Dreams | Dreamer Series Pt. I | Currently on hold

Chapter 2 (Awake)

Awake

     I had looked, worriedly, out the eastern-facing windows of my second-story bedroom on Blood Orange Avenue in Reno, Nevada, I found myself wishing why something more interesting didn't happen in my excitement-deprived life. But really, what had I expected? I lived in Reno, not Hollywood. Not New York City, not Chicago, not any big city. I was on the verge of my eighth birthday, waiting eagerly to receive the title of 'Honorary Big Girl.' It seems stupid, looking back on it now, but when you're young, all you want is to be a grown-up, when you're that, you want even more to be a kid again. But, hey, who ever said life was fair?

     For more than half my life, I haven't been surprised by hardly anything. I've always seen it coming. Now I sit on that exact windowsill, looking out at the same view I have been for that eight years since my first Dream. As I rest my head on my balled-up fist, a blacker-than-black truck drives down my street. I lift my head wearily and watch the truck. It brakes. Right in front of my house, just across the street. The truck's windows are tinted almost as dark as the truck itself, so there is no possible way I am finding out who's in that car. I gasp and swear under my breath, ducking under the windowsill as I do so. 

     But, just as they always do, my mother bursts into my room, without knocking, I might add, to tell me it's time for dinner. 

     "What are you doing on the floor like that?" she asks, a confused look on her face.

     "Uhm..." I stutter. "I dropped an earring. Looking for it in the carpet," I reach for my earlobe, and force a smile.

     "Well, when you find it, come down stairs. It's--" I cut her off first.

     "Time for dinner," I finish. "I know. Found it!" I fake picking up a stud from the ground and rise, looking over my shoulder as I do so, checking if the truck is still there, and, much to my surprise, it's gone. " Be down in a minute, Mom."

     She nods and leaves the room. I look back to the street again, checking if my imagination has the best of me, but no, the truck is gone. I scramble to put on a random pair of rhinestone stud earrings in my ears so my mother soesn't question why I'm not wearing any earrings after I looked all over the carpet for. While I'm up at my jewelry stand, I pluck a pair of silver balls from the rack and stuff them into the holes in the tops of my ears. 

     I rush out of my room and blow down the stairs, but on the middle stair, I pause and take a deep breath, because nearly everytime I just thunder down the stairs without stopping, I get an immense headache, making me dizzy. I breathe deeply and go the rest of the way down the stairs. I skip as carelessly as I can without revealing the worry behind the black truck.

     Dad and Beckett are already sitting at the dining room table, and Mom is taking her Wonder Woman apron off and hanging on our apron hooks. Beckett is my younger brother, by three years. He's a freshman, or, as I like to call him, Fresh Meat. I remember being in his position. Thinking that, hey, I made it this far, made it to high school, and I must be the top of the world. He thinks he is sooo cool. And he thinks it's funny to swear in front of his friends. And I mean a lot. I mean, this kid curses more in one day than I have this whole year. I swear to God. 

     Everyone in my family has an apron. Each with a theme. Mom's is Wonder Woman, as I mentioned before, my Dad's is one that says, "Stand Clear: Men Cooking," with tools printed all over it. Beckett has one with a full-body glow-in-the-dark skeleton on it. And... mine has a TARDIS on it. (A/N if you know what that is, then DON"T BLINK. EVER.) I love Doctor Who. With a passion. See, my mother does bread and sides and salads and such, my Dad does the meat, Beckett makes appetizers, and then while everyone else is digesting, I throw stuff together and make the most amazing dessert you have ever tasted. Unless you've had better. But that's unlikely!

     I'm a 'Baker Prodigy' as my girls call me. Sometimes I make cakes, like zebra cakes, or sometimes layer cakes; or ice cream, like mint or vanilla or strawberry; or, on very special occasions, I'll even make ganache. Ganache is amazing, cakey, liquidy, fabulous deliciousness. If you've never heard of it, then you seriously need to Google it. For REAL. 

     Anyway, now that I'm done ranting about my baking skills, let's get down to business. Mom made garlic bread, caesar salad, and scalloped potatoes. Dad made lamb, just grilled. Beckett made a little soup-y type thing, that I don't really want to try because it's lumpy and weird, but I taste it anyway, and it tastes exactly how it looks. I think I'll make a quick milkshake with my blender real quick, because I need to call Avorie.

     After dinner, I bust into the kitchen, throw some sugar, milk, ice, and frozen strawberries into the blender. I press the button and hold it down for a minute, waiting until the mixture gets thick and frothy.  When I've judged the shake to be thick enough, I take our frosted mugs out of the freezer and dump the milkshake into the mugs. The pink mixture makes me think of a flamingo, and luckily, I have a few pink umbrella toothpicks left over from my birthday party. I pluck the cheerful miniature umbrellas into the mugs and hook two mugs over each hand, bringing desert out to my eargerly awaiting family. I can't stay downstairs, so I take my milkshake upstairs, and dial Avorie.

     See, Avorie does tarot readings. Her mother was very good at the psychic arts in her days, and she passed down the art to Avorie. When I ask Avorie to read my cards, she tells me she doesn't quite know how to do it over the phone yet. She asks if I can come over, and I yell down to Mom that I'm going over to Avorie's for a little bit, and I'll be back in a little while. She reminds me to be back at nine, and I'm out the door. 

     I drive to Avorie's house in my white Chevy Sonic, arriving there in five minutes. She leads me upstairs to her room, and pulls out her box of Zen Tarot Cards. She tells me to get my question ready, shuffles the cards twice, exactly twice, pulls the pile into thirds, and I send my wish to the cards. She gathers the cards up, first pile oone, then three, the two, and she takes the first five cards and arranges them in the shape of a star. She flips them over in the same order that she placed them, and reads my answer to me.  

     My Question: Is this destiny inevitable?