Lucid Dreaming

Wrapped loosely in an array of pillow-like sheets. The room is dark with just the flickering glow from the tv and the city’s lights twinkling in from my apartment window. I begin to drift off, falling in and out of sleep like you do when you’re on the early morning train to work, head bobbing, ass slipping off the plastic chair. But this is short lived, I haven’t been able to sleep through the night since my husband passed. At the beginning, I hated when I fell asleep and dreamt of you, because the pain I felt when I woke and reality set back in, felt like being hit by a freight train. But now, I beg for a few moments of blissful REM sleep when I can see your face and hear your voice. I’ve started to panic that my mind will no longer dream of you, my subconscious wants to punish me. And maybe it should.

This kind of pain is painful to the point where I feel internally bruised, my interior is damaged to the point of no return; but my exterior mocks me, she looks unsettlingly healthy. I look in the mirror and curse the appearance I once was very grateful for. As a pretty girl, life has been made easier for me, I didn’t have to try to get boyfriends, I didn’t have to oversell myself at an interview and on the day of my wedding I was the most beautiful girl in the room. It makes me sick, because all the beauty in the world couldn’t have saved you. All my luck and the idea of breezing through life went out like a light when I lost you. The vodka in my system and lack of sleep has me delirious, I’m asking myself, do I deserve this? Nothing bad has ever happened to me - but now the worst has happened, and it hurts, oh how much it hurts. I don’t think anything I have done up to this point could be considered crying, it may have resembled it, but you can’t call it crying.

I pick up my phone, it’s safe now that I have deleted all the hateful social media apps and places for people who don’t really know me to message me and send their condolences. I click on the google app to research a dream I had about a river and up pops an article on lucid dreaming; the idea that we can control our dreams, and our actions in our dreams. And for the first time, I feel a glimmer of hope flutter through my chest. Maybe I will see you again.

The next few days are a scribble of coffee cups, biscuit wrappers and mismatched ‘laundry day’ outfits. I watch countless videos and read multiple articles on how to perfect lucid dreaming. The unanswered text messages and missed calls from my family and friends are piling up, if this were a 90s movie, I would have voicemails on my answering machine instead of words on a screen. I wish this were a 90s movie instead of my heart-wrenching reality. I’d most likely have some sort of break through where happiness seems possible and worth it, I snort at the cliché of it all. I’d still be wearing mismatched awful outfits of course, but I would probably have brushed my teeth or dragged a brush through my hair. I wouldn’t have to think: each word, tear, and breath would be scripted for me. The movie would run its course, audiences would cry and clutch their chests as they watched my journey from devastated widow to strong and stunning woman. It would be a hit and a great one to put on if you, ‘felt like a good cry’. I think I’d like Sandra Bullock to play me in the movie.

It’s Wednesday night; I think. Every day is a blurry mess, like how I see the world without my glasses on. I lie in bed, my eyes getting heavy. I look at pictures of you and remember every little thing about you, I begin a narrative in my head for my dream of you.

‘Please’ I say repeatedly into my pillow, ‘I’ll take anything.’

My eyes close and my breathing deepens in my heavy chest.

The sky is studded with a million stars, it’s a navy-blue colour. As always, when I see the first star of the evening, I begin my wish, ‘On the first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.’ It’s something I picked up from a Christmas movie I watched as a child, and I’ve done it ever since. Since you’ve been gone, my wish is always the same. I think you can guess what it is.

I notice a barn at the bottom of the field I’m standing in, I know I’m dreaming because I live in the city, and the only time I see something rural and rustic like a barn is on tv, watching one of the interior design shows that you love so much. Loved.

I start my way walking down the field, the grass feels springy under my feet. I step down the field like I’m walking on an enormous trampoline. When I get to the door of the barn, I feel heat and happiness coming from inside, the feeling wafts out from the crack in the door like the smell of a pie cooking in the oven. I push the old wooden door open and walk inside. It’s beautiful, I’m overwhelmed. It doesn’t look like an old barn at all, it’s modern and colourful and full of warm life. There is art on the walls, bold and edgy, there is a luxurious large sofa with the most perfect assortment of pillows and a faux fur throw covering it. I dash over and slump myself on the sofa, grasping onto the pillows and running my hands over the smooth fur throw. I smile, I know this is the sort of thing you dreamed of doing. I can smell you here, I can feel you in every fixture, in every lamp and every pillow. I feel you in the crackling blaze of the fire.

But where are you?

I am the only person here. Again, I am alone.

I lie back on the sofa and look up to the high ceiling. I am startled to see a large, magnificent, golden, and tan owl. With fluffy white feathers and piercing blue eyes, perched on one of the high ceiling beams. I rub my eyes and remember, yes, I am dreaming. The owl makes a musical and comforting ‘Hoo’ sound, I begin to smile again. He swoops down and nestles in beside me. I stroke his soft feathers and look into his familiar eyes; we lie together in amongst the pillows, our chests rising and falling at the same time. I close my eyes and take in every sense of this magical place.

When I open my eyes again, the barn is gone, and I am once again looking at the endless glittered night sky. The owl swoops over my head, his large wings cutting through the wind. My feet start to follow him, getting faster and faster until I am running as fast as I can. ‘Don’t leave me’ I plead with him.

My feet begin to lift off the ground, the tips of my toes graze the grass and I’m soon running on air. Side by side we soar through the dark sky together, the moon shines brightly on us as we glide above the city lights, up here, with you, the city doesn’t feel as big and lonely. The buildings are like little toys, the lights are like the ones you put on your Christmas Tree. Side by side, watching over me in the big City, I know this is you, free as a bird, watching the Christmas Tree lights as the living sleep soundly in their beds. We fly over the water and watch the reflection of our moon glimmer in the ripples of the waves. I wish I could see your face and hold your hand, but is this what you look like now? Alive in my dreams, exploring the night sky, counting every star, feeling the magic of the moon, free, wise as you always have been, in love with the possibilities of the night sky, your blue eyes watch me, in love with me.

The warmth of the sun heats up the sky and it turns a vibrant blue, I can feel the glow on my cheeks as we descend in and out of the clouds, my fingers sweep through the light icing sugar haze as you take me to the golden sands of the dry desert. You always wanted to show me the pyramids, we can’t go together in person on foot, but we can fly in my dreams, woman, and bird over the wonderous mystery of ancient Egypt. As high as we are, the pyramids look large and strong, you can feel the history radiating off them in vibrations as we hover above them. They are just as marvellous as I had imagined.

In the blink of an eye, the sky returns to the shadows and the snow below us is thick and untouched, flecks of snowflakes fall around us, I turn over onto my back as if I were floating on water and watch the frosted flakes fall. You stay close by my side. The sky explodes with colour, shimmering streaks of these colours surround us, The Northern Lights. A tear rolls down my cheek, I wish so much for this not to be a dream, I wish so much for you to be real. Why can’t you be real.

I close my eyes; I can’t watch anymore. We are back in the cabin. I look at you, the you that is covered in feathers, and I let the pain back in. It pulls me to my knees, and they slam to the floor.

‘I’m sorry I locked you out’ I sob into my palms.

Your feathers drop off, you shed your dream exterior. An angel, not a ghost.

I can feel your warm skin on mine as you reach out and touch my hand. It’s you. I put my hand on your face, I can see you blink - a real human, as real as you can be now. Your blue eyes are human, and they are looking at me, it feels like home.

‘Thank you’ I whisper, the tears still rolling down my cheeks.

‘Thank yourself,’ he says with a smile. ‘Don’t leave it so long next time.’

He holds me by the fire, and we drift off to sleep. When morning comes, I wake up, but you stay asleep.

I walk to the window and open it wide, breathing in the early morning air. I look up to the infinite sky.

‘I’ll see you when I close my eyes.’

Somehow, I know you can hear me.