Dreams

Chapter 3

One time a few years ago we were supposed to keep dream journals for school. I totally blew the whole project off because I didn't feel like lying and making up dreams, and there was no way I was going to admit to my class that I dream about Maribelle Watson every night. So I just said I forgot to do it and accepted getting a bad grade. My parents were less than thrilled.

On the whole I take school very seriously. I never blow off assignments, so when I didn't do that one both my parents and my teacher were concerned. I honestly didn't care that much. I don't even enjoy school that much, the only reason I try for good grades is because I don't really know what else to do. I don't have a lot of hobbies, or friends, for that matter, so it's not like I have a lot of other demands on my time. So I do the homework. I get good grades. I do extra credit. I'm a model student.

When I'm not doing homework I'm mostly reading. I've read more books than almost anyone else I know. I like to enjoy adventures vicariously, because I sure don't live like that. I tell myself that the people in books are fictions who live in a dream world, and I couldn't be like them if I wanted to. But the truth is that I'm just too scared to do anything in real life. Everything has possible negative results, I count the cost and the risk doesn't seem worth it. So I go back to my homework.

I'm widely considered the class nerd. I let people think that, because it's a role I can easily fit into. I even dress and act in ways that fulfill that stereotype, but I stay away from the other nerds. Why? Well, it's because I'm not actually that smart. I just know things, I just do the work.

I was doing alright with this way of life, but then my mom decided that my life wasn't productive or fulfilling for me. And I mean, hey, I guess she has a point, I do homework for fun and live for dreams.

I was sitting in my room, doing...well, doing homework, when mom came in. She was almost tiptoeing, and she smiled sheepishly when she saw me.

"Mom?"

"Ethan, I need to talk to you."

I put my pencil down and gestured to the bed, "Okay." she sat. "What's up, Mom?"

She paused before saying anything, and smiled at me.  She probably would have ruffled my hair, too, but I wasn't within her reach. "I'm worried about you, Ethan." she said.

"Why?"

"You don't spend much time with friends, you just stay cooped up here doing school all the time, or reading. You don't get excited about anything."

I was nervous about where this was going, but she's my mom. I figured I'd hear her out. "But what's wrong with that? I'm doing good. I get good grades in school, and I stay out of trouble."

She smiled sadly and shook her head. "That's not enough, Ethan. It's not enough in life just to stay alive. I want you to thrive, to be happy, to care about things."

I sighed. I knew what she meant. It's the kind of life people have in books. The kind of life she has. My mom works part time in a coffee shop, but she really just does that for fun. My dad is the main provider in the family, but with me in school all day she didn't just want to be sitting around doing nothing while he worked. So she found herself a job in a coffee shop, where she makes really great expensive coffees, or sometimes sings live music for the customers. When she's not doing that she's always painting, or sketching, or writing poetry, or taking care of me.

"So what do you want me to do?"

She sat back and studied me. "I don't know." she said. "I guess I want you to try some different stuff until you find something that sets you alive."

I sighed again and rubbed my eyes. This sounded like one of Mom's exhausting projects to me.

She grinned, "I have an idea. How about tomorrow you skip school. I'll take off work and we can do something together. Sound like fun?"

How many teenagers have parents who ask them to skip school? How many teenagers have to hesitate before answering?

"Okay."