The Dream Whisperer

Chapter 2

I got up late in the morning. Izzie was visiting. Since moving away to college, she usually came over every other weekend to have breakfast with our parents. She seemed to believe, and I quote, “A family that eats together, stays together.” She was kind of goofy in that dorky way. Her brunette curls framed a square face. Brown eyes peeked out from behind spectacles. She wore a Doctor Who shirt with jeans and a light hoodie over it.

“Hey there, sleepy head” my mom called to me as I entered the kitchen. My mom basically looked like me. Or rather, I looked like my mom. At any and every family gathering, her cousins never failed to tell me how I was an exact replica of Mary Palmer from when she was my age. A round face, a pointed button nose, full lips, and brunette hair. The only things my sister and I hadn’t inherited from our mom were our eyes. Those came from Dad’s side of the family. Large, heavy-lidded, almond shaped brown eyes.

“Hey, dumbass” Izzie chimed from the table looking at me.

“Morning” I called back distractedly. I was still a little shaky from the dream.

“Everything okay? You look like you didn’t get enough sleep.” said Dad.  He was sitting at the table next to Izzie reading the paper with a mug of steaming coffee. He looked at me with parental concern, the kind he had when I had a fever that wouldn’t come down.

“Naah… I’m fine. Just need some food in me.” I replied. No reason to start worrying them with my prophetic dreams now. And I really was hungry.

There was a knock on the front door. Huh… Who was calling this early on a Saturday?

“I’ll get it!”

I ran to the door and peeked out. A tall guy of about eighteen stood on my welcome mat. He wore a Gryffindor Quidditch t- shirt and a black hoodie. Tall, lanky with a mop of black curls on his head, he was basically a darker skinned version of BBC’s Sherlock.  

Ian. Of course! He usually came over for breakfast if I had any of my dreams. He always insisted it was because of my mom’s cooking but I knew it was because he was a big ol’ softie and wanted to make sure I was okay.

“Is that pancakes I smell?” He shoved past me without even waiting for a reply.

“Good morning to you too and come on in” I mumbled as I shut the door.

“Ian! My man! How are you?” I heard my dad’s gruff voice ask.

“I’m doing okay Mr. P. You looking forward to Liverpool’s match today? ” Ian asked.

They quickly launched into discussing the EPL. I swear to god, sometimes it seemed like football was the only thing they ever talked about. Izzie was busy telling mom about this new professor who’d started teaching last week. She nodded to Ian once as way of greeting. Mom moved around the table handing Ian a plate of pancakes. I leaned against the counter looking at the four of them sitting around eating breakfast. Dad was laughing at something Ian had said. Ian looked around the table and spotted me at the counter. He raised an eyebrow. You okay? He seemed to ask. I nodded and turned towards the kitchen to get some food. Mom’s pancakes were awesome. I decided my anxiety was partly due to my empty stomach which was currently making dying whale noises.  I quickly shoveled pancakes onto a plate and began wolfing them down.

“Whoa! Honey, slow down. What’s the hurry?” mom asked.

 “Nothing. I just need to get to the library today. Have a lot to do.” I managed between bites.

Ian looked at me quizzically. He knew we didn’t have any major work for the weekend. Why? He mouthed. I shook my head. Later, I managed to mouth back as discreetly as possible.

We sat around the table till a little after eleven. Mom promised lunch at 2 and begged us not to be late. Dad had some work lined up for the day. My sister drove off to meet some old friends who still lived nearby. I ran to my room to grab my bag and shoved my cell phone, an umbrella and some money into it. For good measure, I took a spare notebook. I’d need to write stuff down if I wanted things to start making sense. I slid down the banister and saw Ian standing in my hallway, lost in thought.

“Hey. You okay?” I asked echoing his earlier unspoken question.

He looked up and smiled. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About?” I prompted. He seemed unusually pensive.

“Not here.” He said looking around to make sure none of my family was around.

We stepped outside into the cool July air.  It was a sunny day considering the rain we’d had for the past few weeks. Side by side, we walked down the street. It would take us about fifteen minutes to reach the library from my house. Ian continued to be silent.

“Mind telling me what’s on your mind? Because you’re kinda freaking me out with the whole deep-in-thought thing.” I said trying to sound nonchalant.

“Sorry. I was just thinking. Your dream. It seemed so… Unusual. I was up late last night just thinking. Why would you see something so graphic? What caused it?” he didn’t wait for me to reply to any of his questions. I could see he was still lost in his own thoughts.

“That’s why we’re going to the library.” I replied.

He looked at me. “You think the answers to your weird, prophetic, paranormal dreams’ origin will be hidden in our battered old local library?”

“No, Mr. Skeptic. I thought we’d look into some… Research” I ended lamely.

“Research?” he asked.

“Okay, you’re gonna laugh or make fun of me but I was thinking of going through some Freudian work to make sense of- you suck!” I hit his arm as he started snickering.

“I’m sorry” he chuckled. “It’s just. It sounds kind of far-fetched to think that Freud had an answer to this! That too in the place where you first visited Wonderland. It's not like this is the American Freud Archive or anything.” he said struggling to keep a straight face.

Okay. I’ll agree. He did have a point. Usually there was someone who explained this stuff to you. Hagrid told you, you were a wizard. Gandalf told you, you possessed the Ring. People would tell you things so that you could make sense of the world and your place in it. Right? Maybe not. Maybe you were supposed to figure it out on your own in real life. Maybe you needed to carve your own place in the world. I guess because in reality, you could only ever depend on yourself. 

“Jackie, I’m sorry. We’ll find something.” He promised.

 Told you. Ian could calm down my worries without really saying anything. 

Okay, maybe you could depend on one more person other than yourself.