5.

 

I wake up, half lying off my bed. Sigh. Stretch. I look at the cook. 7:32, the clock screams in its neon red numbers. I slept for 151 minutes, I calculate quickly in my head. I just had a dream…It kind of made me feel weird. Like déjà vu, isn’t that what you call it? Well, actually, people most often use the term déjà vu when they can’t explain how they feel. I guess that applies for me.

            Downstairs, Dad is sleeping on the couch. He looks messy, imperfect. Why am I just not noticing that? Charlie plods over to me. He’s my old, adorable, scruffy Bichon Frise. I love Charlie; he’s always there for me, like Bethany. My two truest friends.

“Oh, Charlie.” I pick him up. He groans a little. I always hold him like a baby, and I spoil him too much. Charlie deserved it, though. “There you go, Charlie.” I say softly, releasing the dog back on the floor.

            I’m sitting on my old, lumpy, red recliner. I look around, for something to count, at least something to do. I aimlessly tap my fingers on the table next to the chair. 16 finger taps. Then I notice a beaten up cardboard box by my basement door. I tiptoe over to the box. Don’t wake Dad. Inside are lots of think binded books; big, heavy books. Curiously take a few, walk up the creaking, tired stairs slowly to my room. Quiet.

            I flip open the mysterious book. The pages smell like dust and musty time compressed within the paper. It’s a photo album. I knew someone once; they loved to make photo albums. It was their biggest hobby. I don’t remember who, though. The first picture in the book is a picture of the house I live in, with a “FOR SALE” sign with a “SOLD!” sign slapped across it, in the front yard. My Dad and some woman are standing by the sign, grinning. Maybe the realtor or a friend. I study her face. Who cares?

            I spent 36 minutes looking at 214 photos. They are mostly photos of Dad and that one woman, though. She must have been important. Maybe I should ask Dad. Don’t!  Shut the book; stare at the leather binding, starting to fray. It’s 8:09, close to dark, but I don’t mind. I think I’ll go to my special place, I feel like being alone.

            Today, my counting is off, while I walk to the tree. It’s supposed to be 587 steps, today it’s 585. I really hate it when that happens. It’s muddy; my shoes sink into the Earth as I walk forward towards my only form of sanity. The noise the gushy mud makes under my shoe is weird. It’s squishy, and loud. I think about those ear drum bones again. Still can’t remember.

            I love being at the tree…I read a book once, where there are two outcast kids that have their own little place in a forest where they create their own magical world. I like the idea. Hated the book. Life isn’t like that. I can’t be stuck in dreams, I remind myself.

            As I sit on a branch, I feel a wave of dizziness, beating down on me like an ocean wave crashes into a delicately made sand castle. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for it to stop. It stops; I exhale deeply, trying to recover.

            Bethany is here. I love it when she meets me here at the tree. I don’t ever have to tell her, she just automatically knows. I guess it’s a low effort relationship. That’s always nice for someone like me.

            “Don’t serve that detention, Jill. Who cares?” suggests Bethany. I don’t know… “But it’s good you took responsibility. Less of a mess, less questions, good.” She looks directly and fiercely at my eyes. Less mess? A few of her bruises are starting to heal, but they still look bad.

            “I really miss the way things used to be”, she declares so steadily. I stare at her in surprise, it was loud. “I miss everything, friends, Mom, and…” She suddenly stops. She won’t say the name.

            It’s like this. She tells me how she feels. Except for right now, I know everything about how she feels, acts, thinks. Her life sounds surreal to me, you know. We know each other, sure. But at the same time, Bethany is a perfect stranger as well. All I know is that I can’t be me without her. I know about friendship. I just don’t have a lot of it.

            I remember when I cared. A long time ago. I tried to look nice, I was social, friendly, and I had dreams. Now I don’t care about anything. There seems to be this barrier, or mind block I just can’t get around. I don’t remember when or why it started. I don’t remember when I met Bethany, I don’t remember anything anymore. These days, I just go along with the current and hope I end up in the right sea.

            I think about my dream again. That blonde girl, and me….We’re so happy. I never feel that way.

 I remember my old friends look at me with uncertainty one day. One says,

“It’s just a phase…” and the others just look at me, but I am looking right through them, stuck behind my barrier. I’m just a phase? Do phases last forever? What can save me from myself?