Dream of Me

November 20

Dazed, I changed my course and busted into Addison's room where she lay sleeping.

"Where's dad?" I yelled, startling her from her slumber and receiving a groggy what, I don't know, before actually realizing that she really wouldn't know. Upon entering my father's room, I really understood that something was gravely wrong due to his absence. I looked in almost every room of the house until I found him in his study, on the ground, unmoving.

"Dad!" I boomed as I ran to his side, terrified of the reality that I had created unwillingly, unable to grasp that the nightmare had not ended, it only intensified. He stirred, looked up at me.

"What? What's going on," he wondered, blinking as he tried to understand his surroundings. "I think I was sleep walking."

"No, it's not that. We need to get you to the hospital. Now." The urgency that he heard in my voice startled him, and he struggled to stand up in order to acquire a more serious stance.

"August, that's really not necessary. Are you alright? I'm more worried about you," he looked me up and down, frowning noticeably, as he observed my tear-stained cheeks and ruby eyes. "What's going on?" he asked again.

"We need to go to the hospital. Just trust me. You weren't sleep walking." He stared at me still, unsure of how to answer and unsure of what his strung out son was meaning. He took a step, but stumbled slightly, bringing his hand to his head as the dizziness once again clouded his vision. "See?" I said, a little too loudly, "we need to go."

"How do you know? Why are you even awake?" He trailed off.

"I just know!" I yelled, exasperated, scared, unable to explain how a dream could apply to the real world, my frustration welling up in my eyes once more. He looked at me again, this time I saw a rush of understanding, or at least I thought it was that, change his composure. As we stood in a silent stare, Addison walked into the room, rubbing her eyes, wondering what all the noise was about. "Get in the car, Ad. We need to take dad to the hospital."

"What? What's going on?" I saw the same panic begin to creep into her eyes, and I didn't want to worry her, though I knew comforting words would soon be found untrue.

"I'm not sure," I lied, "let's just get in the car." I helped him hobble out to the front; he was still dizzy and unable to walk on his own. As I drove us to the nearest hospital, I considered the facts. Never before had I witnessed the sickness or pain of someone I knew in the real world. Usually I woke up right before someone, or myself, died in a dream. If my dreaming was capable of transcending barriers into the real world, taking pain and sickness with it... But it wasn't an "if." It was true, and I was living that truth as I drove my father to the hospital. Drastic solutions flooded my mind, all promising an end to the possibility of future pain to the people around me.

We arrived at the hospital and rushed to get him into a room as fast as possible. We waited for hours in the emergency waiting room, hours in the actual observation room, and hours as tests and questions followed. It was decided that they would keep him overnight for observation, but they didn't tell us what was going on or what we should anticipate. Addison and I refused to leave. We sat in the chairs across from the bed, waiting. For what? We didn't know. My father rested on the bed, still confused, and I could tell that he was thinking about the morning, what I had said, how I had known to wake up and bring him here. He said nothing, though, and I was almost grateful for that because I didn't want to attempt to explain. I didn't want him to think I was losing my mind. We all sat there, awake but silent, until gradually we all fell asleep, Addison and I in creaky contortionist styles. I tried to keep myself awake, afraid of what else I could dream to life, but I was unable to dismiss myself from slumber. My eyes closed, mind wandered, and finally, sleep came.