I don’t like the feeling of it. The cold water on my sleep addled face.
I hate even more that I hadn’t believed her – my mother – when she said she would dump the cold glass of water over me if I didn’t get up.
I come up kicking and yelling. I shout after my mother, who is already off to continue her daily chores. It’s 3 PM. Outside, the clouds and rain make it seem like it's still night time. I hate that I’m awake.
My dream had been so good.
But it was just a dream, and I breathe deeply, attempting to calm down.
It didn’t matter. I would dream again, and there would be sweeter dreams than this one.
My dreams are most often of my best friend.
To me, he is a part of my life that I will hold onto until I die.
I don’t know what he thinks anymore.
I guess that it was bound to happen, that we’re both young and foolish. Not all friendships last forever. I devoted myself to him in my life, and thought he had too. But none of that mattered. It didn’t matter, because it was done now.
But he would never stop being my best friend.
He never stopped being the first person I might call, might message, might tell if anything ever came to me. But I wasn’t receiving his messages anymore, and it tore a little at the very insides of my body, an ache that I wouldn’t know how to treat even if it was physical.
I dream that he calls me back. That he says sorry.
(It’s a horrible apology, but it it’s enough. For a moment, I am free. Happy. Satisfied.)
Then my eyes open.
When I understand what happened, understand that it wasn’t real, that he hasn’t called – will never call, my fingers search the screen of my phone for his contact. I can’t bring myself to delete it, but my thumb hovers for a second. Progress, I decide.
I fall back asleep, awaking the next day with tear stains on my pillow. It is 7PM and the setting sun makes my room bright. I’ve wasted an entire day, I realize. No one threw a glass on my head.
I tell myself it’s fine.
I fidget in class. I sit behind him here, studying the back of his head.
My best dreams have always had him in them, I realize.
At least, for as long as I’ve known him – for as long as he’s been my best friend, this has been true. I know that the dreams I have now qualify just as much to be nightmares.
This very classroom feels like a dream too, for a moment. Perhaps it is.
Was this a nightmare? Was his back to me, his hand tapping on his desk, his very existence part of my worst fears? That he exists, that he knows I love him, but that he does not care.
That he does not care for me.
I decide it is a nightmare.
He doesn’t turn around.
I realize it is not a dream. When I am asleep, he talks to me.
I’ve started having nightmares while awake.
One night, I do not sleep at all. I stare at the ceiling. Then I listen to music. Then I watch a tv show about two best friends who take on the world together.
I finish the first season, ignoring the alarm that rings. I skip school to stay in bed. I finish the second season, and decide to grab a book. Reading is better than dreaming. I live out my dreams through characters whose lives affect my own in no way.
I fall asleep, and for the first time in weeks, I do not dream.
I wake up at 6AM. My door is still closed. No one has come into my room. Tired and curious about life outside my own head, I step into the rest of my house. Birds chirp outside the window.
I grab a blanket, and my book. It’s a little cold when I sit outside, but I don’t mind. My backyard faces east. I look out at the horizon, greeting the sun as it rises.
I think of him, and realize I am tired. Very tired. I love him, I do.
But I love myself more – I have to.
I grab my phone only after the pinks, oranges, navies, purples, yellows of the sky have disappeared, leaving bright sunshine on blue.
I write down one of my dreams, lest I forget I had conquered them.
I delete his contact.
I breathe. Look at the sun.
I set an alarm for 6AM tomorrow morning.
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