AWAKEN

Reality Check

It is almost the same dream every time. When I awake, I am alone and scared. The difference between my reality and dreams is not as clear as they once were. My focus has become a struggle for everyone and everything around me. At work, at home, around my friend, it doesn't matter; they are all just one big blur.

Why is it so impossible to shake off this self-conflicting battle?

To be honest with you, it would be easier if I could just let it all go; if I were to give in, to drown in my horrific nightmare. Not that life has gotten that complicated, or I am suffering. It is the dream. The dream has consumed me and exhausted me at every level. I don't know how much more I can take.

The dream or nightmare, whatever you may wish to call it, will not leave me alone. Whether it may be a day or night, it's always there. 

Is it a message or is it a warning?

It is hard to tell. Then again, maybe I am just feeling lost and overwhelmed in my life and emotions. I need answers, and I need them now. The pull to discover the truth is too strong. No matter how hard I have tried to walk away, there is just no going back.

*****

       Tonight, once again, I frantically awaken from my haunting dream. My heart is pounding against my chest. My body is sweating from head to toe, and the taste of pungent salt remains on the tip of my tongue. I cannot understand how a dream can feel this real?

I glance around my room and notice right away the night light, and the bathroom light bulb is off. Sleeping without a light on is something I am not accustomed to because of the dark petrifies me. Too many nightmares of almost drowning in darkness make me feel like a child staring at every corner in the room and wondering what is lurking under my bed.

Fortunately, there is a full moon tonight, but there is a call for storms so the clouds are blocking half the light. A breeze wisp through the cracked window blowing the teal curtain from side to side. I gasp not remember if I left it open or not.  A black shadow slowly cast through the window. I swallow my saliva, wondering if I am being childish. Ever so cautiously, I leaned over to my end table, never once allowing my eyes to look away from the monstrous images. 

Breathe, Brea. Breathe. 

I turn on the mini, mica-shaded lamp. As the light illuminates the room, the shadows on the walls vanish. 

Thank God, it was only my imagination. 

I think...

Looking down at my body, I discover I am soaking wet from head to toe, and my sheets appear to have suffered just as much. Not even if I were to have pissed myself, could I have caused so much damage.

Not again. 

My eyes scan the room; each part and pieces are crucial. I want to believe that I am awake, but the past was always deceiving or illusional. Every time I was confident that I finally made it through another nightmare, something sucked me helplessly back to that place. 

There is no way I am returning to that horrid place tonight.

I look around at every single detail of the room for clues. I look at the four recently painted white walls. The paint may appear fresh, but I never change where I hang my pictures in the room. The oak frames are in the correct place. That is a good sign that I am awake.

I always focus on the photos of my parents, grandparents, and I smiling and embracing each other. They are a comfort to me when I need it the most. Each picture captures our smiles and the heartwarming memories we all shared. I close my tearful eyes and let out a sorrowful sigh; I miss them so damn much.

I continue searching for evidence in my room. The same antique furniture is from generation to generation right where it needs to be. Sometimes, when I walk into the room, I swear I can even still smell the fresh fragrance of cedarwood lingering in the air.

A part of my ritual when I wake is always to turn and look down at the bottom of my headboard. There are engravings of my parent's initials. I guide my pointer finger along with the letters. I sigh in relief. "Thank God. They are here." 

I am the only one who knows the letters are there. It was a secret that Daddy shared with me a long time ago.

*******

        I remember the night he came to my room. I was about five years old. I heard the old hinged door begin creek. I rolled over in bed and rubbed the sleep out of eyes to see who was at the door. It was hard for me to identify the person at first. The light from the hallway shone over their tall body, and to be honest with you the "eye boogers" didn't help much either. That is when I realized exactly who it was. I whispered eagerly, "Daddy!"

Daddy stood there looking unusually nervous. He asked hesitantly, "Brea, may I speak with you for a moment?"

I answered innocently. "Of course, Daddy."

He quietly walked across the room with his head facing towards the floor. As he approached my bed, he ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. I remember that was the first time I saw a sense of sadness in his eyes. He looked at me and said, "Brea, you're getting older."

I rolled my eyes and said, "Of course, Daddy, I am almost a grown-up, just like you."

A laugh escaped his lips. He smirked, tapped the tip of my nose, and said, "Don't grow up too fast, Little One, growing up too fast is just no fun."

I chortled out loud and said," You rhymed, Daddy."

He put his finger on his chin and thought about it for a moment and said, "Hmm, I guess I did."

I remember Daddy wanting to tell me something, but I was getting drowsy. 

 "Daddy, do you still need to talk to me? I am so sleepy." I yawned and stretched my arms out high in the air. His deep blue eyes became glassy. He removed his thick-framed glasses and rubbed his eyes across the sleeve of his shirt. I instantly became anxious about him. I asked, "Daddy, what's wrong?"

He looked at me and said, "Sweetheart, as you grow older, you will discover that there is more to life than just fairy tales and happy endings. Sometimes, you learn that the stories you were told growing up were just stories that were made sweeter, so children like you and I could sleep better at night."

I began to get scared, but I trusted Daddy with all my heart. I pressed my blanket against my chest and asked, "Daddy, why are you telling me this?"

His lip began to quiver as he said, "Brea, I am telling you this because... because one day, you will be the one that has to decide who has the happy ending."

"You're so silly! Daddy, only books can do that, and I'm not a book, I'm your princess."I laughed. 

He attempted a fake smile. Only half of his lip curved upwards. A single tear escaped his glassy eyes. "I love you, Princess. Please, whatever happens, don't forget that, okay?"

Daddy had looked so troubled. I wanted to make him better like he always did for me. I climbed out of my blanket and stood on my bed. I ran into his open arms and hugged him as tight as my little arms would allow. He squeezed me back just the same. He whispered through my tousled hair, "I want to tell you a secret. Can you promise to keep it?"

I became excited again. I loved keeping secrets from people. I don't mean to boast, but I was good at it for my age. I jumped up in down in his robust arms and said, "Yes! Yes! Daddy, what is it?"

He pulled away from me and answered me with a finger pressed to his lips, "Shhhh, my little princess. If you are too loud, the evil villains may come and steal your secret away!"

I covered my mouth and giggled. I whispered back as quiet as possible. "Okay, Daddy, I will be quiet!" I pranced up and down on the mattress and asked softly, "Can you tell me the secret now?"

He nodded and then he put me back down on the mattress and stood back up on the floor. He straightened his wrinkled shirt. He put his pointer finger on his mouth, to remind me not to make a sound, and without a single word he laid down sideways onto the hard-wood floor. I laid on my belly and peeked my nose over the bed curiously. He took his index finger and quietly gestured for me to lie next to him on the floor. I climbed off the tall bed and lay on my side in front of Daddy. He whispered, "Look right there, underneath the headboard. What do you see, Brea?"

At first, I saw nothing but ordinary wood. I honestly didn't know what I was looking for, and then it seemed to appear magically right before my eyes. It was his and Mama's initials engraved with intertwined hearts. All I could seem to muster was, "Wooow..."

I took my finger and traced every curve of the initials, BK &JK.

I said in awe, "Did you magically put them there, Daddy?"

He smirked. "Yes, I did. That will be our little secret. Brea, no matter how old you become, if you see your mama's and my initials, you will always know that you are not lost."

"Really?"

"Yes."

And, you know what else?"

"What, Daddy?" I ask curiously.

"You will always know how much we love you and we will always be watching over you."

"I love you, Daddy."

He answered with steady flowing tears," I love you too, Brea."

*******

That was the last memory I had of my Daddy. The next day my grandparents came to my house. They told me he and Mama died in a plane crash. It was like he already knew...