Life's a Fleeting Dream

Warning: This story contains domestic violence, strong language, abuse, self harm, sensitive topics, and substance abuse.

There I stood, staring at an unfamiliar person through the water-stained mirror. The pane of glass was clouded from the spray of tight, wet coils, shaken with the desperate hope that my hair would fall at my shoulders like Aurora's did when she fell into that blissful slumber.

               I curved a finger on the bottom lids of my eyes, darkened with half moons, to wipe away the story they told. But my finger is not a magical wand.

               My large hands fell to either side of the sink as I pitched forward and gazed into my brown eyes. Where there was once a giddiness for my fresh start in San Diego, for escaping my homophobic family, was now hollow orbs. Vacant of a soul that once echoed with music, vibrant and beautiful.

               I allow a faint smile to curve my lips, flashing my gapped teeth. The smile withers away like a phantom frightened by sunlight.

               "You're so fucking ugly," Miguel says as he presses a pipe to his lips, sliding past me to sit on my bed. He exhales a miasma of earthy scents, his nostrils birthing tendrils of white. "Hurry the fuck up! Damn!"

               I dab my eyes with the cuff of my sweater, unwilling to let him see my cry.

               "Weak…" He hissed at me when I broke down in front of him and confessed that I was unhappy. All he did was shrug and take a toke from the apple he repurposed as a bong.

               Miguel grabbed the keys to my Jeep Grand Cherokee. "You really gonna wear that?" He jangled the keys in his hand. "I'm tryin' to get faded, and you killin' the vibe. Fuck. Niggas’ gonna think I'm gay or some shit."

               Had I been in the mood to get sassy, I'd say something smart. But that would've only aggravated the smoldering flame I’d used my body to douse.

               Miguel's phone goes off. A familiar notification sound gives me pause. Grindr? The noise is abruptly drowned out as he opens my bedroom door, and the joyful noise of the Yu Yu Hakusho closing theme comes alive.

               "Life's a fleeting dream, don't let it go. You gotta make the most of it, you know."

               My roommates, Tyffani and Jonah, huddled on the loveseat with their four-month-old baby boy, Revan, nestled between them, turn to wave at Miguel and me. Miguel ignores them altogether, his face screwed as he exits the apartment.

               "I’ll be back late,” I say, waving back, giving them a wide, forced smile. Yet, they know the truth behind this smile. They’ve heard the arguments resounding through the thin walls. Heard my screams as Miguel assaulted me. Johan had to jump in once to pull Miguel off of me. Miguel promptly packed his things and left a few hours late.

               Then I called him and told him I was sorry. That I loved him. Missed him. Needed him.

               Neither Tyffani nor Jonah have said a word about Miguel’s sudden reappearance.

               “We’re watching Howl’s Moving Castle tonight,” Johan says, poking Tyffani’s cheek. “Someone has never seen it before.”

               Tyffani snorts, cheeks tingled red. “Neither has Revan.”

               “Because he was just born!”

               They laugh. I go still. Envious. They’re the perfect match for one another: Jonah is sugar to Tyffani’s spice.

               I wish I was worthy.

               “Ain’t no one finna marry you.” Miguel’s acidic voice replays in my head. I had shared my dreams with him of being married. Hinting these three years together was long enough. Miguel then threw a spear into my soul, flickering in and out of existence. “You don’t deserve it.”

***

               “You know I love you, right?” Miguel says to me, locking his fingers in mine as we walk through Hillcrest, where rainbow flags flutter in the breeze. Gay and lesbian couples walked by us, carefree and deeply in love.

               I parrot that sentiment back to him, my body humming with desire.

               For the entire walk back to my Jeep, I feel like I am walking on clouds with the man I love.

               Then the Jeep’s door slam.

 “Let me borrow twenty dollars.”

               “Why?” I spent nearly a third of my paycheck on this impromptu outing.

               “The fuck you mean ‘why’?”

               I fall from the clouds, an angel cast out of heaven. Spiraling. Spiraling. Spiraling…

               Miguel turns the vehicle over and speeds out of the parking spot. “Stupid bitch.”

               I sit as quietly as a mouse in church, not wanting to engage him. We had such a good time together. Moments earlier, I was laughing, dancing, unbound. Now, I’m timid, frozen, and shackled in place.

               Miguel glares at me, hazelnut eyes cutting me to shreds. “Thanks for killin’ my high.” He parks in front of a dispensary. Then he asks again, “Let me borrow twenty dollars.”

               I don’t respond. I just shake my head. No is a complete sentence.

               Miguel smacks his teeth. “Your stupid ass needs to walk home. I ain’t driving.”

               “This is my car,” I remind him.

               “I’m finna get a Uber.” He slams the door so hard that the car shakes. “Bitch!” His parting words to me as he enters the dispensary.

               I climb into the driver's seat and press my head against the wheel. Revving the engine, I pull off like a bat out of hell. Anger boils within me, bubbling over and spilling out of me into swear words. I curse Miguel’s name. Why doesn’t he love me the way I deserve? Why does he treat me so bad? All I do is try to be the best boyfriend I can be. Yet, Miguel shoots me down each and every time I try.

               Picking up my phone, I connect my Bluetooth to the Jeep’s radio, longing to hear music that has the power to wash away the rage I feel inside. My eyes flick from the road to the catalog of music I have stored. Alanis Morissette for the win!

               I return home, barely able to walk, happy that I made it back safe. The beers I inhaled like a breath, fog my senses until I am moving by muscle memory alone. Unlock door. Close the door behind me—gently. The apartment is dark, void of the laughter and love Tyffani and Jonah bring with them.

               I missed movie night.

               Quietly, I teeter to my bedroom, shut the door, and flop onto my bed. The night's events are now a blur. My phone dings with a message from Miguel.

               “This could be you.” His message reads as a picture finishes downloading. “But you playin’.”

               A nude man is prostrated before Miguel with his bottom up.

               I throw my phone across the room; it cracks against the wall and falls to the carpet.

               My world is spinning. Everything bleeding into one another, darkening my vision and my mind. A thought, a lingering impulse, nudges its way to the front. I sob. My chest, heaving with the weight of the world pressing against my ribs, caves in. Imploding.

               I’m before the mirror again, trembling fingers gripping the handle to the medicine cabinet. I can’t look at myself, too petrified to meet my own gaze. I slip the bottle out and dump the pills into my hand. Blue capsules shimmer in my palm, promising me the gift of sleep.

               I swallow the handful and lay on my bed, ready to be released.

               As I drift into the blackness of sleep, I let loose my final cry and wait. Twenty-two is such a young age to go, but this is all that life has in store for me. Pain. Heartbreak. A dead-end job. All I wanted was to be loved and live my California dream. When I moved to San Diego three years ago, I hungered for a life where I could live without limitation. I had dreams of being a writer—a bestselling novelist. Dreams of buying my first home. Dreams of being married. Now all those dreams are slipping away from my grasp as the reaper's obsidian cloaks sweep over me.

               I gasp awake.

Dawn seeps through my blinds, a gentle reminder that I failed. My stomach lurches a warning. I dart for the toilet and let everything go.

               Why? I ask myself, retching my guts dry. Why did I wake up?

               Revan’s cry moves through the apartment. Tyffani and Jonah shuffle around in their room, and their bedroom door creaks open. I flush the toilet, wipe my mouth, and sigh.

               Why…?

               There’s a loud clattering sound from the kitchen.

Tyffani curses. “Damn it,” she says, her voice cracking as if she is near tears. “I dropped the formula. Jonah, I hate myself.”

Revan cries louder.

               Jonah, ever the gentleman, says something that soothes Tyffani and Revan. “It’ll be okay. Don't worry about it, sweetheart.”

               My work alarm goes off just as a few light knocks rap against my door.

               “Just a sec,” I say, fumbling to put on my khaki work pants, red shirt, and name tag.

               When I open the door, Jonah and Tyffani greet me with a smile.

               “Everything okay?” I ask, wiping sleep from my eyes.

               The husband and wife exchange a worried look.

               Jonah scratches his head and exhales. “I hate to ask you this,” he starts, his head down, “but would it be okay if we borrowed some money? We had an accident.”

               “I spilled all of Revan’s formula.” Tyffani buries her face in Jonah’s chest.

               “We’ll pay you back,” Jonah says. “We promise.”

               “Of course,” I say, turning to fetch my wallet.

               “Thank you so much, Chris,” Tyffani cheers. “You’re the best.”

               “What would we do without you?” Johan fist bumps me as I give him a crisp twenty-dollar bill.