. 

The mattress drops again, the press is more profound than the last, and I awake with a start. Again, I try to focus and wake up my senses. My head still lays on the pillow as I focus on my hearing. 

"Dominick," I hear my name in a familiar whisper. Soft, sweet, and ethereal. It has been four years since that whisper sounded in my ear. Still believing I am dreaming, I flutter my eyes closed again. "Dominick," I hear the murmur again, but there is pressure on my shoulder, and I can feel the soft, warm touch. I take a deep breath and inhale Clara's sweet vanilla scent. "Dominick, wake up!" My shoulder begins to rock back and forth. I snap open my eyes and am astonished to find Clara standing at the side of the bed I once shared with her. 

How is this possible? Clara left this world almost four years ago on a rainy Thursday afternoon, and instead of the withered shell her illness had reduced her to, she looks as vibrant and beautiful as the day we met. 

"Clara?" I whisper, my voice is hoarse with sleep. She retracts her hand from my shoulder, and I feel it grow cold as the warmth of her fingers fades. "Clara," I whisper again. Her brunette hair, accented by silvery streaks, softly falls around her shoulders, and she is wearing the flowy white lace negligee she wore when we consummated our love for the first time. I place my hands around her waist to pull her back. To pull her into our bed, remove the nightgown from her, and make love to her. I sit up against the headboard and gaze at her in disbelief. 

"Dominick," Clara whispers. "I'm not supposed to be here. Listen to me," Clara demands, pushing away from me, although I don't think she wants to be doing so from the look on her face. 

"I don't understand. Why? How are you here? Are you real?" I fling back the bed's covers, and my bare feet hit the floor. 

"Dominick, please listen to me. I'm serious. You have to get Nicky out of the house. Now! Do you hear me," she pleads as she backs away. I want to touch her again so badly, but she seems frightened by the prospect as something more urgent has brought her to me. 

In the distance, I can hear sirens growing louder, and soon, red and blue lights flicker in the bedroom window. "What's going on?"

"The house next door is on fire. You have to get Nicky out now. Please, Dominick, I'm begging you." 

I stand up; even though I am afraid of turning my back on her, I reluctantly go to the window to pull back the curtain. Fire trucks and emergency personnel are outside as flames spread through my neighbour's home. I swallow hard. My hand grips the curtain tighter as I turn back to look at Clara. "How did you know?"

"There's no time for questions. Please, Staten Island, save yourself and our child. I love you both." 

"Ladybug," I whisper quickly, striding across the bedroom floor towards her, but as I approach, she evaporates, and I am left alone in our bedroom. I shake my head and can still smell the scent of her perfume in the room. Another siren wails and the commotion grows louder outside. I snap fully awake and begin to execute Clara's order. I change from my pyjama bottoms into jeans, pull-on socks, and a heavy sweatshirt. I organize quickly and wear my tan wool overcoat and boots when I enter Nicky's bedroom. My keys and cell phone were in my pocket. 

"Monkey Butt," I called my son by his nickname as I flicked on the bedside lamp. I gently touched his shoulder to arouse him. He looked so peaceful. I was sorry to wake him. "Monkey Butt, wake up. Papa has to get you out of the house." 

Nicky fluttered his eyes open and glared at me. "I'm sorry to wake you, buddy, but I've got to get you out of the house. I don't want to frighten you, but Mrs. Anderson's home has a fire, and it may not be safe for us to be here." I went to his dresser and grabbed a thick pair of socks before grabbing his winter coat, hat, and boots from the closet. I pulled the blanket back off his bed and put on his socks. "Come on, Monkey Butt, help Papa out," I pleaded as I sat him up and slipped his arms through his coat. I zipped his jacket up, put his feet into his boots, secured his wool cap on his head, and then as a second thought, grabbed the downy quilt which covered his bed and wrapped it around him. As an afterthought, I picked up Quake, Clara's retrofitted Teddy Bear, from the foot of Nicky's bed and shoved him inside my coat. Once Nicky looked ready to survive the cold outside, I scooped him onto my hip. I carried him out of his room, down the stairs and out of the house. 

I sprinted across the street to where a wooden bench adorned the boulevard. Nicky had not made a single sound since I woke him from his slumber. He looked around at the commotion and cried out in fright. I sat on the bench, holding him tight in my arms and against my chest. "It's okay, buddy. Papa's got you. You're safe. Mommy made sure that both of us were safe," I soothed as I rocked him in my arms. Tears suddenly welled in my eyes as I hugged my little boy close. 

Had I dreamed of Clara's warning? Or had she appeared in our bedroom? I used to tell her that she was my earthly angel, but tonight as my heavenly angel, she might have saved our lives. Quake's voicebox activated on the hug. "Mommy loves you," emanated from Quake as I squeezed Nicky tighter. Clara's voice repeated, "Mommy loves you," again in the dark. "Yeah, Mommy does love you, Nicky, and she loves me too." I looked up from the warm bundle of my four-year-old in my arms to see the stream of pressurized water pouring on the burning structure of my neighbour's home. The authorities looked like they controlled the fire, and we would soon be safe inside our home. Other neighbours, including the Andersons, milled around further down the boulevard, and a news crew was broadcasting. 

I let out a breath. I trembled with fear and astonishment as tears slid down my cheeks. I closed my eyes, squeezed them tight and held Nicky even tighter to keep the chill air from us. I must have drifted into a brief sleep as I awoke to the sounds of engines firing up and doors slamming. The fire was out, and the first responders retreated from the scene. Except for the Andersons, my neighbours were dispersing back into their homes. I looked down at Nicky as he lay across my lap. Nicky's head rested in the crook of my arm, and my other arm supported the bend of his knees. He slept deeply and looked at peace. "Hey, Monkey Butt," I whispered. "We can go back inside," I said, glancing up at our home, thankful that it still stood in one piece. 

I stood up from the bench, Nicky still suspended in my arms, as I returned to our house. I was both physically and emotionally exhausted from the events of the fire. As I returned Nicky to his bedroom, he stirred in my arms and popped open his blue eyes. "It's all over," I softly whispered, "we can go back to sleep in our beds." I undressed Nicky from his winter layers and settled him back into his bed. Before turning off the bedside lamp, I took Quake from my coat and dropped him onto the sheets next to Nicky. I kissed his forehead. I would sacrifice my life for this little boy, just as Clara had sacrificed her life to bring him into the world. 

I inched down the hallway, discarding my winter layers on my bedroom floor before changing back into my pyjamas, crumpled on the bed. I slid into bed, closed my eyes, and dreamed of holding Clara in my arms.