Broken Sweet Dreamers

Chapter 1 - New Beginnings

I regained my voice after the final time I entered a dream.

The dream was insignificant, as was the dreamer. I completed my usual routine: find the dreamers and wake them up. Rinse and repeat.

And I was desperate to escape them. All of them—I no longer wanted to travel through the dreamscape. Not after I broke up with Grey and had to unembed my consciousness from him. It was so hard to end up in a dream with someone who knew you were there, not just a figment of their subconscious. And an ex, on top of that? Talk about awkwardness.

Fortunately, Grey never wanted to be in a dream with me, either. If I didn't end it first, he would.

It took a long, painful amount of time to be free of each other finally. Our minds seemed to get that they could no longer stay attached. And although it was an emptiness I had never felt before, him no longer joining me in my dreams, it was welcomed.

But I couldn't stop there. I wanted to be free from my dreams, period. Because ever since I found out through a dream that Grey's father was my Dad's murderer, the glitter of dream traveling lost its allure—it was tainted by the dark side every person seemed to harbor.

Everyone held a secret. And I no longer wanted to be the one to bear them.

So when I woke up from that final dream, which I hadn't yet known would be the last, a scratchy whimper passed through my lips.

To say I was shocked would be an understatement. It was as if my body knew my voice was back. And aching to use it, it went from dormant within me to begging for a release.

Shaking away my distracted thoughts, I finished typing an email to an applicant wondering why their WES evaluation had not been received yet despite them having sent it to us three weeks ago.

"Always the same questions," I mumbled under my breath as I reread the email again to ensure it was perfect.

"Please have them resend it at your earliest convenience. Best regards...." I clicked the "Send and Resolve" button on Slate, the software system we used to email applicants, handle their applications, and perform other marketing purposes. The email disappeared, and I was back in my inbox, which was finally empty after a long day.

My supervisor, who stayed later than usual that day, stood over the barrier that separated our desks for privacy. She gave me a sympathetic smile. "How's it going?"

"Good," I chirped. "Although it may be beneficial for Suzanne to send another email to the specialists reminding them that the applicants keep sending their information to undergrad instead of us."

We worked in one of Columbia's schools for their master's programs. Unfortunately, when sending transcripts, applicants failed to follow directions and kept sending them to undergrad Columbia College. This resulted in frustration for everyone and a lack of accountability from the applicants. Suzanne, my supervisor's boss, was great at reminding people to do their jobs—and certain applicants to behave like the adults they were.

"Okay, I'll note that to her right now."

We were up to our necks in the busy season, which tends to be around January through April, but was starting early in November this year. That meant everyone was racing to make deadlines, and their panic often fell on my team, Admissions Operations. We were the ones who released decisions and rejections for applicants, uploaded their WES' which is an international verification system for schools outside the US and Canada, to make sure their bachelor's degrees were the US equivalent, and a lot more duties. A lot of those were receiving transcripts internationally (outside of WES) and domestically. We were the skin barrier of the team, the ones who stopped as much fraud as possible and helped upkeep the institution's integrity.

"I'm so ready for this weekend. Do any of you have any plans?" my supervisor asked as she continued typing on her computer.

All of our desks were connected; the people across from us had a higher barrier, but the people on the right and left of us had a barrier a lot shorter. This meant a lot of communication and collaboration, something that would've terrified me back when I hadn't had a voice but was now something I welcomed with open arms.

My coworker to the left of me, Austin—who also held the same position as me—shrugged and said, "Probably will be staying home. I need a break."

My supervisor smiled, saying, "I think that's a good choice. I'm looking forward to that, too. How about you, Charles?"

Charles sat across from Austin and held the same title as me and him. Although we had the same title, we split up our assigned responsibilities. It was also a union position, so as much as the work was fulfilling, it wasn't too demanding. He had been there the longest, 10+ years.

His head peeked over the barrier while looking towards Maria, our supervisor, next to him. "Me and the wife will probably be watching some soccer together."

Maria's eyes lit up as they divulged into momentary discourse about recent highlights from the teams they were fond of. I didn't have a thing for any of it, so I kept quiet as I packed up my belongings from my desk and locked my desk drawer.

Being twenty-three and working in an office filled with people with much more life experience was weird. Most of them were married or in a relationship, talking about their houses and big moves, and I was stuck in New York City with two roommates. Although I loved them, don't get me wrong.

I was rooming with Mindy, who also pursued a career in the city, and our best friend from college, Petra.

Mindy, along with the rest of our high school friend group, was amazing. It was easiest for us to stay the closest in contact because we went to college together and were roommates. That didn't stop us from seeing the rest of the group whenever they could make it into the city. Which was rare.

"Don't forget about that social and happy hour event on Thursday. We're really trying to reel in connections for the students in our college. The more companies willing to work with us and accept our alumnus, the better," Maria said, with a playful glare on her face, tearing me away from my thoughts.

"No, Maria, definitely didn't forget! I'll see you guys on Monday! Well, I'll Zoom you." We laughed and said our goodbyes.

That was another fantastic thing about working at Columbia University. After the pandemic, we were allowed to work from home three days a week. Other departments and schools in Columbia resumed a schedule of in-office work much sooner, but my school still blessed us with a hybrid schedule.

It was a quick walk to the train. I reminisced about life outside the city, waiting for it to arrive at that stuffy station to take me home.

Mom and Jared finally got married, a wedding 17-year-old and younger Hazel would've never approved of. But with growth and happiness for my mom, she began her life with someone willing to be everything she now needed and more.

They married a month after I left college and had a beautiful reception in my hometown. Being back there was nostalgic, and a part of me felt homesick—but the other part couldn't be happier that I didn't have to be around all those idiots who made me miserable.

The train rolled into the station, packed to the brim. Usually, I'd wait, but I was feeling exhausted. I squeezed in, putting on my headphones.

Life was a tad bit mundane now. College came and went. The parties, the people, and the instructors all felt like a distant memory. We were grown up, had our apartments, had to move on with life and pay off any student loans if we had them.

This was the rest of my life.

And to be honest, I was okay with that. It was a welcomed distraction.

Because the guilt that plagued me lay heavy in the back of my mind.