In Dreams

(Content Warning: Violence, Crude Language)

Henry always chides me when I make a crude joke. He seems to forget that crude jokes are what drew him to me. Of course, he’s not really mad, it’s true, sometimes they are too much for the company we keep. 

“Sophie!” He says through laughter. “You-you can’t” Henry covers his eyes, losing himself in the double entendre. I know I’ve really got him when he lets out just one, long “AAAAHHH” It’s like he’s screaming, but there’s no trouble to be found. The rest of the dinner table lets out low chortles, mostly laughing at Henry’s reaction. I apologize, letting everyone know that the mind of a comic is always running. 

I am just recently gaining some traction. I am not famous, per se, but getting there. Ever since I was young, I have wanted to stand on a stage and make people laugh. Even if that stage was my living room floor, and my audience was my poor family. My parents never told me I couldn’t, they always fed into my delusions, and now they are finally coming true. A dream would be to one day work on Saturday Night Live. I look up to those comedians like they saved the planet. To be able to work around them, with them, I can’t even think about it without wanting to tear up, or jump and scream. 

Henry is a big help too. We met when I was first starting out. A friend of his dragged him to one of my stand up shows out of the dingy bar somewhere in Queens. My audience was old men that had been going there since they were twenty, a slutty waitress in her fifties. No judgment, just merely setting the scene. Then there was Henry, and his friend Marcus. Both looking completely out of place. 

Henry hadn’t wanted to go, being the introvert that he is, but his friend had just gotten dumped, so he got over himself enough to go out. He promised his friend that he could get completely sloshed, and he would be the DD for the evening. Knowing that Marcus would do the same for him. I remember both men sitting in the front row, looking rather uncomfortable. The other members were simply there to drink, like every other night. Not caring that a young girl was about to go up onstage, give it her all, just to be humiliated. 

My friend Rachel had set up next to Henry and Marcus. She was kindly going to record this set, so I’d have something to show for it. I wasn’t getting paid to be here, the owner had just said he’d allow me a chance. It was enough for me, I’d take anything I could get at that point. 

As I watch from “backstage,” it is so small it doesn’t even qualify as a real stage, but when needs must. I see Rachel have some small conversation with the two men. Marcus was much more engaging, leaning over Henry to talk with a pretty young woman. I see Rachel politely smile, and nod at whatever Marcus was saying, before the owner finally gives me a thumbs up. He heads onto the stage to introduce me. 

“All right everybody.” He bellows out with his thick accent. “Let’s give it up for Sophieeeee” He holds out the last syllable of my name like I’m about to enter a boxing match. At the response, which is none, I’d much rather enter a boxing ring.

I come out onto the “stage” waving. “Thanks, Allen, and thank you all for coming out tonight.” Rachel gives me a thumbs up from where she sits. At the continued silence from the crowd, I give her a look that says I want to bolt, but she waves me off. 

“Well, let me start by saying as much as you all don’t want me up here, I don’t want it either.” 

I get a small “Woot '' from someone.

I point in the direction I think I heard it from. “Thank you, mom. Always nice to hear from you.” That gets me a minute chuckle. Mostly from Rachel, Henry, and Marcus, but it’s something. 

“I, uh, I don’t know why I chose this profession. All I can tell you is that one person, one time, told me I was funny. So, I ran with it. Much like my stomach does after eating Taco Bell.” I hear a bark of laughter from my right. Henry. He is actually smiling in my direction, distracting me a bit. 

“So you have some experience with that too, huh?” He nods. “My apologies.” 

“That brings me to my first question, people. Why do we accept sub par food that we know will only stay with us in nightmares? Nightmares being waking ones when we get up the next morning, and smell our pipes.” 

More laughing. Giving me a bit of confidence. “Should it be a clue that it only really tastes good, when we’re proper sloshed, huh? I think it is. But you know what they say, “Drunk words, sober thoughts,” right? What happens to our brains when we drink? Because, two minutes ago. Yous guys weren’t laughing, but now that you have chugged your beers, I am making these weird sounds come out of your mouth.” 

Another barking laugh from Henry. I look over, and see Rachel smiling in his direction. I decide to use it. “Take this man for example. I haven’t even touched him, and he’s making noises I’ve only ever heard a man make when he’s about to…ya know…” I just make a disgusted face, and go “UUGHH” gaining more laughter from the entire bar this time. That’s the first I ever heard Henry go “AAAAHH” I can’t contain my laughter. I double over, having just heard the best thing in the entire world. The whole bar erupts, simply  at Henry, and from then on it was over. 

The rest of the set went really well. I received applause from the whole crowd, a few cheers as well. Better than I could hope for. Henry and I talked after the set, and I thank him for his kind reactions. Marcus very quickly butts in. 

“He never laughs. At anything! His sense of humor is almost non-existent, this one. What you just did, is a miracle.” Henry rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it. 

“Well, then I must be damn good if I can make a soulless corpse laugh. Because only dead bodies have no sense of humor, ya weirdo.” 

We all descend into mindless chatter, giving and receiving contact information. Making plans to hang out, have dinners, ect. We make good on those plans, all hanging out as a group for several months after that. Then it’s only me and Henry. I help bring him out of his shell, while he shows me the importance of having a space for myself. We make each other more mindful of our boundaries, learning to respect the other person. All of those little things lead us here, at our rehearsal dinner. Where I can’t help, but be the center of attention. 

I sit back and watch for a moment. Looking at all of my friends and family, my soon-to-be husband, smiling and laughing with people he never would have met had it not been for me. I look at his sister, who I stole. She is now my sister, and one of my closest friends. I can’t imagine my life without her anymore. I bullied Henry into writing that she’d be mine in the divorce. He, of course, was reluctant, but his sister said she’d never speak to him again if we did get divorced. He agreed then, letting me know that if we do ever, for any reason, get divorced; those reasons being only the most inconceivable scenarios possible, he would want his whole family to disown him. 

I smile to myself at the memory. Henry looks back at me, his own smile growing into one that he saves just for me. He takes my hand in his own, bringing it to his lips. I love him. It’s not complicated, or hard. I love him, and I know he loves me. If I had it my way I’d live in this moment forever. Happy, loved, free to be myself. I close my eyes, relishing the feeling.

My eyes snap open at the sound. I jump out of bed, terrified, only to realize it’s the window shutter. Snapping against the pane in the wind. I take deep breaths wiping the tears from my eyes. It’s like this every night. 

Every night I am plagued by the same dream. Henry and I together, on the verge of the most exciting journey of our lives. How we started, how we should’ve ended, but reality tells a different story. 

I did meet Henry that night in Queens. We became fast friends, which led to us dating. He went to all of my shows, sat in the front row cheering me on. As one knows, in this life people either like you, or they hate you. Really hate you, for simply telling jokes. It was one of those nights, and the hecklers were crazy. I was up, doing my act. Everything was going fine. People were laughing, enjoying themselves. I don’t know why, but I had more hecklers than usual. They were really unhappy, but I just dealt with them the way I always do. I engage with them a little, and then brush them off. Thankfully if they become too much the bouncers kick them out. 

This guy was really on one, though. He kept yelling for me to get off the stage, I ignored him. Since I was giving him a reaction, he proceeded to stand right in front of the stage, in front of other patrons. He yelled obscenities, insults, and such. Thankfully, the bouncer became fed up enough that he removed him from the building. I continued my set without any other real problems. Some hecklers, but they didn’t get to that extreme. 

Once I was done, Henry met me at the back of the bar as usual. We had a drink, paid, and planned on spending the night at home. As we were leaving the venue, The same man came up to us, still screaming. Calling me an unintelligent whore, a stupid liberal. Telling me I didn’t know my place as a woman in society. Just really horrible things. We tried to keep walking, shove him off, but he followed. It got to the point where Henry was fuming.

 Henry is a lover, not a fighter. He hates confrontation of any sort, and always looks for calm ways to solve things. It was one of the reasons I loved him so much.

He turns to the man, pulling me behind him. He starts telling the man off, yelling at him to drop it and walk away. The guy just gets in Henry’s face, now calling him names. Henry physically shoves him away, grabs my hand, and starts back off down the street. I had fallen behind him again, not able to keep up with his long strides. I hear my name being called, so what do I do? I turn. Then everything happens in slow motion. 

I hear a shot ring out, hear Henry yelling something to me. I feel myself falling, watching as the bullet is coming toward me. See the man standing, holding the gun with a sick smile on his face. I brace for the pain, waiting for it, but it never comes. I hit the sidewalk, Henry falling on top of me. I see the guy running away, street cops running after him. Shocked, I ask Henry if he’s okay. He doesn’t answer. 

“No, no…” I crawl out from under him. He was hit right in the chest. “No, no NO!” I scream, grabbing his face. “Please, please honey. You have to stay with me.” His eyes are unfocused, flitting everywhere, before finally settling on my face. 

“Hey, baby, are you okay?” He strains out. I am sobbing at this point. 

“Yes, yes, I am fine. Don’t worry about me, focus on yourself okay.” I look up, “Somebody please call 911.” I shout, and everyone, any one. I press my hands to the wound on Henry’s chest. His face is becoming pale, and his breathing is labored. “Please, Henry. Henry, you have to stay, you have to fight just a little longer. Please.” I whimper. He lifts one of his hands to my face. 

“I love you, just know that.” He gasps out. “You’ve made me the happiest I’ve ever been, and I am so lucky tha–” He pauses, eyes going skyward, before he lets out one last breath. 

“Henry,” I shake him. “Henry, Henry, HENRY PLEASE!” Sobs wrack my body as I hold him to my body. Somewhere in the distance, I hear sirens. Too late. 

Since then I have stopped doing stand-up. I don’t go out anymore, and I hardly talk to my family. I am too afraid, too lost. Those dreams don’t help either. Every night I see his face, I am blessed and cursed. Grateful I will always remember it, despondent at the fact I never see it again. I guess dreams really are made to be, and leave you broken.