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I'm housesitting for a boss who I care not for, in a house that feels more claustrophobic than my own apartment. The only thing that makes my two week stay tolerable is the two-year-old yellow Labrador with a strange name. It is in this uncomfortable house that I began having vivid dreams again.
* * * * *
He came up to see me and kissed me. He still had me in his arms when she called. He answered, not letting go of me. Though I did not show it, I felt nothing but resentment.
After he left a tall pretty blond girl walked in. I approached her then kissed her as I would a lover. Her lips were dry, cracked, and felt rough on the tip of my tongue. She wanted more. But those lips of hers were a turn off. I walked away.
"You mean, you think I'm sexy?" I questioned.
"Yes, you're very sexy," he replied.
"Really?" I asked again. I had to.
"Do you really not know there are tons of men out there lusting after you?" he said, and immediately I had this image in my head.
I felt sick afterwards. I spent the entire long weekend buried inside my apartment.
I dreamt I was pregnant. The bulging stomach was unlike that of any other pregnant women's--a subtle convex of a curve from just below my chest. My hands could trace the head and limbs of the fetus inside. The long and skinny being inside my body was moving about constantly.
Instinctively I knew the time had come. I laid down on bed and breathed in deep to prepare myself. But without any pain the baby was born. It was a girl--a very special girl. She did not cry. She was her own complete person from the moment of birth.
I was not her mother. I was only her carrier.
* * * * *
I shared this dream with my sister and asked what she thought it meant. She had often hit a bullseye with her interpretation of my dreams. This time she was a little baffled.
"There's no way it means that you want a baby of your own. Maybe it means you'll soon face a new beginning of some sort," she suggested.
I think she's right again.
For the past week or so, I have not been sleeping well. I would toss and turn, have vivid yet unrecognizable dreams, then in the morning wake up groggy, restless. Perhaps weather was to blame. Perhaps I need to cut back on caffeine. Perhaps I should stop watching movies like Camille Claudel.
Then last night, in bed, I found the source of my agitation.
What if I wake up to an intruder?
I have had such preoccupation before, but Mission Viejo supposedly being the safest city in the country, this thought did not occur to me since the move. But suddenly there it was, completely unfounded and benign. As I drifted into the Neverland, I thought, Pajamas. I should start wearing pajamas. Like that'll save me from armed intruder.
So I reached a conclusion that I need companionship. I think I'll opt for the four-legged kind.
Suddenly there was a sharp shooting pain in my head. I tried to endure hoping it'll simply disappear, but it was stubborn. After popping two maximum strength Tylenol I grabbed my car keys. It was over 90 degrees inside my car, parked out in the sun. I didn't care as I crawled into the back seat. I lay there with not a single window cracked open.
I was drifting out of consciousness. My hand, still holding onto the keys, fell to the floor. I laid there for what seemed like an eternity. Until I found myself whispering, not yet.
So after fifteen minutes I was back. When I came back inside, no one had the faintest idea how close I came to being gone.
