LJ Idol Week 42 Open Topic: True Story
Lucid
It was snowing on the moon, big flakes that glimmered in silver streaks against a black backdrop and blended with stars. Tara tilted back, mouth open, and caught one on her tongue. It melted quickly, but it tasted like cotton candy. This is strange, something inside her whispered. She scooped a handful in the palm of her hand--not cold, she noted--and took a bigger taste. It tasted like whiskey with lemon. Stranger, still she thought.
It was snowing on the moon and the flakes were pink like cotton candy and tasted like whiskey with a twist of lemon peel. Tara scooped a handful in her mitten--was that there a moment ago?--and packed it into a ball. It was glowing. She tossed it at a tree rising up from the ground. It was black like coal, and as she watched, it grew until she could no longer see the top. The snowball bounced back to her and she caught it.
It was snowing on the moon. This is strange, Tara thought. Something isn't right. She looked at the sky. There was no moon.
I looked at the moon tonight, she thought. It was full. It should be right there. Then: I'm standing on the moon. It's snowing on the moon.
It was never the same sign, but each time felt alike. It was the dawning behind closed eyes; it the moment of understanding an equation. I am asleep.
First: Don't get too excited.
Then: Take a breath. Touch your fingers together.
And: Where is he?
A set of footsteps appeared in the snow before her. She stepped into them; they were made by feet a good deal wider and a greater deal longer than her own and she choked back a sob. Two more footsteps appeared before her, still facing away. He would be wearing black boots, she thought. And then, they were there--two black boots, the left facing front and the right slightly cocked. He would be wearing his green cargo pants, she thought, and there they were, hanging just long enough for holes to form beneath his heels. She tried to control her eyes, but they moved too quickly and then he was gone, just a grey ghost like smoke. "No!" she shouted.
The sensation of waking with her hands on either side of her body instead of fingers touched together was always startling. She pressed her thumbnails into her middle fingers. Just like that, there she was. The notebook was by her bed, like it had been for the past year. She scribbled the date and a short note: Moon again. Almost worked.
...
"I was on the moon again. Last time I figured out I was dreaming because my mom appeared. I focused as hard as I could on turning her into--into him, but as soon as I saw the back of his head I was awake. This time I spent more time in the dream and I had a little more control. I think I'm getting really close."
Kathy nodded. "Tara," she began, "I completely understand why these dreams mean so much to you. I can imagine that I'd be wanting to do anything I could to see Jon again if I were you. But I'm sure you already know what I'm going to tell you. It concerns me that you're relying on dreams and not focusing on moving forward. It's been a year now. Mourning is going to be a part of your life forever; no one should ever take that away from you. But you've got years ahead of you and I really want to work with you on getting yourself into a place where you can function."
Tara's eyes narrowed. "I am functioning. I work every single day; I eat. I am alive. What else do you want?"
Kathy tried to catch Tara's eyes, but she was already gone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I just mean that we need to focus on some of our goals, which are to get you through processing Jon's death and finding some solace in the daytime, in waking time, not just in sleep."
Tara nodded. "I know. It's just the only way I can see him. I have to keep trying."
"I know," said Kathy. "Listen, our time is up this week. Do you want to schedule for the same time next week?"
"Sure, that should work," said Tara.
"Ok," Kathy smiled. "I'll see you then. Stop and see the girls on your way out; they need you to sign some updated paperwork. New policies. Take care of yourself."
...
Tara fingered her bottle of valerian root extract. Curiouser and curiouser, she thought. When she first took it, she had tried to convince herself it tasted of Earth; it was the essence of a conduit for her spirit to pour from one vessel to the next. Truth be told, it tasted like shit and she was tired of drops on her tongue each night. Still, she took it down and swallowed fast; it was her way to dreams and she was not entirely convinced she'd ever find him, or sleep, without its aid.
She was so close the night before. The moon outside the window was on its way back from full. One more push, she thought. Another bottle sat next to her valerian root extract, untouched for most of the past year. When Jon had first died, Kathy had prescribed her Valium to take as needed. "Just so you can get to sleep," she told her.
...
The moon was full of butterflies weaving in and out of icicles dangling from bushes with rainbow flowers. Tara was sitting on a blanket sipping tea that tasted of cinnamon and cedar. One butterfly landed next to her and she reached out a finger. It crawled on, metamorphosing before her eyes into a grasshopper before hopping away. Another sip of tea, now flavored of vanilla and smoke. She leaned on her elbows and gazed at the sky for a moment, stars against midnight.
In dreams, much like waking life, it's not always the figures straight ahead that catch our attention but rather those just out of sight. Tara caught one such figure ahead and to the right. She stopped her head from snapping toward it and instead brought her cup to her lips and inhaled. Her tea smelled of leather and apples. Her tea smelled of Jon.
"Jon," she whispered.
First: Don't get too excited.
Then: Take a breath. Touch your fingers together.
And: There he is.
Jon was in front of her, hands cupped. He was whispering, but she couldn't make out his words. She leaned closer and saw that he held a butterfly. His sleeves were rolled up on his forearms and she could see the angry red lines that transported him from one world to the next. She swallowed hard.
He let the butterfly loose and his eyes rose to meet hers. She tasted air for the first time in a year. "Jon," she began, but the rest of her words were lost.
He cupped her cheeks in his hands. "My butterfly," he said.
A tear ran down her cheek and over his fingers, washing him away wherever it touched. He was beginning to fade. "My butterfly," he repeated.
Please, she thought. Not again.
She took his hands in her own and gripped them as tight as she could, but he was still turning to smoke. "No!" she shouted. She held fast, and the smoke moved to her own hands, covering her until she was entirely absorbed. She felt like water in a stream, and everything was warm.
When the smoke cleared, only two moths were left behind dancing in the light on the moon.
It was snowing on the moon, big flakes that glimmered in silver streaks against a black backdrop and blended with stars. Tara tilted back, mouth open, and caught one on her tongue. It melted quickly, but it tasted like cotton candy. This is strange, something inside her whispered. She scooped a handful in the palm of her hand--not cold, she noted--and took a bigger taste. It tasted like whiskey with lemon. Stranger, still she thought.
It was snowing on the moon and the flakes were pink like cotton candy and tasted like whiskey with a twist of lemon peel. Tara scooped a handful in her mitten--was that there a moment ago?--and packed it into a ball. It was glowing. She tossed it at a tree rising up from the ground. It was black like coal, and as she watched, it grew until she could no longer see the top. The snowball bounced back to her and she caught it.
It was snowing on the moon. This is strange, Tara thought. Something isn't right. She looked at the sky. There was no moon.
I looked at the moon tonight, she thought. It was full. It should be right there. Then: I'm standing on the moon. It's snowing on the moon.
It was never the same sign, but each time felt alike. It was the dawning behind closed eyes; it the moment of understanding an equation. I am asleep.
First: Don't get too excited.
Then: Take a breath. Touch your fingers together.
And: Where is he?
A set of footsteps appeared in the snow before her. She stepped into them; they were made by feet a good deal wider and a greater deal longer than her own and she choked back a sob. Two more footsteps appeared before her, still facing away. He would be wearing black boots, she thought. And then, they were there--two black boots, the left facing front and the right slightly cocked. He would be wearing his green cargo pants, she thought, and there they were, hanging just long enough for holes to form beneath his heels. She tried to control her eyes, but they moved too quickly and then he was gone, just a grey ghost like smoke. "No!" she shouted.
The sensation of waking with her hands on either side of her body instead of fingers touched together was always startling. She pressed her thumbnails into her middle fingers. Just like that, there she was. The notebook was by her bed, like it had been for the past year. She scribbled the date and a short note: Moon again. Almost worked.
...
"I was on the moon again. Last time I figured out I was dreaming because my mom appeared. I focused as hard as I could on turning her into--into him, but as soon as I saw the back of his head I was awake. This time I spent more time in the dream and I had a little more control. I think I'm getting really close."
Kathy nodded. "Tara," she began, "I completely understand why these dreams mean so much to you. I can imagine that I'd be wanting to do anything I could to see Jon again if I were you. But I'm sure you already know what I'm going to tell you. It concerns me that you're relying on dreams and not focusing on moving forward. It's been a year now. Mourning is going to be a part of your life forever; no one should ever take that away from you. But you've got years ahead of you and I really want to work with you on getting yourself into a place where you can function."
Tara's eyes narrowed. "I am functioning. I work every single day; I eat. I am alive. What else do you want?"
Kathy tried to catch Tara's eyes, but she was already gone. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I just mean that we need to focus on some of our goals, which are to get you through processing Jon's death and finding some solace in the daytime, in waking time, not just in sleep."
Tara nodded. "I know. It's just the only way I can see him. I have to keep trying."
"I know," said Kathy. "Listen, our time is up this week. Do you want to schedule for the same time next week?"
"Sure, that should work," said Tara.
"Ok," Kathy smiled. "I'll see you then. Stop and see the girls on your way out; they need you to sign some updated paperwork. New policies. Take care of yourself."
...
Tara fingered her bottle of valerian root extract. Curiouser and curiouser, she thought. When she first took it, she had tried to convince herself it tasted of Earth; it was the essence of a conduit for her spirit to pour from one vessel to the next. Truth be told, it tasted like shit and she was tired of drops on her tongue each night. Still, she took it down and swallowed fast; it was her way to dreams and she was not entirely convinced she'd ever find him, or sleep, without its aid.
She was so close the night before. The moon outside the window was on its way back from full. One more push, she thought. Another bottle sat next to her valerian root extract, untouched for most of the past year. When Jon had first died, Kathy had prescribed her Valium to take as needed. "Just so you can get to sleep," she told her.
...
The moon was full of butterflies weaving in and out of icicles dangling from bushes with rainbow flowers. Tara was sitting on a blanket sipping tea that tasted of cinnamon and cedar. One butterfly landed next to her and she reached out a finger. It crawled on, metamorphosing before her eyes into a grasshopper before hopping away. Another sip of tea, now flavored of vanilla and smoke. She leaned on her elbows and gazed at the sky for a moment, stars against midnight.
In dreams, much like waking life, it's not always the figures straight ahead that catch our attention but rather those just out of sight. Tara caught one such figure ahead and to the right. She stopped her head from snapping toward it and instead brought her cup to her lips and inhaled. Her tea smelled of leather and apples. Her tea smelled of Jon.
"Jon," she whispered.
First: Don't get too excited.
Then: Take a breath. Touch your fingers together.
And: There he is.
Jon was in front of her, hands cupped. He was whispering, but she couldn't make out his words. She leaned closer and saw that he held a butterfly. His sleeves were rolled up on his forearms and she could see the angry red lines that transported him from one world to the next. She swallowed hard.
He let the butterfly loose and his eyes rose to meet hers. She tasted air for the first time in a year. "Jon," she began, but the rest of her words were lost.
He cupped her cheeks in his hands. "My butterfly," he said.
A tear ran down her cheek and over his fingers, washing him away wherever it touched. He was beginning to fade. "My butterfly," he repeated.
Please, she thought. Not again.
She took his hands in her own and gripped them as tight as she could, but he was still turning to smoke. "No!" she shouted. She held fast, and the smoke moved to her own hands, covering her until she was entirely absorbed. She felt like water in a stream, and everything was warm.
When the smoke cleared, only two moths were left behind dancing in the light on the moon.