Starting Over

Dreaming

There were enough clues for me to have known even as it was happening that it wasn't real. For one thing, I'd sold the two wingback chairs over two years earlier, but there they were. And colors and proportions just weren't quite right; I felt a little lost in my own living room. The feeling of deja vu was far too strong for it to be a coincidence - I knew it wasn't the first time I'd lived this particular nightmare. My brain acknowledged all these things. But something about this one was a little bit different from the start, and on a deep, visceral level, it was all happening in that moment.

It started with the barking. Just like it had before, both in the nightmares and in the reality that had started them. That, "What are you doing intruding on my territory?" bark. But that in and of itself wasn't all that alarming; it was the same bark she gave if the mailman closed the mailbox lid too loudly. It was a bit disorienting that the barker herself was nowhere to be seen, but the lack of a dog didn't stop me from closing the lid of the computer on my lap and setting it on the coffee table then going to answer the door. Just like I'd done before. At the bottom of my stoop stood two crisp, stiff uniforms. Just like they'd done before.

Unlike all the times before, I didn't let them in. I knew why they were there. I knew what they were going to say. So I closed the door, covered my face with my hands, and spun to press my back against the door. "No. No no no. I'm not doing this again. I'm not."

Then I heard my name, in what I suppose were meant to be soothing tones. My hands flew down and my eyes flew open and there they were on my couch. Right where they always were. "You should probably have a seat."

"I said no. I didn't let you in. I know why you're here, and it's not ... you can't -"

This is where my brain should really have started screaming that the situation could not be real. But it didn't. Or if it did, the screaming from my heart drowned it out. Because regardless of what my brain said, my heart knew, far too well, what it means when military officers show up at your house and tell you to "have a seat." And my heart broke. Loudly and over and over again.

"Please don't. Please don't do this." I begged them, fear strangling my voice between the words. "You've been here before.You've already done this to me. Please -"

"Ma'am," a hand landed on my shoulder - I didn't know when he came to stand beside me, and I didn't know why it was him this time when usually it was the woman - "we're very sorry to have to tell you this, but -"

"No. Please no. Please don't take him too." I don't know why or how I knew it was it was Him they were there for. It had never been him before. A couple times it had been one of my two best friends; most of the time it was one of my kids. It had never been him. I could feel myself starting to shake. "We're just getting started. You can't - please, I love him." It came out as if it would somehow make a difference.

"Maybe that's the problem. Maybe you're the problem." My eyes widened. This was new. He was breaking the script. Through all the iterations, I reacted slightly differently from one to the next, depending on who they were there to take from me, but they never broke; the only thing that ever changed was the name.

"What do you -"

His partner cleared her throat. She was getting them back on track. "Ma'am, we're so sorry to inform you that your husband -"

"No! He's not my husband! Not yet." I was grasping for straws. Praying for a loophole. Maybe if they misspoke, if they said the wrong thing, called him something he wasn't, they couldn't actually take him.

"And look what you're doing to him anyway. Why can't you wake up, see what you've caused?" He was doing it again, making up a whole new script.