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Before I Wake

by Quinn Patrick 5 months ago in Love
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True Love Travels Across Dimensions

Before I Wake
Photo by Anthony Cantin on Unsplash

“Am I dreaming? I must be...you’re not really here.”

She doesn’t say anything. Her beautiful smile covers her face and though I’m confused that she’s sitting in front of me, I can’t help but to smile too.

“How did you get to here? Did you fly? Of course, you flew. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“You ask too many questions.” She jokes.

“And you like to avoid them,” I retort. “But seriously, a plane ticket alone is out of your price range, how did you get here?”

“I told you before, I’m a magician,” she jokes. I chuckle at this. It’s an inside joke between the two of us, my favorite type of jokes.

“Seriously--”

“Shh,” she commands gently. I feel her hand against my cheek and I lean into it. I’ve wanted to feel the warmth of her hand since the moment she made me smile. She had the ability to make you feel like you were the only person in the world. She had the ability to make you feel like you were seen. Like you matter. I love her for that.

The softness of her hand soothes the tension my confusion was beginning to build. I close my eyes and relax.

“Listen.” Her gentle voice pulls my eyelids open to meet her. I find myself saying a silent prayer as my chocolate covered eyes dig into her matching ones. She is even more beautiful in person than any picture or video could ever capture. I subconsciously take a mental picture of this moment. Of her. A moment I know with certainty that I will cherish in my heart for as long as I have air. In fact, I know it will serve as my source for oxygen when I feel my suffocation under life’s pressure.

“I can’t stay long,” she continues. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” I say without hesitation, and her beautiful smile stretches even more.

“Take me to the beach.”

I scoff harmlessly a little. “The beach is six hours away. I don’t have transportation or money for a bus.”

There’s a wave of hand from her, “It’s covered, Daniel. I just need you to take me there. Let’s spend the day at the beach. Can we?”

There’s nothing I would love more than spending a day at the beach with my girl, but everything about this moment, I don’t know... feels not so usual. It’s like she just appeared before me, but that would be crazy, and would be something you see in a dream. But the thing is, I don’t dream. This one fact she finds funny and odd. One of her favorite topics that has provided her with countless jokes and laughs at my expense. But to me, not dreaming when I sleep, is routine. I find her vivid dreams she retells to me a bit freaky and unnatural if you wanted my opinion. Just like this moment, though it’s everything I’ve hoped for for months now, it feels a bit unnatural.

Just like this little annoying gnat, that’s taking the form of this fact, I can’t seem to remember falling asleep. In fact, the last memory I can recall is reading a text from her. ‘Ilysm,’ her short-handed version of saying ‘I love you so much.’

She was on a trip to attend a funeral, and had stopped for a quick restroom break. I had asked her to message me whenever she took a break, no matter how big or small, which she had mocked me for. Teasingly, she had called me dad, but I had made her promise me anyway. She agreed, reluctantly. Our distance made our relationship more difficult during times such as these. I always worried whenever she would leave the house, it didn’t matter if it was night or day. I preferred her cooped inside the walls of her home, but life and circumstances didn’t allow my peace in this way. So, this was the next best thing, a run-down itinerary of her trip.

But now she’s sitting in front of me as if she has always been here with me. It felt odd, but familiar. Maybe it was a dream... but I don’t dream.

I’ve never smelled her before because our usual interaction was through a pocket-sized computer screen, but she smelled exactly the way I had always imagined. Sweet and fruity. Her salt and pepper hair crowns her face, while the bangs she recently received for a new birthday hairstyle gave her a more youthful appearance than her actual age. Beauty doesn’t describe her really. She’s more than beauty and charm. She’s the dream of any man.

“Come on,” she whines. “Take me to the beach.”

Her whining makes me smile. It takes me back to those earlier videos she would send me. My face would stretch wide as her face appeared before me, a nagging tone she held with each syllable of her words, all because I wasn’t given her the amount of attention she wanted. I wouldn’t have been doing anything special, just fallen asleep, but it wouldn’t have mattered, she wanted my attention, and it made me feel so wanted. She didn’t want me for money or gifts, she wanted me for me. I had never known what that had felt like, but with her, I got a dose of it every time we spoke.

She grabs my hand and the warmth of her feels so good. Her lashes flash a couple of times and I feel myself falling under her spell. I have a meeting with a professor at the university, but how can I say no to that face? I feel myself groan a bit, which lands a grin across her lips. She knows she has won me.

She’s talkative on the six hour trip, though it doesn’t feel that long. It feels as if I blinked and we are here. Maybe I am dreaming for the first time in my life. I watch her as I stand closer to the shore. She ventures out further, arms wide open, the sea breeze blowing her hair sexily around. I just watch her. I’ve imagined moments like this with her. She’s more free-spirited than I am, but somehow we make it work. The water bounces off her dress, wetting it so much, but she doesn’t seem to mind and when she turns around, I don’t either. I don’t want to sound perverted, but I can’t deny I’m sexually attracted to her. The way the dress clings to her frame grows excitement within me that seems to run deeper than my groin. I feel my soul ache as if it needs to be touched by her, and so, I allow my soul to be led to her.

I’m standing in front of her in seconds. I allow my thumb to caress her bottom lip. This feels like a moment in the movies. Her hair blowing. Her eyes dwelling in mine. My heart pulling toward hers as if it’s connected by a silver cord. A director couldn’t have directed it better. A writer couldn’t have designed this scene more perfect. This moment was created by God and God only. Excellence. Pure excellence. Unfiltered. Unedited.

I allow my thumb to slide across her soft bottom lip, truly savoring the moment. She gives it a tender kiss and at that I no longer restrict myself. I find myself leaning down to the pair of lips I have stared at through the phone screen and I am not disappointed. Kissing her is like falling down to a pillow-top mattress. Comfort and softness surround me. It’s beautiful and excellent, perfection and magnificent. My hands are cupping her face as we remain attached to the other. The silver cord between our hearts growing thicker and heating with each second we’re like this.

Time isn’t essential, so, how long we are like this, I have no clear. When we arrived to the beach it was sunlight, but when we pull away the moon is high in the sky. The light that reflects off the waters is enough for us to see one another, the air is still and warm, the beach has reached solitude. Today has been perfect, just as if it’s a dream. I hope I never wake up.

“Listen,” she begins. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” I agree without hesitation.

A soft hand cups my face. A tender thumb caresses my lips and I kiss it. Her smile is soft, feminine. “When it gets too hard...remember this day. Let this day give you hope that miracles exist. I need you to do that, okay?”

“You drink some funny juice before your flight, Evie?” I joke.

“I’m serious, Daniel. I need you to remember this day when you feel like you can’t go on.”

I can't understand why her mood has turned from free-spirit to serious, but Evie was a complex woman. I didn’t understand her at times. This moment was no exception.

“What are you talking about?”

“Promise me, Daniel.”

There’s a silence between us. Everything before seemed stilled and untouched, like antiques hiding behind a glass for observers to see.

“Promise me,” she urges once more. She looks up to the sky after saying this as if she heard something, I look up... I don’t see anything, but the moon. Her foot begins twitching in the sand showing her impatience. “Daniel.”

“Alright, I promise,” I give in. Relief falls on her face. Her mood before the conversation returns, and then we return to my apartment.

She doesn’t stay long, something about she’s needed somewhere and has already overstayed her welcome. I don’t question her more on this, which is out of the ordinary for me, but I just wanted to savor our time. She still allows me to kiss her a bit too long, and hold her without a limit. I feel the softness of her hair, the tenderness of her skin, the warmth of her touch, and the love within her eyes. This day is a miracle, even if it is a dream.

After she left, I kept waiting to wake, but I never did. My night was similar to other nights. I lay on my bed, staring at my ceiling, thinking of ways to help my family.

It wasn’t until my best friend knocked on the door that I was shaking from my thoughts. He walked in all serious like, totally unlike himself. He didn’t say anything, just handed me his phone. Hakim had family living in the U.S., where Evie is from, and apparently there was breaking news in one of the states over there. A gunman opened fire in a gas station in Tennessee, killing ten people before turning the gun on himself. The news article provided a list of names of the victims along with a photo. I couldn’t understand why Hakim had handed me this article to read, but by his demeanor, I assumed one of his family members was a victim. So, I scroll the names looking for someone with Hakim’s surname, but my fingers automatically stopped at the fifth name in line. There, next to the picture that graced my eyes eight months ago, in black and bold print read: Evie Davis, 32.

Love

About the author

Quinn Patrick

A writer with fingers of ADHD. You will find my page flirting with love poems, fictional short-stories and non-fiction articles. Stay awhile and get lost in the tangled webs of my mind.

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