The Dream Is Not Over

It's Up To Him

That night, Lindsey doesn't come home. He is most likely spending the night at the studio trying to avoid me. I don't blame him, I'm livid. Behind closed doors I could tear his head off with my bare hands. I go about my nightly routine, taking off my makeup, putting on moisturizer, brushing out my hair and putting on my pajamas. I go downstairs to make myself a cup of tea and sit on the couch reading for a while. I find myself looking up toward the door every once in a while, expecting him home. I go to bed alone, tossing and turning, my dreams filled with tortured sounds. I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. I turn to my side for comfort but no one is there. I begin to hyperventilate. I've never done this before. I've been with Lindsey for most of my life. I've always had him right there, even if it was just to reassure me that my dream wasn't real and I'm safe now. I look at the phone, and I think about calling him but I don't remember the extension. I try to breathe, to collect my thoughts but they all lead back to Lindsey. I begin to cry, laying back down again and tucking my covers around me. I cocoon myself from the world until some time in the afternoon.

—-

I sit up, pulling the covers up to my chest and answer the phone. It's Lindsey, or I hope it's Lindsey. I feel like shit, like I've been run over by a truck. I ache all over. Maybe I'm coming down with something. The moment I hear the voice on the line, I forget about all of that.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, River. Nothing much, honey. I'm just waking up."

"It's three in the afternoon, are you okay? Are you sick, because dad said—"

"You spoke to your father?"

"Yeah." River says, sighing. "I told him I didn't want to be in the middle of this but I did let him know that I think he was a total jerk for what he did to you."

"And what did he say?"

"That of course I would side with you."

I chuckle but I'm not amused. "God, he's such a child..." River is right not to want to get involved and I feel bad saying things about his father to him. "I'm sorry, Riv. I shouldn't have—"

"Don't worry, he is a child, a man-child who needs a firm talking to sometimes and boy, did I!"

"Oh, honey..."

"He is messing up the most important relationship in his life. You cooked for him, cleaned for him, kept a house for him, raised me in the most incredible way...you're a great mom, a great wife and he acts like you'll always be around. I said, 'Dad, what if she leaves you?' You know what he said?"

I lean forward with interest. "What did he say?"

"Nothing...for the first time, I think he was truly speechless, like he never thought in a million years that could happen."

"Honestly, I don't know if I could leave him. I love him."

"I know, mom, but one day this is going to be too much and you'll snap."

"I don't know..."

"And you don't have to. It's okay, and I'm obviously not going to tell you what to do. I would love my parents to stay together. I know he loves you and I know you love him, but this time it's up to him to make things right. Who the hell records someone when you're...jeez, I don't even what to think about it. I just reminds me of that time you guys were all hot and heavy on the couch when me and the guys were gonna go play baseball in the yard."

"You were in third grade, how do you remember that?"

"It's seared into my memory!" he says and I laugh.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't, mom. As weird as this sounds, I preferred you two that way. I mean, not in front of me, but obviously in love. I don't really see that now. You two used to always be holding hands, or hugging and kissing. The house just felt warm, as soon as you walked in."

"And it doesn't feel like that now?" I ask, afraid of his answer.

"I'm sorry" he says sadly. He's a perceptive boy and he knew how he felt would hurt me. "But that can change. I know you two can fix this."

"Okay."

"I've got to get to class but I love you."

"I love you too, my boy."

"Oh and is it okay if Olivia calls later to talk about the party?"

"That would be great."

"Talk soon. I love you" he repeats before hanging up. I place the phone down and sigh.

"We've really messed up this time, Linds." I speak into the air. I eye the phone. Maybe I should call him, or better yet, see him. Maybe I should go back into the studio and give him the vocals he wants. I sigh, upset that I'm always the one to give in. Why can't he apologize and mean it? I get out of bed and take a shower, hoping that will make me feel better. I shampoo my hair, massaging the lather over my scalp and I have a mini flashback of the time Lindsey took me to this beautiful resort with an outdoor shower. It felt open, yet private and he washed my hair. His skilled fingers working through my hair sent shivers down my spine. I rinse my hair and apply my conditioner now, frowning. I finish showering, continuing to think of all of these old and buried memories. Ones so small and simple but significant in some way. They all showed just how much he loved me. We've had some not so great times, but we've also had plenty of beautiful ones. As I'm getting out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my body, I feel sick. It must have been from all the crying. I try to ignore it but the feeling grows so strong that I can't put it off any longer. Diving onto my knees, I lift the toilet seat just in time to lose the entire contents of my stomach. When I'm finally finished, I wipe my mouth with toilet paper, my hands and lips trembling. I flush the toilet and lay on the cool tile floor, burning up yet shivering all at once.