Accepted/The Dream

I realize there's only the pronouns "he" and "I", and I was planning on thinking of names, but then it just didn't feel necessary.

 

Accepted

We stepped into the restaurant, and as I went to the counter, he sped away to get a table. My heart was pounding unnecessarily fast. As I stumbled through my order, I quickly worked out how much money I carried and asked for two drinks instead, though he had not asked for one. I carried them to where he sat, proud of how quick and considerate I had been despite my crippling nervousness.

            “Here you are, sir.” I said formally, setting the cup in front of him. I raised my pinky and curved my eyebrows in a thoughtful sort of a way, like we were going to discuss something very serious over tea. I waited for him to give me that amused smile or perhaps play along, but he only looked away and sighed in frustration.

            “What?”

            “Why?” he said, gesturing towards his drink.

            “I got a drink for you, isn’t it sweet?”

            “No.”

            “It’s just Squirt, I thought you liked it.”

            “I do.”

            “It didn’t cost much, only a dollar” I said, thinking he didn’t like me spending money on him. “It’s fine, really.”

            “No, it’s not fine.” He said, not quite angry, but exasperated all the same. Hearing him grumble and seeing the grin he gave me now, annoyed and incredulous rather than amused, made me feel like a child that had done something ridiculous and now had an adult explaining what was socially acceptable.

            And then my pride and my sense threw that out at once, and I calmly sipped my soda and listened to him.

            “So, then, what’s the problem?”

            “It’s a waste. You just wasted a dollar.”

            “It won’t be a waste if you drink it.”

            “I’d rather have water instead of waste money on a caffeinated, refined-sugar-filled beverage.”

            “Don’t forget carbonated.” I added. “And don’t worry about wasted money, I did all the wasting.”

            “Yes! Like the mean person that you are!”

            “Fine, then I’m sorry for being so mean and getting a drink when you weren’t thirsty.”

            “I am thirsty.”

            “So quit your whining and drink it!”

            He gave in and drank it, if only to quench his thirst and empty the cup rather than because he actually wanted it.

            “There,” I said, grinning. “I’ve learned from this dreadful mistake – never again shall I waste my money on a carbonated, caffeinated, sugar-filled beverage for you. I’ll let you die of thirst.”

            Now, finally, he gave me that smile of his and chuckled, then bent his head down again to drink. And for some reason, I was satisfied, as though my small attempt at kindness had been accepted, and as though I could hope for more in the future with greater attempts. 

 

 

                         The Dream

           

I lay down on my bed with a sigh, and feeling a tiredness beyond that of regular emotional or physical exhaustion. It ran deeper somehow. It flowed through my veins, giving me life while it ate me alive; it sat heavy in my lungs, and gripped fast at my heart. I stared at the sheen it created in front of my eyes that made everything a shade darker, even during the day. Looking so closely at feelings like these normally brought tears to my eyes, and therefore relief. But none would come this time. It was as though I were coldly examining a difficult math problem. Or perhaps there was just nothing to grasp at, nothing to really feel. There was just that impossible emptiness, that ever-increasing, ever-present nothing that was inside me.

Ruthlessly I sank further into it. There was more than just this emptiness in me, I knew that, and felt it. But this terrible thing – it pulled like a black hole, relentlessly, at all I had. It was my missing piece, but how it got there, or so big, or how to fill it, I just did not know. And it drank so endlessly of all I had inside me, I actually felt the physical effect of thirst, and just as endlessly.

                        *  *  *

I gulped at the thought of water, like I could imagine it in my mouth. I stumbled down the forest path, using every sense I had to find something to drink, anything. By some instinct, my feet led me off the path. I stumbled on until I saw long grass growing in clumps by a tree, a contrast to the flat soil everywhere else. Quickly, I came closer to it. The grass surrounded a small pool, a pool filled with the most beautiful, pure, glassy water I had ever seen. The water was perfectly still, and very reflective, though clear at the same time. My thirst was quenched just looking at it.

I knelt down softly by the pool and gazed in. What I saw dazzled me even more. A pair of eyes, much like the water, they were impossibly beautiful and pure, and they gazed back at me with overwhelming love. The blood stopped in my veins, while my heart wrenched painfully. I had to take that reflection out of the pool, there was no other question. It was more than I could ask for, to have them gaze at me the way they did, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted them to hold me, speak to me, cry for joy with me.

With tremendous care, I dipped my hands into the pool, and cupped them beneath the reflection. The water was cool and fresh, and its nourishment seemed to soak right into my skin. But my heart wrenched again. As the water left the pool, it was no longer the eyes I had seen, but my own desperate eyes looking back at me. Hope drained out of me and left sadness, I felt exausted. I stood, still holding the water in my hands, which was somehow still a comfort to hold with me.

And there he was in front of me, as though he had stood there all the time. He scratched his neck and looked absently at the ground and at me, though never meeting my eyes. A hope that wasn’t quite hope lifted my heart a little. I reached out my cupped hands to him.

Will you take it? I thought silently.

He looked away with frustration and annoyance, pushing away my hands as he did so, and walked quickly away. The water spilled away from my hands without a sound. Such a horrible pain that gave me, to see something so beautiful to me pushed away without a glance, and to land uselessly in the dirt, that an enormous sob escaped me. I felt I had lost something vital, something my body needed to stay alive. And the reflection in the pool was gone, not even my own face looked back. I wrung my hands together, but they were dry, so dry they burned. And my throat, suddenly it felt as though it were filled with hot sand. I wiped my hands frantically on my jeans and swallowed convulsively, but the burning only increased. Finally, I let out a choking scream –

Reality smacked me in the face. I lay flat on my bed, looking up at the dark ceiling, my mouth wide open as though in surprise. I was intolerably thirsty. So much that I could hardly feel the air pass in and out of my mouth as I breathed. I flung myself out of bed, quickly feeling my way to the bathroom.

I drank straight from the faucet, refusing to cup my hands to make it easier. The forest and the pool of water were still foremost in my mind, besides the overwhelming thirst. After about five minutes I had drunk my fill.

He grimaced in disgust, looking only at the ground as he shoved my arms away –

Stop.

            Luckily, my mind as well as my body felt tired still, after having just woken out of a deep sleep. I clung to those sensations, and pushed all others aside.

            Sleep, I ordered. And I did.

           

            But in the morning, I so wished that I had only dreamt half the dream. I wished I had left the reflection of the eyes in the water, that I had been content to just sit by the pool, and that he had never shown up, that I eventually believed it, and felt the dream had been a good one.

Author's Note

I wrote these two little stories seperately, but after I read them over again back to back, I realized they're exactly the same.

Reviews

[Alexander Fox]

how pointed...I am fairly certain that I recognized a direct quote in there. I really must ask, with no malice or accusations directly intended, whether or not you meant to portray these men so...negatively. In both stories they sound so very....cruel. And yet you attest to your own gifts by accepting them none the less...I loved these stories, painful to read or not. Excellent work.

[Blade & Blood (The ..]

Different stories, same concept. Yeah, it was definitely a great idea for you to post them together because it really makes the reader (or at least me) understand and realize that people should not refuse kindness even in the every-day, modern, waste-of-a-dollar situation [lol]. As a wise man (my Gov't teacher) told me, "At the end of the day, it's your relationship with people that truly matters." And I really think these stories portray that.

...And if such people refuse kindness, well, at least you learned something, and that first story gives that helpful message as well. Great work! This was truly an honor to read. :D

Eternally Yours.