Oh, Those Nights

[9:30 pm]

〰️ 〰️ 〰️ A wave of light 〰️ 〰️ 〰️ comes and goes, in and out of my head, then bounces around like a ping-pong ball. Suddenly, it quiets, lulls, and sleep takes me quickly. 

I’m standing in my father’s home office at the back of the house in my childhood home. It used to be a bedroom, but it was expanded into a large office. 

I’m next to his desk. We’re talking, laughing, and I’m watching him work. His fingers fly over the ten-key adding machine, adding columns of numbers and scribbling symbols onto a spreadsheet, his smile as bright as day. 

Random gibberish about school, friends, dinner…

Then I see the flames, and I get quiet. They’re starting in the corner of the room. They start as a small flicker and then quickly spread across the walls, licking and crawling up, flashing over the ceiling and completely engulfing the room. Why is it always fire? Over and over, in the same room?

I cannot breathe, move, or scream. We’re both frozen like our feet are nailed to the floor. I cannot move. My dad cannot move. I’m watching these flames overtake everything, licking at our feet, panic setting in, and wondering when the flames will take our lives. The fire overtakes us, but I feel no pain, just pure panic. I watch my dad close his eyes. I put my hands over my eyes.

〰️ 〰️ 〰️ [10:39 pm]

The green grass feels cool beneath my body as I lay there, looking up at the midday sky, as blue as the Mediterranean Sea. Some of the clouds are puffy, but some are ragged, changing rapidly as the wind whisks them into different shapes. 

Duke’s head is on my belly. He snores and his head bobs up and down as I breathe in and out. I stroke his silky ears. His muzzle is turning gray; he’s almost eleven years old but he still bounces around like a puppy when he gets excited, especially at dinner time. 

In the clouds, I see a poodle and, of course, a dragon with large claws, big horns on its head, and who’s spitting fire. He keeps changing, getting fat, then skinny, shrinking, then growing taller.

When I reach back down to pet Duke, he’s gone. I jump up and scream his name, “Duke!” But there’s only the sound of the wind blowing through the trees. My heart starts to race and I cry hysterically. Turning right, turning left, but he’s not here. Panic sets in.

Whoosh - into the kitchen. I’m standing at the counter and looking down at Duke. He looks fine. He’s skinny but fine. He’s looking up at me with a goofy lab grin. Why do his lower legs look like poodle legs? I pet him on the head, then turn to the countertop to grab my sandwich. I look back, and he’s gone again. 

“Where is he?” I scream through my tears and grab at my mom, begging her as she walks by me. She says, “You know.” I scream back, “Who took him?” She replies, “Your dad.” My stomach feels sick, and I cannot control what’s happening. My head starts rapidly spinning, 

“But he’s FINE! He’s not sick, he’s not old!” My screams fall on deaf ears. No one is there and no one is listening to me…

〰️ 〰️ 〰️ [11:55 pm]

I’m with Erica, but it’s not Erica. Some other face. But I know it’s her. It just is…I know it in my core.

We’re on a mountain trail somewhere in the Sierra Mountains with the sun dipping down over the hill, tall redwoods following us, watching our every move, and red dirt crunching beneath our feet. We’re laughing, gossiping. We know each other so well. Our backpacks are hefty but not too heavy. 

I’m not sure where we’re going. Neither does she, and dusk is upon us. We don’t stop to make camp, we just push on. 

As we pass by tall boulders bordering the trail, we hear something scratching in the dirt—something digging. We stop dead in our tracks. It starts keening and growling, otherworldly-like, but we can’t see it. 

It’s hiding.

We look at each other, drop our backpacks and run, fast.

The sun is dipping lower. 

We can hear the “something” running behind us.

I’m ahead of Erica, gasping for breath as we take a wrong turn and get to the end of a slot canyon…which…doesn’t make sense because we’re in the mountains, not in Moab.

It’s getting closer; we can hear it growling and slurping behind us. The air feels cold and heavy. We still can’t see it, but we know it’s there. Erica starts crying.

The only way out is up. I tell her, “Stop crying!” And she does, magically. She bumps me out of the way and starts crawling up, ledge by ledge, rock by rock, up the canyon wall, like Spider Woman. I’m afraid of heights, and now she’s at the top, begging me to climb. "It's getting closer!"

So I do…I grab the closest rock and hoist myself up. “Don’t look down,” I say to myself, sweat pouring off me. I know the “something” can smell my panic. 

The sweat grows heavier, and my fingers slowly slip from the rock. I look up. Erica is cheering me on, telling me to hurry!

Digging deep, I'm almost to the top, and then I look down. My heart starts thumping deep in my chest, and then I start to cry. I look back at her. “Grab my hand!” she yells and reaches out to me.

I…can’t….quite…reach…

My foot slips. “Aaah!” Then my hands slip. “Ericaaaa!” I’m falling, falling….

〰️ 〰️ 〰️ [1:38 am]

It’s the same cabin from fifth-grade camp, but now it’s summer, and I’m back there, high up in the Santa Cruz mountains. 

The cabin walls are lined with wood planking, and the ceiling fan above me is white and whirring around and around on a hot night. The windows are open for air. I can see the lamppost that illuminates our cabin. Its yellowed light is shining in the window and I can’t sleep because of it, and because of the heat. 

I’m on the top bunk, which I hate. It’s even hotter up here, and I’m afraid of heights. I’m afraid of turning over and falling out. Or, forgetting that I’m on the top and just step off to use the bathroom. Falling to the ground.

She seems familiar. 

I told her how I hated the top bunk, but she just laughed. But the girl below me refused to give up the bottom bunk. 

She’s now snoring, and I hate her.

In an instant, it’s morning, and we’re all sitting on the floor of the cabin in a circle. I don’t hate that girl anymore. She’s smiling at me, and we show each other our friendship bracelets. The sun is streaming in on a beautiful summer’s day. We’re all so happy in our pajamas with hot cocoa in our hands. 

Someone starts chanting and we repeat each line: 

Flea

Flea fly

Flea fly flo

Come-a lata come a lata come-a lata vista

Oh no no no not the vista

Vista

Vista

Eenie meenie decimeenie oowala wala meenie

Exameenie sala meenie ooh wala wala meenie

Beep beadalily oaten boaten boo boe bedoaten dottin…shhhhhh.

“I love that song!” I yell. Everyone starts laughing. 

Except the girl who sleeps down below my bed. She’s not smiling anymore; she’s scowling at me, and I know I won’t have any friends at this camp this summer. 

She stares at me. Her hair turns white; her eyes turn black. She whirls her arms around like a witch, conjuring up unearthly beings. There is fire, now starting in the corner of the room, that turns into a dancing figure, coming closer and closer to me. 

I turn to her and ask, “Why?” 

“Why what?” She asks back. “Are you afraid of fire? Or are you more afraid of being buried alive?” 

And with that, she picks up a huge woolen blanket and launches it way over my head until everything around me is gone, and I’m suffocating…

I can’t catch my breath!

I’m flailing my arms, looking for a way out!

“Heeelllpp!” I gasp.

〰️ 〰️ 〰️

“Whoa, whoa!” Matt’s voice. I hear it.

He puts his hand on my arm, and I’m unsure where I am. 

I’m still flailing.

My breathing is erratic like the wind’s been knocked out of me

… then…his hand on me.

My breathing slows down.

My heartbeat starts slowing.

The cobwebs start to clear. 

Laying his head down on the pillow, he says, “Bad dream, girl.”

I’m sitting up, still trying to catch my breath.

I can’t see the clock. “What time is it?” I ask him.

“It’s 10:15,” he says.

"At night?"

"Yeah," he says, sleepily.

"F***king ‘ell!"