Dream

Beep… Beep… Beep…

The last couple of days I’ve been hearing things: this incessant beeping, faint but entirely infuriating, and occasionally… voices, I think? Little whispers or pieces of conversations every so often, but none of it makes much sense.

I’m probably just going crazy.

I’m sitting at my desk at work, rubbing my temples to stave off the dull ache in my head that’s been growing for days. It’s 4:43 and my half-finished article on the new bookstore opening up downtown sits dormant on my desktop, the cursor blinking tauntingly at me. It reminds me aggressively that the article is due at 5:00 and the last time I turned in a piece late, I was threatened with being assigned the obituary column “until I can learn to respect deadlines.”

I stare at the screen for a moment longer, my fingers hovering over the keyboard, hoping inspiration will suddenly strike me before I sigh and grab my coffee cup from its resting place beside the framed photo of my husband, Jonathan, and I. 

I step out of my cubicle and take a right, counting the twenty-six paces to the kitchen I’ve come to recognize so easily from my frequent trips to the coffee pot. I pour out what’s left of the cold coffee into the sink and turn on the faucet, rinsing away some of the brown rings before I put the mug into the dishwasher for one of the office assistants to start. Not too long ago, I was one of those assistants, huffing in irritation when the senior journalists would leave their day-old coffee and unrinsed spoons sitting in the sink for me to deal with, like I was nineteen years old again, living with inconsiderate roommates. At this rate, I was quickly headed toward a demotion back to that minimum-wage-maximum-effort job.

Beep… Beep… Beep…

I walk over to the water cooler in the corner of the room and take a long drink, letting the cold liquid refresh my aching body. I toss the paper cup in the trash can and glance at my watch again. 4:56.

I walk begrudgingly back to my desk to stare at my unfinished article again. Much to my irritation, the words do not suddenly flood into my head to be spilled onto paper in the most eloquent of fashions. 

As soon as the clock strikes 5:00, I sign out of my computer, tug on my coat, and grab my bag. I’ll finish the article at home. The editor is already gone for the day and as long as it’s in his inbox by the morning, he won’t even notice it’s late.

My drive home feels extra long today. It seems like the traffic is building up especially for me and the music coming from the car radio seems far too loud. 

Beep… Beep… Beep…

I turn the stereo system off and drive in silence until I reach my small rural neighborhood, body tensed and fingers gripping the steering wheel too tight.

Once I turn onto my street, I start to feel a little more at ease. Jonathan’s red F-150 is already sitting in its spot in the driveway and my body relaxes as I pull into the driveway next to it. For some reason, just knowing he’s around has always helped to calm my anxiety. 

I step out of the car and make my way up the gravel walkway of our small white farmhouse, taking a moment to sit in the peace and quiet of the country air before turning the key in the lock of the front door.

The moment the door opens, I’m greeted by one hundred pounds of black and white fur and slobber. My Bernese Mountain Dog, Apollo, gives me just enough time to drop my bag and keys on the entryway table before he jumps on my chest, nearly knocking me over for the sake of letting me know that these last nine hours apart have been torture. 

“Good to see you, too, buddy.” I laugh and scratch behind his ears. “Where’s your dad?”

Apollo and I venture down the hallway and find Jonathan sitting at the desk in our bedroom, bent over his laptop and pencil drawings spread out around him. He doesn’t hear us come in and I’m wholly unsurprised. John is an architectural engineer and when he’s focused on a project, he won’t easily be distracted.

I lean against the doorway and watch him for a moment; the way he gently pushes his glasses up his nose every so often (they’re too big for him, but he refuses to get them resized), the way his nose crinkles and his brow furrows ever so slightly when he’s focused. He looks just like he did the day I fell in love with him in a dingy coffee shop six years ago. 

“Don’t you have a big fancy office for that?” I joke. He jumps slightly at the sudden sound of my voice and then flashes the big goofy grin I’ve come to love so much at me. “Yes, but I find looking at a structural beauty like my wife much more inspirational than the dusty old men at the office.” Apollo barks as if offended he’s been left out and John laughs. “And, of course, my trusty sidekick is here.” 

He pushes back from the desk, pausing to pet Apollo before walking over to the doorway to kiss me. “How was work?” He asks, walking back to the desk. 

“Oh, just peachy. I was supposed to turn in that article about the bookstore at 5:00, but I’ve had the worst writer’s block lately, so I brought work home too. And to make things even better, I’ve felt horrible all day. My body hurts, my head aches, my anxiety is through the roof. I don’t know what’s going on with me, but I’m sure it’s nothing a run can’t remedy. How was your day?” I make my way to the closet to change into my running clothes, kicking off my heels and tossing my work clothes in the hamper. 

I begin to sift through my clothes as John talks, eventually picking out a white quarter-zip top and black leggings. I’m halfway listening to him, trying my hardest to ignore the soreness of my body and the aching in my head that’s grown worse throughout the day, telling myself my daily run will make me feel so much better as it always does. I sit down at the end of the bed to tie my running shoes when John’s voice suddenly changes.

“You can’t run forever, Hayley.” The voice that simply cannot be my husband’s is low and demanding, but not necessarily menacing. It still sends chills down my spine. 

I freeze and look up at him with what must have been a paled expression, because when I quietly ask, “What did you just say?” he looks at me oddly and answers, “I said, ‘Don’t run too long, I’m making spaghetti for dinner.’” His expression turns to a worried frown and he studies me for a moment. “Are you sure you’re feeling up to a run, Hales? You don’t look too good.” 

John walks over to kneel in front of where I’m sitting, eye-level with me. He studies my face carefully and I force myself to breathe normally. “I’m fine, I promise.” I smile and touch his cheek reassuringly. 

He’s not convinced. “Maybe I should go with you.” He stands up, presumably to find clothes to run in, but I catch his hand before he turns away. I don’t know a single person that hates running as much as John does, so if he’s offering to run with me, he must be seriously worried about me. 

“Jonathan, look at me. I’m okay, really.” I smile at him and he stares at me for a few moments, unsure, before he sighs and concedes. “Fine, but can you at least take the beast with you for my peace of mind?” He gestures to Apollo, who grins at me goofily and I laugh. “Deal.”

With my shoes tied, headphones in, and Apollo on a leash around my waist, I step out the front door and start jogging down the drive. The sun is preparing to set behind the skyline and the trees are swaying gently. I can faintly hear the sounds of birds chirping behind the music in my ears.

Beep… Beep… Beep…

Here we go again. I turn the music up in my ears and pick up the pace.

Beep… Beep…

Focus on the rhythm of my feet hitting the ground underneath me. Speed up.

Beep…

I turn the music up as loud as I can and run as hard as I can. I’m not crazy. I won’t be made to believe I’m crazy. I’m just tired.

I run until my muscles hurt and my lungs burn and I don’t think I can run much longer, and then I run another fifty yards. I stop, hands on my knees, gasping for air, and Apollo pants next to me. After a moment to catch our breath, we jog back home, too tired to hear any more strange noises.

Once in the door, Apollo immediately flops down onto his bed by the fireplace, exhausted and thoroughly irritated with me. I kick off my shoes and head into the kitchen for dinner.

Dinner proves uneventful with John telling me all about the new building he’s working on, and afterwards I take a long, hot shower before slipping into bed next to my already snoring husband. 

It takes me no time at all to slip into a deep sleep.

Beep… Beep… Beep…

“... twenty-seven year old female… accident… ten days…” I can’t see anything, but I can hear voices intermittently. I don’t recognize most of them.

“How long… wake up…” My mother. She sounds like she’s been crying. Why can’t I see her?

“... stable… internal bleeding… decision…” Another voice I don’t recognize. My eyes are swimming in the darkness, trying to see something, anything.

“No… alive… won’t leave me…” Jonathan. What’s going on? I want to open my eyes.

“... be prepared… arrangements…” The strange voice. I’m starting to panic. Why can’t I see them? What are they saying? 

I hear my husband crying. Jonathan, what’s wrong? I can’t tell him I’m okay, he can’t hear me.

“... Hayley…” Mom? I’m right here, I can hear you. 

“... Hales, wake up… please…” John, I’m here, I’m awake. Why can’t they hear me? Why can’t I see them?

Why can’t–

I wake up with a sharp gasp and sit bolt upright in bed. My heart is pounding out of my chest at a million miles per hour, I’m soaked in sweat, I can’t catch my breath. I’m having a panic attack.

I look beside me and see Jonathan sleeping peacefully and my heart slows a little. I gently take his hand and lie back down, pressing his skin to my chest, right over my heart. I force myself to take deep breaths and focus on John’s hand and his pulse that I can feel through his wrist. Finally, the panic subsides and I wipe the tears from my eyes, turning to look at the alarm clock on my nightstand. 3:36 am.

It was just a dream. I’m okay. Jonathan is okay. I’ll call my mom in the morning. 

I grab my laptop from beside the bed and try to work on my article since I was too tired to finish it last night. At 5:17, I finally fall back asleep.

John’s alarm goes off at 6:30 and I feel him roll over to kiss my forehead before he drags himself out of bed to get ready for work. I doze off another few times before finally accepting that I won’t be able to sleep any longer. 

John leaves at 7:30 and I roll over to pick up my phone, sending a quick “Good morning, just checking in, I miss you!” text to my mom before sitting up. 

I immediately regret the action. My head is throbbing and there’s a dull pain in my abdomen. I pop a few pain pills and compose another text, this time to my editor, informing him that I’ll be staying home sick today. At least if I’m not there, he can’t demote me for missing yet another deadline. 

Eventually, I make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get dressed. The pain in my head has subsided enough for me to walk to the kitchen, so I feed Apollo and attempt to eat a piece of toast myself. After realizing that eating only makes the pain in my abdomen worse, I abandon the idea and set myself gently on the couch.

My phone pings next to me and I open the text from my mother. “Hey Hales, was just thinking abt u! Look wht ur brother txt me! Miss those sweet faces! XOXO Mom” Attached was a photo of my twin brother, Hayden, and I on our second birthday. We’re wearing matching jean overalls and my curly hair is tied up with a hot pink scrunchie. Our coordinating Sesame Street smash cakes are still intact. The photographer has captured the moment right before Big Bird and Ernie are smeared all over our chubby hands and faces. 

Beep… Beep… Beep…

I smile to myself, ignoring the sound, and walk over to the cabinet, pulling out my old scrapbooks and flipping through the pages of old photos.

Hayden and I’s first puppy, Elmo (clearly, we were dedicated Sesame Street fans), sitting between us on the ground, the three of us covered in mud. I remember Mom being so angry about the prospect of having to wash all of us off, but Dad snapped the photo and suggested hosing us down outside. It turned into a water fight that all five of us lost.

Our first day of Kindergarten. I was crying in the car because I didn’t want to leave Mom, but Hayden had hugged me tightly and said, “Don’t worry, Hales, I’ll sit next to you all day.” One of our parents snapped a photo of the embrace and we went on to become mischievous legends in Mrs. Jeffrey’s class.

My ninth birthday party. I’d decided I was too old to be sharing a party with my brother and I wanted to have a princess tea party. In the photo, I’m grinning ear to ear in my Cinderella costume next to my friends, but I vividly remember being so jealous of the monster truck party I knew Hayden was having.

Beep… Beep… Beep…

My freshman school play, Alice in Wonderland. I’m smiling between my parents in full Cheshire Cat makeup, even though the part I really wanted was that of the Mad Hatter and Tyler Hastings had stolen it right out from under me.

Hayden and I at our high school graduation. I’m on his back and we’re giggling, having thrown our rented graduation caps too high in the air and not been able to find them. Dad had been livid, swearing up and down we were going to be getting jobs to pay for them.

Beep… Beep… Beep…

My college roommate, Izzy, and I standing in front of our dorm room door. My parents had taken the photo right before leaving to go back home on move-in day. Little did they know, Izzy and I had left not two hours later with way too much makeup and way too little clothing on to crash a frat party. We’d woken up the next morning with our first hangovers.

Jonathan and I about two months after we met, smiling on the beach next to a group of our friends in South Padre Island. We’d booked a tiny beach house with two beds for ten people and no one thought to bring any form of sustenance other than beer, but we had a blast.

Beep… Beep… Beep…

John and I’s wedding day. We’re standing in the middle laughing at one another and our families and best friends are standing around us. No one is paying attention to the camera or posed for the photo, but everyone is smiling or laughing. 

 Beep… Beep… Beep…

I set the scrapbook down. My heart is beating too fast and the pain in my abdomen is getting worse and worse. I’m so tired… Maybe if I lay down for a while I’ll feel better. John will be home in a few hours. 

Beep… Beep… Beep…

I lay back on the couch, my heart beating uncontrollably and my pain becoming more unbearable. I don’t want to sleep, but the edges of my vision are getting dark. I’ll only close my eyes for a moment. Jonathan will be back soon.

Beep… Beep…

It doesn’t hurt anymore. I knew I’d feel better.

Beep…

Finally, silence.

It turns out, I really couldn’t run forever.