The Dream

            I must have hoped that the dreams wouldn’t be any different. It was just a stupid date, a number on the calendar. So what that it was the anniversary? Why should that make any difference?

            I really should have known better. Even my subconscious was disappointed.

            The dreams started as they always did, with the shadow dream.

            I walk in a glorious meadow, green and lush and shining in the sunlight. White and yellow flowers blossom in the grass that tickles my feet which happen to be bare. Fluffy clouds pass gently through a beautiful blue sky, a light breeze rustling by every now and then. The meadow inclines and I climb up the slope until I have reached the top. I stop and look out over the meadow rolling below. Blue flowers join the white and yellow, blooming in colorful clusters. On the far side of the meadow, a forest begins, tall trees with dark trunks and dark tops. In the far off distance, I can make out the outlines of mountains, a faint blue against the sky.

            The sun warms me as I stand gazing out at the beauty before me. I feel at home in this meadow, like I’ve been to this place before, perhaps in real life.

            A shadow passes over me, something large coming up from behind. I keep my gaze directed forward, reluctant to look away from the meadow. The shadow grows larger and larger, covering me and blocking out the sun. But despite the sunshine’s absence, I do not feel any colder; in fact, I feel warmer. Sighing, I begin to turn around and—

            The dream fades, as it always does.

            And tonight, the dreams did not end for the night, but continued to other dreams. In this case, they were memories.

            My skin feels like it’s burning. I can sense the sun shining above me, my eyes seeing red beneath my closed lids. Beneath me, I feel warm sand, shifting coarsely against my skin. I open my eyes, quickly shutting them against the harsh light. I open my eyes more gingerly as I slowly push myself up to a sitting position. I have to shield my eyes as I look about me.

            A vast expanse of water stretches out in front of me, blue and brilliant, light flashing on the water. I hear the rush as waves crash against the sand, smell and taste a salt brine on the air. I hear seagulls crying above me.

            The ocean…

            I look around me. There are people swimming in the ocean. A couple are riding the waves on surfboards. People are sitting on chairs and lying on towels. I try to focus on the nearest group of people to hear what they are saying and I realize I can understand the words.

            English.

            I look about me some more. I do not recognize where I am. I know I am at a beach where English is being spoken, but that doesn’t narrow down the options for me. And I know there are several options of where I could be.

            I take deep breathes, trying to calm the rising panic growing in my stomach. I look down and I see what I am wearing – green flip flops, blue jeans, a purple top, and a black pendant necklace. My skin is pale next to the golden sand.

            I look around again. I don’t recognize anything or anyone. There are people everywhere. They swim in the ocean, lounge on the shore, and play in the sand. It feels like something I have been told about before but never actually seen myself, a strangely familiar novelty.

            All of a sudden, someone looks over at me and our eyes meet. It’s a little girl, brown eyes in a small dark face. I must have been staring in her direction and now she is staring back. Her eyes examine me and I feel panic surge in me. I don’t like being seen. Even by this little girl.

            I rise to my feet. I don’t want to be here anymore, wherever here is. The little girl looks away but I still don’t want to stay. I want to get away from all these people and I want to know where I am. I find that my legs are steady underneath me, despite the uneasiness I feel.

           I take one last look at the ocean. It’s so big and blue and it just goes on and on forever. I wonder for a moment what is on the other side before I turn away. I can see the beginnings of a town, or maybe it’s a city, on the edges of the beach, a boardwalk marking the end of one and the beginning of the other. I begin my trek across the sand towards it.

            I pass groups of people heading out towards the ocean. I try to catch some of what they are saying to each other, hoping to get a hint of where this is or something, but I can’t. The groups move by too quickly. I trudge on. The sun is hot and high and I look down as I walk to protect my face from its harsh glare.

            I am not looking where I am going so I do not see him until I walk into him. Whichever it is, I don’t expect the sudden contact of walking into another person and I feel myself stumbling over. The person catches and steadies me.

            “I’m sorry. Are you all right?”

            I look up at him. His hazel eyes are kind and curious as he looks at me. I feel myself squirm again under his scrutiny. I look away and spot two girls who look like clones of each other and a boy with a wicked smile standing nearby, waiting. They must be his friends.

            “Yes, thank you.”

             The boy smiles, releases me, turns back and joins his friends. I stare after them for a moment, as their laughter floats back to me. I turn away and resume my walk, though this time I try to look where I am going. I reach the boardwalk safely and continue onto the streets of what decidedly looks like a city, though I cannot tell why I think this.

            I wander. I try to find anything that will tell me where I am. But the street names are no help, though I can now navigate the area from walking it so much. I don’t have the courage to ask someone for help. Part of it is from the remembered anxiety at being seen. No one is paying attention to me now and I like being overlooked, not worth a second glance. But another part of it is a creeping feeling that if I spoke to someone and told them I didn’t know where I was, I would land in more trouble than I wanted. Better to just wander and try to figure it out on my own. So I do.

            I do not have any luck.

            My legs ache from walking, my body warm from the exercise and burning sun overhead. I’m surprised my skin isn’t on fire, it feels so hot. Hunger and thirst pangs hit me as I trudge along but they pass after a while, only to return later more painful before passing once again.

             I can feel myself slowing down. I don’t have the energy, physically or mentally, to keep going. I still have no clues as to where I am. A very different kind of anxiety simmers in my stomach. I don’t like this mystery with no answer.

              I lean against a tree on the sidewalk. It’s a palm tree, I know, though I don’t know how I know it. I see the thick gray trunks and the shape of the green fronds and I just know it is a palm tree. I wish I could just know where I am as easily. I rest against the tree, the fatigue kicking in. The sun has sunk in the sky, a slow burn now humming through the air. I begin to worry about tonight. I have no money and still no clue where I am. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

              I hear laughter and glance up. The group of teenagers from before is coming up the street, the clones, the boy with the wicked smile, and the boy who’d helped me. They’re laughing about something as they walk past me, not noticing me at all. I stare after them. There’s something about their easy laughter that makes me envy them, almost wish I could go join them. I look back down at my feet, feeling defeated and weary.

              When I next glance up, I start. The light has changed enough to make the windows of the closing shops act like mirrors. And straight ahead of me is me, my reflection. The glass is dark enough that I can see myself pretty clearly and I feel a shock go through me, though I cannot understand why. Maybe it’s the expression on my face, the haunted fear and worry that I can see so clearly in my eyes. I stare at my reflection for a long while, not sure what to make of it.

              “Excuse me, miss?”

               I turn around, my heart pounding in my chest. It’s a woman, older, maybe late forties, early fifties. She’s roughly my height, her brown eyes kind as she looks at me.

               “Are you all right?”

              I wonder if she noticed how I was staring at myself in the window. Or if she’d seen me leaning against the tree and seen my exhaustion. The idea makes me squirm. Her direct gaze isn’t helping either.

             “Yes …”

              The woman does not seem convinced. “Is there somewhere I can help you get to?”

              I wish I could take her up on the offer, if only I knew where I was to begin with. I pause before answering slowly, “I’m not sure…”

             Her eyes narrow though she still smiles at me. “What’s your name?”

            “Oh, my name is…”

             Nothing comes out. No answer. No words. No name. Nothing.

             My lungs constrict. I feel my eyes widening. I don’t know the answer. I don’t know. I think the question again. It’s so simple, everyone has a name. But I do not know it.

              I feel the panic attacking me and I am unable to breathe. But for one moment of clarity, I understand how I could start at my own reflection. Until I’d seen it in the window, I didn’t know my own face.

               How could I, when I don’t even know my own name?

               The woman is watching me closely. I finally look back at her and I can’t keep the panic out of my voice as I manage to say, “I…I don’t know…”

               The dream blurs and fades. It opens onto another dream, another memory.

               I stand by Claire in the middle of the street, my arms wrapped in my jacket against the chill October night. Despite the house burning only a couple of feet away, I find myself shivering. I think I would have been shivering even if I were closer. There is something terrifying, watching one of the neighbor’s homes going up in smoke before my eyes.

                The family is huddled against one of the ambulances on the scene. I know the family is the Markhams and that they have young children, but beyond that, I know nothing about them. I do not really interact with the neighbors much. I prefer to go unnoticed even in the neighborhood.

                A firefighter comes out of the house and staggers over towards the family. One of the firefighters who had been waiting with the family steps forward. The bursting fire is too loud to hear what the two fighters say to each other, I am not close enough. But the mother hears. And her scream is greater than any fire.

             “My son is still in there! Do something!”

              The firefighters say something to her and she collapses on the ground in a heap. The husband and two other children join her. I don’t need to have heard them to know what was said.

               The firefighters can’t get to their son.

               I slowly move away from Claire and deeper into the crowd behind me. I turn away from the flames and wend my way through the bodies until I am free of the crowd. I make like I am heading back to Claire and Jack’s house up the street. But once I am far enough away from the crowd that no one would see me, no one would glance behind and wonder, their focus fixed on the inferno, I dart into the yard of the nearest house and streak for the backyard. I run through the backyard to the next one and the next one, pushing through hedges and climbing over one fence until I stand in the backyard of the burning house. I stagger back against the searing heat.

                 I can almost still hear the sobbing of the desperate mother over the crackling flames. I run into the house.

                I don’t know the layout of this house or where the boy might even be. I see other figures in the flames, distant shadows that seem solid. The other firefighters. They are trying to put out the flames on this floor. The boy must not be here then or they would have gotten him out. I head towards the front of the house where there are stairs entirely engulfed in flames and I go bounding up them, two at a time. I hear the steps groan under me and I move as fast as I can.

                I come out onto a hallway of the second floor. I see several open doorways, fire at play within them. One door is still closed. I push it open and black smoke billows out. Coughing, my eyes tearing, I grope around until my eyes vaguely adjust to the darkness. There is a small bundle by the window. I rush over. The boy is curled up, unconscious. He must have tried to get out through the window when he woke to find the fire outside his door.

              I pick him up, gripping him tightly and retreat from the room as fast as I can. I start going down the steps one at a time, fearful of dropping the boy. But then I hear the stairs groan even more loudly and I feel something beneath me give way and I jump as the stair falls from under where I stood. I jump down the stairs two, three at a time until I land on the ground floor.

               A shadow solidifies in front of me with a jerk. A firefighter who had not known I was there. She stares at me a moment until she sees what I am carrying. She takes the boy from my arms and I notice another firefighter behind her, who takes the boy and runs out of the house.

                A moment later, I can hear the mother’s cries again, louder in their relief.

               I sigh, relieved. And then I notice the firefighter staring at me.

               The fire is burning all around us, the flames intense and hot. But I don’t mind it. In fact, I like the scorching heat, the tickling sensation of the flames bending and curling around me, almost clinging to my skin. My eyes adjust to the reddish light and I can see the firefighter’s eyes more clearly through her mask.

                 I can see her fear. For a moment I see what she sees – a person standing in the middle of a burning house, unprotected and yet unharmed.

                Fear and dread fill me. What am I?

                I woke from my dreams with a start, soaked with sweat, gasping for breath through non-existent smoke.