The Man In My Dreams

Chapter 1| Unwanted Dreams

   “It was that sort of sleep in which you wake every hour and think to yourself that you have not been sleeping at all; you can remember dreams that are like reflections, daytime thinking slightly warped.”
~Kim Stanley Robinson, Icehenge

My life was like a constant tug-of-war, and Mommy, my well-intentioned but ever-persistent aunt, was always on the opposing team, pulling me toward the inevitable. Her relentless harping about marriage was a never-ending torment, and it seemed to amplify every day.

Turning twenty-six in a month was daunting, but it wasn't a milestone I needed to be reminded of on a daily basis. I couldn't fathom why people believed that marriage equaled happiness in our modern world. To me, it was more of a legal act, a solemn vow that often transformed lovers into adversaries, leading them down the perilous road to divorce.

Being a devout Catholic, I couldn't reconcile the concept of divorce with my beliefs. Marriage was sacred for many, but it wasn't a path I wished to tread. My aversion to marriage was just one part of my unconventional life. I had no interest in relationships or children. Contentment lay in my career, music, and art.

"Chelsea! Chel! Are you okay?" Laura, my best friend, and a proud member of the LGBTQ+ community, snapped me out of my thoughts. I stood on the stage, clutching my guitar, ready to perform.

🎶 Night life, wild and free,
It's a feeling that's hard to believe.
Bright lights, shining stars,
Bars alight, wild at night.
Echoes of pleasure and peace,
In the club, the screams never cease.
Hands in the air, in the moment we thrive,
In the night life, we come alive. 🎶

As our performance ended, our boss signaled for us to get back to work. It was a typical Friday night at the bar, where time blurred and the night unfolded wildly.

The clock struck 2:00 AM when I finally made it home. Mommy, with her honey-brown hair, ocean-blue eyes, and warm Latina skin, was asleep on the living room couch. Exhausted, I grabbed a blanket from the closet and covered her, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead.

She was all I had, and despite her relentless insistence on my marriage, I couldn't help but love her. I trudged to my room, shedding my jacket and collapsed onto my bed, drifting into slumber. I was too tired to remember my medicine, and the thought slipped from my exhausted mind.

In my dream, I found myself in a vast flower field, captivated by a towering figure. My mind and body seemed at odds. If I had my way, I wouldn't have approached this stranger. My head was the wisest operator of my body, not my fragile heart.

I loathed the moments when my body defied my rational mind, but there I was, compelled forward, as if a bride anxiously advancing toward her groom at the altar.

I had always been taught not to judge by appearances, to read the pages within. Still, the sight of this enigmatic man, almost 6'2", with a sculpted physique and the expensive black coat that grooms typically wore, left me anxious and perplexed.

Why was I here, and why was I dreaming of a man, the gender I had little fondness for? I reluctantly coaxed myself forward as my heart raced with fear and excitement. An anxious sense of desire washed over me, mixed with a dash of happiness and anxiety. It was a bewildering cocktail of emotions.

I knew better than to overload my heart with such intense feelings. After all, I was warned by doctors to avoid excessive emotions, as they strained my already frail heart.

As I drew closer, my hands trembled, and perspiration covered my palms. It wasn't from the cold or fear; it was like the sensation of gazing at a distant crush from afar.

My steps were inexorable, and soon, I stood before him, looking up into his face, which the sun's rays had obscured. I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to remember him, to etch this moment into memory so he wouldn't vanish like a wisp of a dream.

Just a few more steps, and his face would become clear, no longer obstructed by the sun's glare. My heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and dread. The anxiety became palpable, and I couldn't help but fear that my heart might give in to the strain.

I felt shivers race down my spine, not from fear, but from excitement and longing. But who was he? What purpose did he serve, appearing in my dreams? My hatred for men surged, especially for the one responsible for robbing me of peaceful slumber and replacing it with restless nights.

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Bella Angel Douglas 16