Sweet Dreams

I rambled up a story about yet another dream I had; the one with the pretty flowers. Aunt Nat, like always, messily munched on her almost burnt buttered toast while scrolling through her phone with the merest attempt at listening. I shot myself out of my seat and shouted like a crazed madman.

"And this time, they were singing!"

My Aunt Nat always looked like she was less than a millisecond away from detonating by scorching her vocals like a frightened cat in a wild night. Every day, I remind her not to take another damn light—never listens, though, and only tells me not to curse under her roof. I just repeat what Mama always said. Every single word before the day she passed, that was my special way of inexplicably harnessing her in my mind. Not the heart, though. Aunt Nat told me that emotions in the heart are only reserved for the most spontaneous moments in life. I did have that with my mama, but it was every day so I don't know if that really counts.

"Oh, girl, you cannot breathe a single night without seeing them flowers, can't you?" Aunt Nat opened the creaky old door leading to the back porch, a lighter in one hand. I figured, eventually, she wouldn't either.

Now alone at the dinner table, I sat there dumbfounded. She made it seem like it was a curse and I was suffering when really I just loved flowers. Where we lived was deserted from any flowers unless you planted them, yourself. I never know what kind I'm looking at because I don't ever learn their names. It's better to drown deep into their beauty without the unviable effort of remembering labels. Papa taught me stuff like that—but he wasn't that same person the last moments I've been with him. Nowadays, even breathing before pronouncing out his name would get me in trouble with my aunt. There was typically nothing but alcohol abuse and financial problems about Papa, so a conversation about him became distressing anyway. And I'm sure Aunt Nat has been stressed since finding out she won the ticket of being our caretaker.

"Meg, come in here and help me with the baby's diapy." The way she'd refer to that word was almost as disgusting as the smell.

Oliver, my stinky little brother, caught the stomach bug yesterday. I've never touched a diaper in my life, but the devil finally came down and trapped me in this job every hour since then.

Aunt Nat eyeballed me the entire time I was practicing my diaper rolling skills. I told her how much Ollie's birth was the real suffering I was going through, yet she always reminded me how much I'd regret not loving him enough if he grows up hating me. I know all these grown-ups say some cow dung that makes them feel smart, but Aunt Nat's words always came out like clean, sharp knives—slashing you real and raw.

"Men. Them bastards ain't nothing without a woman and will drain you dry until they've had their fill. But remember this, Meghan-love, they won't ruin your life unless you allow them to."

I want to believe she was always this bitter her entire life, but I can tell her recent divorce really sparked a final nerve in her you wouldn't figure she still had left.

Since Ollie was born, everything about my family changed. Everyone says it's the grief from my mom's passing, but I didn't think like that. I glare at Ollie every day, hoping his peabrain could read my mind. He was the real problem. Plus, these dreams I have didn't exist until he did, and I know that ain't no coincidence.

Aunt Nat tossed her car keys into my hands with nothing else but the words, "Go start up the car." I couldn't ever predict what she planned to do, but she was always on her feet and dragging me along. I sniffed the keys. I wasn't weird like that; it's just that everything she owned reeked of cigarette smoke. That included the car I was about to go into.

During the car ride, I noticed the deserted green fields and assembly of trees were getting tinier as large greyish buildings and landmarks surrounded the route. I looked at my baby brother—of course, he probably had no thoughts in his mind, especially where we were headed.

"Why are you driving away from town?"

Aunt Nat never responded to my questions right away. For whatever reason, she made it important to use all the best answers. Either that or she's slow, although that wouldn't be very convincing.

"It'll come to ya," She said reassuringly, but I was still confused. "just keep waiting, and you'll see."

I forced my eyes shut, even while I had to plunge a yapping Ollie his little passie to shut him up.

Although I was tranced in a small nap, I still possessed the skill of detecting the vehicle reaching a halt. I didn't want to open my eyes; in fact, I didn't want to get out the car. I was hoping Aunt Nat was going to leave my half-conscious body rested inside, no further commotion. But of course, she always does the opposite of what I want.

"Girl, get your sleepy butt out here, now." She snarled.

The good ol' trick of staying asleep never worked on Aunt Nat, and so I immediately sprung out of the car, almost tripping as I lost control over momentum.

I knew Aunt Nat saw my wrinkled, glum face as she rushed us to the front door of the home to deliberately avoid any extra talk. The dark hints peeking out the crevices of the wood made it clear how old the house was—some vines wrapped around the corners, long enough to reach the windows. I swore the air here smelled different from home, but not in a way I didn't like, either.

After a single ring of the doorbell, a bright welcome came before us. "Hey, come inside!"

Ollie and I stayed in the living room. I could hear bickering from Aunt Nat, and before I knew it, she had already left the house. I hid my nose in my shirt and tried searching for the source of alcohol.

The scruffy, hanky man that was bouncing all over the place finally sat himself down on the sofa, trying a little too hard to appear professional and polite. To cease the awkward silence, I pointed at the small portable fridge that rested on one of the end-tables.

"Oh, that?" He chuckled. "That's just where I keep my cans of..er-" After realizing what he was revealing to me, he shut the door, and then Ollie decided right now would be a perfect time to throw a random fit. I've never seen a person dive from one place to another in such a quick yet clean swoop. I even felt a breeze touch my face.

"Hey, don't worry. I got this one." I received a wink before the man took off with little Ollie in his large arms. After making sure he was out of sight, I crept over to smell a quarter-empty can of beer sitting on the end table. My eyes shot back from my face as I curled my nose; I could taste the bitterness in my mouth.

To rid my timid nerves, I walked around the house to observe every detail as if I was inside an art museum. The endless amount of spanking the baby and I would get from my Aunt Nat if we ever created havoc in her own home kept crossing my mind the further I ventured through the halls and rooms. I briefly passed by the room Ollie was getting his diaper changed in and then curiously peaked at the room next door. A large and rough hand pulled me by my arm. I looked up, and the man laid his red, grumpy-looking eyes on mine. "Here, come with me." He calmly commanded. As we were walking out of the hall I turned my head back around, facing the cracked bedroom door, which revealed taro-purple walls decorated with furniture—each layered with a thin blanket of dust.

I was watching Ollie's body repeatedly do little bounces while he was riding the man's back as we were heading somewhere outside. His backyard was big but not as much so as Aunt Nat's. Hers was like an open field that can span almost an entire mile before ending on the street; perfect for practicing my running skills.

In the middle of the yard was a tent, probably large enough to fit only the two of us, with the exception of Ollie. Prepped right in front of it was a little bit of firewood with a bag of marshmallows, Hershey's, and a box of graham crackers. My face lightened up, and I dashed straight into that spot.

We spent a whole hour trying t0 light up a fire over the wood. I was entertained, and I could tell the sweaty old man who kept smiling at me over his shoulder was, too. He was constantly making sure I was carefully observing every step it took to create a single tiny bit of flame and watch it grow into a giant flaring masterpiece.

While we were roasting our marshmallows for s'mores, the man leaned closer to my side and spoke in his usual soft voice.

"One thing I forgot to tell you is that you gotta treat every small ball of flame you make like it's your child. Darn thing grows dangerously faster than you can keep up, and one wrong move could ruin the entire relationship you had with it."

As he was speaking these wise words, I was focused a little too hard on making sure my marshmallow didn't burn on one side. He grabbed two graham crackers and squished my marshmallow in between them. After taking a bite, I blinked twice and squinted my eyes. "It's missing something."

The man shifted his eyes and pointed at my brother with a puckish smile. "I'm gonna assume Oliver's the culprit."

I saw brown streaks shining on Ollie's face as he continued to gnaw on whatever melted chocolate was left in his hands. His blue, innocent eyes mindlessly peered at me. I sharpened my gaze and imagined the next few things I would do to him, away from Aunt Nat's watch.

"Hey hey," The man nervously asserted. "he was just a child enjoying something tasty. Fella's too young to understand any better."

"But he's a boy! And boys are always up to no good!"

The man shook his head. "Yep, that's definitely from Natalie, ain't it?"

We all stayed inside the tent throughout the night, and it was such a new experience for me. I learned how to relax and engulf myself in the billions of stars floating in the black sky. Ollie fell deeply asleep, using the calming chitter-chatter of all the night critters as nature's lullaby. At some point, my brain felt the pleasurable vulnerability to talk about all my dreams with the flowers. The man hauled his body up from lying down and intensely followed every word that came out of my mouth. He dimmed the lamp we kept inside the tent, but I could still see his pouty red lips hidden in a short goatee connected to his mustache. With more hair, he could almost pass off as a ginger Santa Claus. His cheekbones raised high above his face even when he wasn't smiling, giving a constant pseudo cheery expression. It was only right now that I finally got a really good look at this guy. His familiar warm gaze over mine gave me a feeling I've never felt in a long while.

He snuck a tiny smirk before asking, "Can you recall what kind of flowers they were?"

"They looked like this." I picked up the single flower that I held with me and moved it towards the lamp. His eyes glistened from within the darkness, mouth trembling. "I was surprised that you still kept them..." I continued. "..for Mama." He looked away, staring at the moon that reflected its white, soft glow onto his skin.

Papa used to miss Mama so much after she passed from birthing Ollie. He couldn't handle his emotions, though. The custody battle tore him apart; only caused him to miss us as well. This person no longer resembled Papa, but I could tell the look in his eyes held inside a lonely man—husband and father. When they said the cause was grief they must've been talking about Papa.

I'd hear the scrappy talk from Aunt Nat all day about him, but I know Mama wouldn't forget to talk about how loving he was. She named him papa bear of the cave—always protecting his two princesses. He was happy with just the three of us, but underneath all of that, there was a melancholic desire. I stared at Ollie, this first time with a smile.

Papa poked the flower in my hand and whispered, "Mama told me those ones were your favorite."

Oh, the marigolds—they were the only ones I cared to remember the name of. I admired them dearly. Mama used to place different groups of flowers in their own pots, and I'd help hang them on the front porch. She'd hum a melodic tune that joyfully bounced inside my ears. I never learned what song it was, but I echoed it enough times to imitate every sound. And then the marigolds began humming that same tune in my dreams. They had no face, but each flower expressed such vibrancy that somehow I'd see Mama's smile in every one of them.

I snuggled down close to Papa. I could feel his warm breath. He squeezed my body tighter, reminding me of all those hugs we used to give each other. But this hug was a bit different from the other ones. It's the kind that lets you know everything's all okay now. After three whole years, you could say he finally won with a fight.

"Goodnight, Papa. Love you."

Our life went through bumps and bruises.

"Sweet dreams, sugar bear."

But it never changed entirely.