Daydreaming

The Dream

The air is thick, and it only makes me sweat more as I search the darkness for my bedside lamp. The A/C is still out, and summer is right around the corner even though it feels like it has already been here for a month. My hand finally catches the string and the light clicks on, filling my quaint room with light and blinding me in the process. My bedside clock shows 6 am; I let out a sigh and rifle through the top drawer for my journal. It is way too early for this.

I've been writing in this journal for over a year now. It's my dream journal. I jot down the dream I had during the night as soon as I begin to wake up. Most nights, like last night, it's the same dream. Other nights, it's either normal dreams or absolutely nothing that I can remember. I pick up my pen and begin noting the date and time before I go into the details of the dream.

04/20/20

6:00 AM

I'm looking down at myself lying on the ground amongst some tall grass and pretty little white flowers. My eyes are closed, and my caramel hair is wet and sprawled around above my head in a tangle of curls and waves. My skin is pale but, I guess I'm not dead since I seem to be breathing. I can hear something rustling through the grass towards my body. It's a large white dog. He nuzzles me and barks, startling me out of my sleep. My eyes fling open and widen, my body tenses, and I search my surroundings until I see the dog sitting to my left. "Oh, it's just you," I sigh and throw myself back into the grass. He continues to whimper and bark until I become visibly annoyed and spring into a sitting position. "What do you want," I growl and trace his line of sight. "What are you looking at?" Through the grass, I can see a tall weeping willow and a man leaning against it. He's wearing black formal attire and looks to be staring straight at me. I can't make out his facial expression from this distance but, I can see my face and I look afraid.

I put my pen down and throw myself back into my pillows while trying to decipher this dream for the millionth time. So far, the only meaning I've gotten out of this is that: one, maybe I should get a dog and two, maybe I'm going to die soon and the guy in my dream is the grim reaper. I think I might be okay with the latter if it gets me out of going to work today. Don't get me wrong, the free coffee part is pretty nice but, the whole pretending I'm happy to be there thing kind of sucks. I dangle my feet off the bed and slowly touch them to the floor, dragging out the little time I have left in bed.

I unfold my curls from the nest of hair I call a bun and lightly brush the monstrosity before showering and brushing my teeth. I pull on a clean uniform shirt and struggle to slide jeans onto my still-damp legs. I retie my hair and poke at my eye bags in the mirror. What's the point in having such pretty bright emerald eyes when it looks like I've been punched in both of them? I groan and peek at the clock to see if I have any more time to waste and, unsurprisingly, I don't. I grab my apron, head downstairs, snag my house key and the sticky note my mom left me, and hurry to the bus stop.

The bus comes on time, as usual, I make my way to my normal window seat and read the note from mom. All it says is, "we need milk." Not the sweetest note she's ever written to me but, when you only see your mom four times a month, you take what you can get, I guess. She works every day other than Sunday and when she's home she's asleep. If I want to catch an extra glimpse of her I have to stay up until 3 am and that's typically the overworked and sleep-deprived version of her. Needless to say, that version of her is nowhere near the life of the party and will fall asleep in the middle of a conversation.

It's a short ride from my house to the diner, which is good because the bus smells like mothballs and sweat. I like to occupy a window seat where I can distract myself with all of the depressing scenery this town has to offer. Harlem is a small, hidden town in Georgia. There are only one stoplight and one bus. The biggest downside is that everyone knows everyone. As I gaze out at the passing buildings, I see something that brings me to my feet. A large white dog. It's the dog from my dream, just sitting on the corner next to the movie theater. He looks on after the bus as we pass by and I sit back in my seat. Was that... real? Am I dreaming? That couldn't have been the dog from my dream. I pinched my arm a few times just to remind myself that I am awake.