A Walk Down Ivy Laine

Thursday, October 2, 2014 - Being Edited to 3rd person-

Midafternoon

This morning started with the strangest dream.

There is first a single seagull.

Then the entire colony.

A massive horde of gray-tipped gulls with their lack-luster pearl wings squaw, trill, and circle above the house in the oddest way she'd ever seen, then dive-bombed and smashed against the roof, one by one. The single bedroom window barely closed in time before they swooped and crashed against the glass. It didn't break, but it soon would. Was this real?

Thud...thud...thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, thud, THUD, THUD, THUD!

Somehow, along with the loud hammering on the roof and unbearable crunch against the window---it called to Ivy again after all these years, awakening once more. Willy, growling, hackles raised toward the window as the flamboyant winged kamikazes repeatedly smacked the glass, hadn't noticed her dazed behavior above the roar. The onslaught was distant in her ears, senses shifting, dwindling to focus on only one thing. All she heard was them. The whispers. Somehow the secret board on the wall was suddenly loose, tossed aside without remembrance, and the dusty journal was between her fingers once again...

I wake with a start. The clock on my ancient nightstand reads six a.m. There is only silence and orange light. I screw my eyes shut and cling desperately to the good parts of the nightmare---my old house, my father's smile, the scent of the peach trees---but they slip away, fading with every passing heartbeat. Curling up like a cat, I hug my pillow and wish the other remaining painful memories to subside. It always takes a while, but eventually the monsters faded away as well.

After a safe estimated amount of time I roll onto my back and stare into the darkness of my attic bedroom. The gulls are gone. Or were they ever here? A salt-tinged breeze blows in gently from the single window across the room, its tendrils caressing my sweaty face. I kick at the blanket, sticking out my left foot to balance the temperature. The breeze seems to change its course and lick across the newly exposed hot skin, raising goose-flesh. It feels amazing.

Willy grumbles from the end of the bed, crawling upwards under the thin blanket. His obnoxious tail whacks my shins and stomach on the way up. A long nose appears, barely visible from under the covers against the red light of the alarm clock.

"Go back to sleep crazy, it's just the same nightmare it always is," I mutter, speaking more to myself then my dog.

I know he won't though, not until he's cradled right beside me---always the totem of comfort. Wrapping my arms around his long body, I gently rub his hot belly to let him know I'm okay.

"Needy Weenie," I mumble into his neck scruff.

Willy snorts.

We lay together for the next hour trying to catch some more sleep, but it isn't any use. Every time my heavy lids flutter closed, the demons come rushing back instead of my family. I know this pattern by heart now: the longer I stay in bed, the more frustrated I'll become and there's no sense in starting a day out intentionally upsetting oneself.

Climbing out of bed, I wrap Willy back up in the blanket and kiss him between the ears. "Be back in a little, yea?"

He blinks sleepily and buries his nose under the covers once more, eyeing me as I put on black knee-length yoga pants, white T-shirt, and lace up my favorite tennis shoes. I pin my long blonde-white hair up in a ponytail and grab the semi-full water bottle on the dresser.

Willy's blue eyes are finally closed by the time I'm done, a little snore escaping his little jowls.

The latch to the attic opens with barely a sound-well vegetable-oiled gears moving perfectly despite the rust. Its many wooden steps slide down and into place with only minor squeaking. Sticking my head out, I wait for ten heart beats.