Twisted

Twisted | The Job

"Good Morning." I greeted as I trudged down the staircase.

"Good Morning, sleepyhead." Grace addressed back. She had already set her habitual two-course breakfast on the living room table where we would watch morning shows together and wait for any errors the anchors would commit. It was a silly habit, of course, but it rips away our minds off of things.

I never stop wondering to this day why Grace would rather stay with me and sacrifice her youth when she could easily leave me and save her the trouble of taking care of the crippled for a very long time. Though I am completely and irrevocably grateful to her for that.

"How was your sleep?" She asked.

              "No nightmares. Great." I responded with confidence. And I sounded finally proud of myself for having a complete week of soundproof siesta.

"Guess what I dreamed about last night." She said; enthusiasm in her chirpy tone. Grace has this uncanny ability to dream about what is gonna happen to me sometime in the future. Most times it would be lucid and straight to the point but sometimes, everything in her dream is in complete obscurity. We would still have to figure everything out and put the pieces together. And what's stranger about her ability was she could only dream about me and no one else; not even about herself. She could be in it but it couldn't be about her, it would always be about me. Her ability of future-predicting dreaming was already proven, several times, believe me.

              "I won the lottery?" I guessed optimistically.

She scoffed before taking a sip from her coffee. "You don't even bet. What, you think you'll magically have a ticket and your numbers get picked?"

"Possibly." I nodded and she chortled at my response.

              "Honey, you have to take your chances and bet first before you could even stand a tiny little chance in winning or even just getting two or three numbers."

"Don't they like... Pick from your grocery shopping cards and just call you and tell you, you won? They're just making it hard for us to win."

She laughed. "It doesn't work that way, Joey."

              "Whatever, Grace. What's your dream about this time? And please if it's about Greg Michaels puking in my blazer again, just save it."

She detonated another pack of laughter. "That was gross. That guy has the most intriguing, serious case of Chlamydia, God. Speaking of that, we just got invited at Selene's birthday on Friday. The invitations are at the fridge."

              "Are we going?"

"I guess so. It's Friday night after all. There's no reason why we shouldn't."

              "Yeah, and we've been friends with her since seventh grade, we should come and we should totally get gifts."

"Done! Also on top of the fridge," She snapped. "Hey, you should check out the invitations, they're—"

I cut her off, hitting her bare legs slightly with force. "Damn it, Grace, the dream!"

              "Oh right! Okay, so it goes like this. You're in a park and there's this kid crying at the swing. Then you came over to him, babbled something to his ear and then he stopped whining. Then there's this guy smiling at you and he came over to where you were and you two kissed."

"Okay that was nasty." I commented.

              "What do you mean nasty? You'll finally get your first kiss and you're whining?"