| |
Ryan’s Dream
January 20, 2010, Washington, D.C.
I preferred my dismal past life, for the little room was devoid of any life at all. A sterile counter: no bouquets, flowerpots, or greeting cards. Ryan’s empty chair: an adulterer, an oath-breaker, a capitulator. My body on the narrow hospital bed—dumped, replaced, forgotten.
How could I’ve been so wrong about him?
It was impossible to keep track of time, so I didn’t know how long it had been since I’d learned my husband wasn’t the man I thought. Though it had been a while because I’d had plenty of time for pain and humiliation, anger and self-doubt.
It was all gone now, dissolved into loss and sorrow.
I felt nothing out of the ordinary.
His words, seared in my mind, rang ad infinitum. It couldn’t get any worse. He’d bedded Lindsey, then berated her in my presence, knowing I could hear him—a literal insult to injury. Did he think his aired dissatisfaction with her performance would cancel out his sin? But I was glad he’d stopped coming. Relieved not to lay eyes on him. He was forever tainted now. What we had together—an illusion, a veneer so thin, it’d shattered at the first sign of trouble.
I swear, Sie, nothing happened between Lindsey and me.
His eyes when he said that—tortured, pleading. A liar, to top it off. So cliché, it would be laughable if it weren’t so devastating. But I didn’t need his phony apologies. I needed nothing from him. My only wish was to end it the right way. To have the last word instead of lying here like discarded waste.
A stab of pain pierced me at the sight of the empty chair. Why deceive myself? I did need one thing from him—closure—so I could move on, too.
Because, no doubt, Lindsey had found a way back to him. She was nothing if not persistent. No doubt, she showed up a few days later, her big blue eyes so sad, her ample cleavage so bare. “I shouldn’t have gone there, Ryan. Please forgive me.”
He’d frown and rub his forehead and tell her their thing didn’t mean anything, and she should go. He had self-image to uphold. But she’d peer into his eyes and ask to come in for only a minute. And he wouldn’t turn her down. No, not him—so polite. Lindsey would run her fingers along her neck, tuck her strands behind her ear, and say she’s so sorry about everything, but can they still be friends?
And he’d offer her a drink. Yes, he has such good manners. They’d end up talking, kissing, making love—no, fucking. She’d give it her best this time. Anything he wished to make it out of the ordinary. With a cherry on top.
Then, she’d smile into his chest as he’d pull her close and murmur guiltily that she makes him happy.
“I’m sorry for what I said there.” He’d rake his hair a bit. “You understand, I haven’t been thinking straight. It was so sudden.”
He’d reduce me to “it,” so he’d no longer have to feel guilty. So he’d no longer have to visit the withering half-corpse.
“I understand, baby, it’s okay.” She’d peer into his eyes. “You deserve to be happy.”
He’d run his fingertips along her cheek, pink and warm—not like mine, sallow and frozen—telling himself he has a right to live, he’s not the one in the coma. And he’d live, having finally shaken off the listless, dying burden in the ICU.
I didn’t know I could weep with my eyes closed until that hellish day, but I was used to it now. It was the same every time. My face motionless, the only sign of my distress was the telltale wetness on my cheeks. I was thankful no one could see this degradation.
No, he wasn’t who I thought. He was a passing memory I’d try to erase, a new wrinkle I’d cover with concealer, an early gray strand I’d hide under hair dye. If only I could leave this pathetic room to talk to him face to face, to show him how he’d fallen from grace. To have him say or do something that would make me forget him.
If only I could see him again. Because all these ploys and bluster were bullshit. Because no matter what I told myself, I couldn’t forget him. Because, to my shame, I couldn’t stop loving him.
I was suddenly consumed by an overwhelming desire to look into his eyes. To find in them something—anything—to redeem him. A truth to defy logic.
Without warning, the hospital room faded away as my entire being transformed into this single purpose. An arrow aimed at its target, it strained against the string of a bow, vibrating in the skilled hands of the archer. Released. It hit the bullseye.
I didn’t understand how I reached him. It was a sensation inexplicable in any earthly terms if someone had bothered to ask. I only knew I’d landed in what wasn’t mine.
I was in Ryan’s dream. He was searching for something, coming to dead-end after dead-end. Was he was searching for his lost decency?
He went still. “You’re back, love.”
Something was different about him, although I couldn’t quite place the change. Why did it matter? I’d wanted to have the last word—this was my chance.
I steeled myself, glaring with what I hoped was profound disdain. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” But I wasn’t here to make a scene. I raised my chin. “I never thought you’d hurt me like that. Not in my wildest dreams.”
Realization dawned in his eyes. Did he forget I knew?
“Hey, c’mon—” He took a step forward, and I took an immediate step back. “It was nothing. A mistake, love.”
Nothing—right. A mistake—sure.
I made my voice drip with contempt. “You’ve betrayed me.”
“There’s only you. You see anyone else here?”
This had to be the biggest load of bullshit I’d ever heard. Why did he even bother?
“I’m leaving you.” I needed to cut this short. I didn’t know how long I had. “I’m moving out as soon as I’m back to normal.”
His eyes filled with such steely resolve, I had to do a double take.
“I’ll never let you go.” He clenched his jaw. Did he have a beard again? “I’ll never agree to it. It would be like losing the best part of myself.”
“I’m not asking your permission.” I tried to sound more confident than I felt after hearing that.
He fixed me with a stare. “What a strange dream.”
I stared back—something was off. But what?
We were silent as we stood facing each other—he in his dream and my ghost.
“It’s still me, love. Nothing has changed between us. Don’t you believe me?”
My fingers itched to smooth a sudden groove between his eyebrows.
“Where are you getting all these... words from?” I drew closer, searching his eyes. They were hazel—gold, brown, green, and blue—mostly gold, for some reason. And blue.
“I have no idea, but this feels... real. Not like other times at all. Are you real?”
“Of course not!” My voice was too bitter for my liking. “The real me is in the hospital bed, hooked up to life support, while you’re trying to have extraordinary sex with another woman. But you’ve forgotten all about me. You don’t even visit anymore!”
Pathetic. I bit my lip to refrain from saying more.
His frown deepened. “Sure, I visit, only not as often. I had to go back to my duties, I told you.”
This brought me up short. I dwelled so much in my other life, it was altogether possible I’d missed his visits.
“The doctor says you’ll be waking up soon.” He gave a ghost of a smile. “You’re a lot more active, breathing by yourself. They removed the ventilator.”
I stood in deadly calm. I hadn’t noticed.
“This is just plain weird.” He shook himself. “I want the other dream. C’mon, love—” He lifted an eyebrow. “I know why you’re really here. I like those other dreams.”
“How awfully full you are of yourself!” My eyes widened at my words. “I can no longer be your wife—” I’ve regained control—or have I? “Not after that,” I pressed on. “That’s why I’m really here, to tell you that... that it doesn’t serve either of us—” What? “That I’m leaving you!”
He ignored this and tried to place his arms around me, but they went right through me. Stumbling, he drew back.
“You can’t touch me.” I gasped, pushing down the recall that bounced off every word. “This is goodbye.” I stuck to my guns, ready to withdraw back to the little room. He wasn’t who I thought. He couldn’t be.
He studied my face. “Yeah, you’re not real. The real you would never leave me. But the real you is gone, and I miss you every single day. All I have left of you is dreams.” His eyes burned an unmistakable blue. And storm-cloud gray. “Let me hold you, my love.”
No. I brushed this away. No.
“You can’t hold me! And I’m gone because you left me unprotected—” I stopped. I wasn’t making any sense.
He looked stricken. “How could I’ve known you wouldn’t be safe there?”
“I’d be safe if you’d only gotten there sooner.” This still didn’t sound right. “If you loved me more than your pride.”
What in the world was the matter with me?
“I blame myself all the time, believe me. But I’d never need to get there at all—” His voice caught. “Had you not been moaning... that name while I made love to you.”
Oh, so he’d use this card now. Fair is fair. I was ready for what was coming—or thought I was.
He considered me with an odd look, raking his hair, which was now shoulder length. “Screw it, it’s just a dream, it’s not like you’re real. Say it again.”
“What?” The change in him made me dizzy.
“Say that name the way you said it then. It’s my dream, after all.”
“You want me to say that name?” I held my breath. “But why?”
“I don’t know, love.” He drew closer, his voice growing softer. “I like when you say it.”
I gazed into his eyes, forgetting why I was there. They weren’t any color at all—only two bright stars shining from within.
“Aedan...” I whispered, the name rolling off my tongue, sweet like honey.
“Say it again, love.”
The bright stars locked with mine, and I no longer knew who was looking at me or whether the words came from him or had been carried to us by the wind that swept over us, whistling about.
“Aedan...” I breathed into the wind, into the brilliant, steady heat that has always vibrated to my frequency.
Disregarding the vortex of time and the void of space, he reached for me and joined me effortlessly as we became one.