She Dreams of Fire

3.

Melanie

It’s 5:48 on a Wednesday evening in a medium-sized midwestern town in the middle of Fall, and the bar is surprisingly empty. 

Mel grabs a table in the back corner so they can talk about “Whatever crazy s**t you’re on about,” with as much privacy as possible in a public place. 

Mat brings back two drinks, and sets them down, handing one to Mel. She looks back at him with confusion, “What’s this?” 

Mat backpedals, “Uh, sorry did you not actually want a drink, do you not drink, oh my god I didn’t even ask what you wanted, I’m so sorry.”

A slight smile of amusement curls up the edges of her lips, softening her stare, “No, I definitely drink, but I don’t just take drinks from guys I just met. Especially guys who admit to stalking me.” 

She doesn’t trust Mat, and although she’s pretty sure he’s harmless, she’s not going to take any chances. “I’ll get my own, thanks.”

Mel eyes Mat sideways from the bar, while she’s waiting for her drink. He is cute. She spies him chugging what she presumes to be miller light based on its color, and laughs to herself. Gross. He’s a mess. 

The bartender slides Mel her drink, and she can see that he’s gripping an extra napkin. Oh, here we go. But before she can open her mouth to protest, He starts talking. 

“That your friend?” 

Mel sighs, trying to act as disinterested as possible. “Not particularly.”

The bartender gets a gleam in his eye, “So, it’s fair to assume you’re not on a date then.”

She laughs so loudly, a few people stare at her. “God, no.”

“Would you mind giving this to him then?” He slides the napkin over to her. 

She’s astonished, “You can give it to him yourself.” She rolls her eyes and heads back to the table. She’s nobody’s errand boy. 

Mat looks concerned when Mel stomps back to the table, “What did he say to you?”

“Romeo over there wants to give you his number.” She points toward the bartender with a hooked thumb. 

Mat’s cheeks turn pink, “oh,” he says, bashful and surprised, “I can’t believe I got hit on twice today.”

Mel rolls her eyes for the second time in as many minutes and takes a drink of her old fashioned in response. 

Mat gives a little wave to the man in question, and finally focuses on the task at hand. “So, about the dream?”

“About the dream? You were in my dream, okay? I’ve been having this stupid dream every night for the past si-- ” Mel realizes her voice is reaching an attention-grabbing high, so she lowers it to the volume you would use to gossip about Olivia’s hideous new highlights if she were sitting two barstools down from you, completely smashed, and sucking face with a man who she, through beer goggles, thought was a 10, but is definitely a 2 on a good day, and currently stealing her wallet. “...for the past six months, and then suddenly you show up, knight in scrawny armor? Yeah, that’s not good enough for me. So start talking.”

Mat goes on, he talks about the dreams, and his family, and the implication that he has no control over this. She finishes her drink, and Mel loses focus on Mat’s nonsense. All she can think about is the work she’s not getting done. After a moment, she realizes the noise has stopped, and Mat is staring at her expectantly. 

When their eyes finally meet, she’s worried he may have asked her a question. “What?”

“I said, are you listening? I’ve been going on about nothing for at least 90 seconds now. You look like one of my students in my morning lectures,” He tacks a smile on the end as if to make sure she knows he’s not angry with her. 

“Look, this is all…” She waves her hand around her face as she struggles to find the right word.

“Unbelievable?” Mat suggests. 

“Yeah. And it’s nice of you to entertain me with all of this obvious bullshit, but--wait. You’re a teacher?”

Mat laughs in response, “Yeah, I teach art history over at Lakeland University, and I do a bit of adjunct work at the Community College too.” 

She stares at him for a moment, mouth slightly agape, as her brain reframes the person she sees before her into someone entirely different. “So you’re serious about this stuff then? The dream stuff, it’s real?” 

“Yeah, I don’t really understand it myself yet. My parents died when I was 7 months old, and I haven’t been able to find any answers anywhere else. Yours is the first dream I’ve ever accidentally entered where I didn’t personally know the dreamer.” Mat’s eyes go soft, and he sighs, “Honestly, it really freaked me out when I realized you were real.” 

Mel is still reeling, “So wait, all this nervous bumbling ‘oh no, human interaction is hard--’

“That’s harsh,” Mat grumbles under his breath as he takes another drink.

“Anyway, this isn’t some weird ploy to get into my pants?”

Mat looks at her, confusion plastered on his face, “Uh, no. You invited me to get a drink, remember?”

“So you are gay?”

“Well, no. I mean,” He pauses, his face hardening slightly, “not that it’s any of your f*****g business, but I’m bisexual.” 

“Okay, so why aren’t you going after that hot piece of ass behind the bar? He might have absolutely no tact, but you’re definitely into him.”

Mat clams up at that question, and Mel is worried she might have pushed him a little hard. She’s never been good at making friends. 

“It’s not that easy. Dating while trans,” he pauses, as if trying to find the right words, “it’s complicated.”

“Oh,” Mel glances around the room as if the words she’s looking for will be found written on the faces of the bar’s other patrons, “that’s too bad, I mean…you’re hot...and...” she trails off, leaving an awkward silence between them.

Mat breaks the tension with a joke. “It’s okay, you’re not the first person to think my d**k is real.” He lets out a dry chuckle and throws on a million-dollar smile. It’s obviously fake. 

Mel responds with a slightly forced laugh of her own and starts gathering her things. “Look, this is a lot to take in, and I have work to get done. Just...I’ll get back to you in a few days.” 

She quickly pulls her jacket on, and scrambles out of the bar, just needing to be in her bed. In her hurry to get out the door, she realizes she’s forgotten something. 

“My name’s Melanie by the way!” She yells through the bar, not turning to see if he heard her. 

One train ride full of processing her confusion, shame, and embarrassment later, and Mel is finally fitting her key into the front door of her apartment building. It was entirely possible she just imagined today, right? 

She sighs and flops down onto her mattress. “People don’t travel into other people’s dreams. That doesn’t happen.”