Parker
Softly, the piano music begins to play, crackling as if it is being played from an old record or victrola. I feel myself close my eyes and take in the music. I only open them again when the sound of a match being struck can be heard.
The candle is lit on the table as usual, the flame dancing in time to the music. As always, there is the long, full length, oval mirror that reflects nothing.
But there is something unusual, something different about this dream from the rest. This time, in the dim glow of the candle, I can see the woman, her long dark hair flowing over her shoulders in a mass of curls, dressed the same way she always is--in black, tattered clothing. She is sitting in the rocking chair, curled up with her arms wrapped around her knees as she gently rocks herself back and forth. Her stare is still blank, but this time it is not directed toward me, but toward the mirror. I instinctively look at the mirror, but it is still not reflecting anything.
Quietly, I walk up to the mirror and find myself reflected in it. In the background of the reflection sits the woman. Only now she is holding a baby. I turn around to look at her, but she does not look back and the baby is not there. I look again in the mirror, and the baby is back in her arms.
Confused, I stare for a moment, but the woman doesn’t seem to even know I’m there.
I sigh and, turning away, smash the mirror with my fist. The glass falls neatly to the floor.
Surprised by what I have done, I pull my fist back and rub at it, only to feel something wet. I look down and see that I’m bleeding. Tears fill my eyes and I turn to where the woman is supposed to be sitting in the rocking chair, seeking comfort, but she isn’t there. I look all around for her and finally see her, standing at the table where the candle still glows brightly. Blankly, she blows the candle out.
As the piano music fades out slowly, I feel a soft kiss on the injured part of my hand.
I sighed, resting my hand in my chin as I contemplated my unusually messy handwriting, the account my dream scrawled in blue pen in the notebook I had nearly forgotten I had taken with me on my trip. Three times I had had it. All three times had been very different experiences and I had finally felt the need to write one of these experiences down and think about why I kept having this dream. There had to be a reason. A person doesn’t dream a dream like that three times in two weeks for nothing. There had to be something in there I was missing. I knew everything stood for something...but I couldn’t figure out what. If only for the convience of dreamer’s dictionaries!
The woman was looking more and more familiar as time went by too. She never looked different in the dream and yet I felt as if I was closer to figuring out who she was. The baby in her arms seemed like an important clue...but who did I know who had a baby? The only person I could think of--the one with the youngest child I knew--was my best friend Julian’s mother whose youngest kid was barely a year. But the baby in the dream was definitely much younger than that and I doubted the woman was her. The woman was too young and too sickly to be her.
I felt like banging my head against a wall. I knew I would eventually figure it out, but I wanted to know now. It just wouldn’t leave me alone. Maybe if I knew, it would go away.
But it was clear to me that that day was not to be the day I was going to finally solve the mystery as I heard a knock on the door to the guestroom-cell I inhabited. I slipped off my headphones and uncertainly called for the person to come in. It still didn’t feel right--bidding somebody entrance into a room in their own house. It wasn’t like it was the bathroom or something.
Taylor popped his head in.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked.
I nodded, gesturing for him to come in farther. He came in the rest of the way, closing the door softly behind him as he did. The serious look on his face didn’t get past me. A bad feeling suddenly rose in the pit of my stomach.
“What’s up?” I asked.
He paced for a few minutes in front of me, back and forth across the room from the door back to the wall. As he approached the door, it was as if he was just barely stopping himself from opening it and leaving once he got there.
The confused suspense I felt as he paced must have shown on my face because the next time he looked at me, he paused and instead came over to sit on the edge of the bed where I was sitting.
The first thing he noticed, of course, was the notebook, the pen, and the ink on my hand from dragging my hand across a right-handed notebook. My first instinct was to close it and hide it subtly but I knew as long as he didn’t ask me to turn the page, all he was going to see was the last two sentences of my account of my dream in a messy hand he probably couldn’t read anyway.
Still, he was curious.
“What’s that?” he asked, gesturing.
“Just...something I was writing,” I said. I didn’t want to go into my dream with him. He knew from the day he had caught me looking for the dreamer’s dictionary that I was having a recurring dream, but as far as I was concerned, it didn’t have to go any farther than that. I figured it was fair trade for the way he was so obviously hiding the contents of his dream from all of us.
He nodded. Then, with a small smile, “Didn’t know you liked to write.”
“Me neither,” I said with a shrug.
He nodded again, approvingly.
His eyes slowly moved to the headphones that were laying on the bed beside me. I noted with some embarrassment that I had forgotten to pause the CD and the sounds of Tori Amos were still being emitted from the headphones.
“What’re you listening to?”
I got the distinct impression that he was avoiding the subject.
“Uh...Tori Amos,” I said with a shrug. “Beth--Theresa’s friend--got me into her somehow. It’s chick music, really, but it’s kind of nice.”
“I see,” he said. “Do you mind if I...?”
His hands were moving toward the headphones.
“No, go ahead,” I said, handing them to him.
He slipped them onto his head, making no adjustments to make them fit. His eyes travelled around the room as he listened and his hands moved a little bit. Little by little, though, his thoughtful expression changed. His brows knitted and it seemed like he was really listening to the song for the first time. Something in his face changed. If he had been smiling before, the smile would have turned into a deep frown. But instead the not-quite frown that had already been there deepened and his eyes got what could only be described as a disturbed look.
“Is she that bad?” I asked, speaking up a little so he could hear me over the music.
He took the headphones off and placed them calmly back onto the bed.
“Uh...no,” he said. “It was nice.”
I shrugged, subtly pushing the pause button.
We stayed silent for a long time after that. His mouth kept opening and closing, but nothing ever came out. His fingers played with the bedsheets, mine played with the corners of the paper in the notebook I had been writing in. It reminded me a little bit of our first time alone in the hotel room. We were waiting for each other to make the first move.
Finally, I made it.
“What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said.
“Did you forget?” I asked, seeing that he hadn’t forgotten at all.
“No,” he said. “It’s just...I don’t know.”
“It sounded important,” I said.
“Well...it was, I guess,” he said. “I...I just..uh...I just wanted to know what you thought of Annie?”
I almost laughed only because I knew that in some way, that really was what he was planning on asking me. It seemed like a ridiculous question considering the dead serious look on his face as he watched my reaction.
“Didn’t you ask me that the first day I was here?” I asked.
“Did I?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Why do you care so much what I think of her?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just want you to like her. Sort of like you wanted me to like Theresa.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, something like that, I guess,” I said.
“So...how do you like her?”
“I...like her. I guess. I mean, she seems nice. Good taste in little known music,” I said. “Bad taste in restaurants though. I know she chose that place strictly for your benefit as famous people but, uh, come on.”
“Is that all you have to say about her?” he asked. He was visibly upset at what I had said.
I sighed. “Yeah, Taylor, it kind of is,” I said. “I mean, I haven’t exactly gotten to spend a lot of time with her. She’s a nice lady.”
“But she didn’t really make an impression on you?”
“I don’t know. Why? Are you planning on marrying her or something?” I said. “Because if you are, all I have to say about it is it’s illegal. But as soon as it is legal, you have my blessings. Which is more than I can say for the rest of you family.”
I hadn’t meant to say it, but I knew that it had to come out sooner or later.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked.
“Well, for one thing, every time she walks into the same room some of your family is in, the temperature becomes frigid and icicles begin to form. It just seems like your family doesn’t like her for some reason,” I said. “And if it helps you to see how, exactly, I feel about her, I’d have to say that I can’t really understand why.”
“I’m not cold to her.”
“You seem to be the only one,” I said.
“Why would you think I wanted to marry her?”
I wondered for a moment if Taylor was always this daft and I just hadn’t noticed it. I could tell by the look on his face that he had thought I had been serious when I said it.
“First of all, I was kidding,” I said. “What I meant was simply that whole forbidden love thing. She’s the older woman you find yourself falling in love with, she’s falling in love back, despite her perfectly nice husband, might I add. Your family disapproves of the match. Everyone goes home with deep, pensive frowns on their faces. Someone dies. It’s been done a thousand times.”
“Like the Graduate?” he said. Now he was kidding.
“No, like Dawson’s Creek,” I replied. “I’ve never seen the Graduate.”
“But you’ve seen Dawson’s Creek?”
“That’s beside the point,” I said. “I mean, it’s just that the rest of your family isn’t very good at hiding the fact that they get really uncomfortable whenever she’s anywhere near them.”
“Oh,” he said. “I guess I didn’t realize it was that obvious.”
“What isn’t obvious is why,” I said.
“It’s not important,” he replied.
“Am I close?”
“No,” he said.
“Within five miles?”
“No,” he said again.
I rolled my eyes and opened my mouth to reply, but just as I did so a knock sounded on the door and Zac entered into the room.
“Parker, Gina’s on the phone. She wants to talk to you.”
I sighed. “We’ll continue this later, young man,” I said to Taylor, not only knowing we wouldn’t, but hoping as well. The need to find out about the dirty little secrets of the Hanson family was dimming quite quickly.
I followed Zac down the stairs and to the kitchen where the phone was off the hook and waiting for me. I paused for a moment before picking it up, suddenly apprehensive. Why would Gina bother to call here?
“Hello?” I said into it.
“Hi, Parker, it’s me,” she said. She sounded happy and I let out a breath of relief for that.
“Hi, Gina,” I said back. “What’s up?”
Great. Deja vu.
“Well...,” she said and I could practically hear her voice brimming over with excitement. “You know that job promotion I’ve been vying for for the last, oh, three years?”
Did I ever. There was a certain position at the place she worked that they handed out every year to “deserving employees.” She had been hoping for the past three years that she would get it, only to lose out at the last minute to somebody else.
“Yeah,” I said.
“I got it!” she said.
I grinned into the phone.
“That’s great,” I said. “So you got promoted from hamburger flipper to cashier?”
It was a little analogy we had going. Truth be told, I have never in my life understood what it is Gina does everyday when she goes to work. She talked about it a lot, but I never quite understood any of what she was talking about. Once, when I was little, she had explained it to me in terms of fast food restaurants and I had never let go of it. Most people thought I was being insulting when I talked that way (Mrs. Hanson was, at that very moment, raising an eyebrow at me from her place at the kitchen table), but she was the one who came up with it in the first place.
“Right,” she said.
“That’s awesome,” I said. “Big raise?”
“Huge,” she said. “Like, above company policy huge.”
“Wow,” I said.
“Anyway, Lyle and I are going out to celebrate tonight, but I thought I’d call and tell you before we left,” she said.
“I see,” I said, rolling my eyes at the mention of Lyle.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m so proud.”
“And I’m proud of you,” I said back, keeping a little bit of sarcasm in my voice at being prompted to say it.
“So how are things where you are?”
“They’re great,” I said. “I’m having a great time.”
“Oh?” she said.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“You sound a little distracted, though.”
“Oh, well, I just had a rather odd conversation with Taylor,” I said.
“Don’t tell me,” she said. “I know all I want to know about odd conversations between fifteen year old boys from just some of the stuff you and Julian talk about.”
“Yeah, well, this wasn’t one of those things,” I said.
She didn’t say anything after that and I had a feeling our conversation was coming to an end. I opened my mouth to say good-bye, but she got there too quickly.
“What else?”
“What else?” I said back.
“Yeah. It seems like there’s something else. Are you feeling okay?”
“I feel fine,” I told her. “I just had a weird dream last night.”
“Oooh, weird dreams,” she said. “Look it up yet?”
“No,” I said. “No dreamer’s dictionaries here.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No,” I said. “Apparently not everybody’s as quirky as us.”
“Who knew?” she said. “If you want, I can go get one of mine right now. It’ll only take a second.”
“Well...you’re headed out,” I said, knowing I sounded unconvincing. I did really want to know.
“It’ll only take a minute,” she said.
“All right. If you insist,” I said.
“Okay. Hold on,” she said. Then, a few seconds later, “Lyle wants to talk to you.”
I immediately tried to protest, but the sound of the phone switching hands stopped me.
“Hey, Parker,” Lyle’s voice said.
I cringed. There was just something not right about Lyle’s voice.
“Hi,” I said.
“So you hear Gina got some big promotion on her job?” he said.
“That would be the point of her calling,” I said.
“Yeah, I guess so. We’re going out. Did she tell you that?”
“Yup,” I said, struggling to keep my voice civil. “Where you taking her?”
“Burger King,” he said.
“Why am I not surprised?” I said back.
“Nah, I’m just kidding,” he said. “We’re going to the Jade Palace. You know, the Chinese place that she likes so much?”
“Yeah, I know it,” I said. “Pretty fancy.”
“Well, it’s a special occasion,” he said. “How’re things in OOOOOOklahoma?”
“Nothing to sing corny show tunes about,” I said. “Not bad, though. I’m having fun.”
“Uh-huh. And how’s, uh.....Tyler?”
“Taylor,” I said. “He’s fine.”
“Keeping you busy?”
“Yup,” I said.
“Well, here’s Gina again.”
I was relieved as the phone switched hands again.
“What do you want to know?”
“That you’ll never do that to me again,” I said.
“Oh jeez,” she said. “It’s not that bad.”
“Oh no?” I said.
“Look, I’m not going to fight over this. Just tell me something fast so we can get to the restaurant in time.”
I sighed, trying to think of one of the more important elements in the dream. Despite the number of them, the one I kept going back to was the mirror.
“A mirror,” I said.
“Ooh. Mirrors. Those are always scary dreams.”
There was a pause for a moment as she flipped through the pages.
“‘Mirror--Although ancient sources disagree widely on the forecast in most mirror dreams, they practically all agree that a broken mirror signifies sad news and/or a troubled period ahead. To see yourself in a mirror is a warning of deceit among your friends, and to see others reflected in a mirror portends dishonesty in your associates.*’”
“Hm,” I said. “That’s strange.”
“Yeah. Not bad,” she said. “Well, I have to go.”
“Have fun,” I told her. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Bye.”
“Bye.”
She hung up on her end and I hung up on mine. My mind filled with thoughts on what she had just told me about my dream, I made my way back upstairs and sat back down on the bed. I picked up my notebook and slipped the headphones back on, absently pressing play.
It was me...and a gun...and a man on my back. But I haven’t seen Barbados so I must get out of this...**
* Direct quote from The Dreamer's Dictionary by Lady Stearn and Tom Corbett (And believe it or not, I didn't plan for the interpretation to actually fit...)
** Lyrics from Tori Amos's "Me and a Gun"
For full lyrics to "Me and a Gun," e-mail me here.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Eight