by Stephen Reid Andrews
All rights reserved in the author
For the
entire one hundred and fifteen mile trip to Chicago
As much
as I would like to keep my eyes open to make sure that Liz is not going to kill
us with her adolescent driving skills, I hold my eyelids shut. Unfortunately,
for the time being, I am a captive to her iPod playlist blaring through the
speakers and her whining about teenage drama. For the most part, I have been
able to tune both my sister and the music out while occasionally offering a
grunt of acknowledgment.
Like
many teenagers who are unable to focus on one subject for an extended period,
after several minutes of Liz talking about how much she dislikes her math
teacher, Liz abruptly changes the subject with words that pierce my ears.
“Dave, you can’t be depressed forever.”
I groan
and open my eyes to look briefly at her. “Believe me Liz. Life is not as simple
as you think,” I say with a cynical smirk.
“Well,
life may not be simple, but at least I’m living it,” she says like she is
repeating song lyrics from a teenage band.
“I
tried living life Liz, it didn’t work. Anything worth living for just ends,” I
shoot back.
“You’re
so depressing!” Liz responds with a slightly whiney voice.
“Life
is depressing Liz.”
“Whatever.”
She rolls her eyes. “You can at least help pass the time here. Tell me about
your dream again.”
Believing
that teenage girls love mystery, drama, and romance, on one of the many
occasions that my parents assigned Liz to keep me company – also known
as suicide watch – I told Liz about the dream with Jennifer where she gives me
the gift.
“There’s
nothing more to tell. It’s the same every time,” I say under my breath.
“And
you still only have the one dream during your episodes?” She asks the question
like she is my shrink.
Not
wanting to get into a discussion about how I had a different dream last night,
I appease her. “Yup.” I put my hand to my forehead pushing up my dark brown
hair as if I have a headache, but I don’t have a headache.
Unlike
some sister-in-law relationships, Jennifer and Liz were good friends when
Jennifer was alive.
“Maybe
Jenny is trying to tell you something,” she says.
My
sister’s analysis and suggestion upsets me a little. All of a sudden my sister
thinks she can interpret dreams. But, simply glad that Liz is entertaining
herself without much effort from me, I urge her to continue. “I never thought
of that,” I lie.
Of
course the thought had crossed my mind before, but I was sincere when I said my
life is not as simple as Liz’s life. Her life consists of reading novels and
watching romantic comedies where everything has an explanation and ends happy.
“Really.
Maybe she has a message for you,” Liz emphasizes, sensing my disbelief.
Liz
actually is a smart girl. She is first in her class in just about every
subject, but she is not nerdy either. In fact, her long sand-colored hair, her
button nose, and her pale soft skin have ensured her a place on the
cheerleading squad for the duration of her high school experience.
For an
average middle-class family without any privileges, the Palmers are pretty
smart except for Jacob; he seems to be the runt of the family academically
speaking. Trevor is majoring in physics, and, before the shooting, I was
working towards my mechanical engineering degree. In fact, I was one and a half
years ahead of schedule to receive my degree, so I’m no idiot either.
“Okay
Liz, why don’t you tell me what the message is then,” I mockingly respond to
Liz’s revelation.
Liz
ignores my derisiveness – after four months of me moping around the house
giving out sarcasm like it is candy – she is used to it. “Okay. You say your
back is turned to her, she calls you, you turn, she gives you a wrapped present,
and you can’t touch her, right?”
The
dream does not sound very spectacular when my sister sums it up so
thoughtlessly.
“Keep
your eyes on the road,” I remind her as she briefly glances over at me.
Her
smile tells me that she is thoroughly enjoying the analysis of my subconscious.
“Do you
ever say anything?” she asks.
“I told
you. I can’t.”
“Does
anything different happen – you know, does anything change from dream to
dream?”
“Nothing
changes,” I answer in a robotic voice.
“Maybe
she is giving you a gift.”
“Did you think of that all yourself?” I am
unable to help but smile as I respond sardonically. My sister is smart, but it
doesn’t take an I.Q. of one hundred and forty to figure out that Jennifer is
giving me gift in my dream.
Briefly
looking at me with her penetrating hazel eyes and then turning back to the
road, I can tell that Liz is encouraged that, sarcastic or sincere, I have
actually smiled for once.
“No. I
mean, maybe she is giving you a gift.” She stresses the word gift
as if I don’t know the definition.
“Okay
Liz, what’s she giving me then?” I say as I look out the window to show I am
disinterested although I am actually curious as to what she might say. The
passing asphalt starts to put me in a trance.
“I
mean, you can’t touch her right?” Liz asks rhetorically. She picks her next
words hesitantly, trying not to offend me. “Well, now that she’s…you know…”
“Dead,”
I interrupt.
After a
short pause, Liz continues aware that she is venturing into a sensitive
subject. “Yeah, that. Well, maybe she is giving you a gift in exchange for you
not being able to touch her anymore. Like something to help you because she
can’t be with you.”
What
could that possibly be? I say to myself with thoughts of my wife’s
death now making me angry. Just as I thought, Liz has made the explanation of
my life into a romantic fairy tale. Frustrated, I want to snap at my sister for
bringing up Jennifer, but I stop myself. None of this is her fault.
As an alternative, I look out the window at the
passing freeway and, as I do, the scenery blurs and the motion makes my heart
spin. I can sense that I am about to have another episode. My eyes lock on the
road ahead in an uncontrolled stare and my muscles contract as I zone out of
consciousness. Although I don’t want to have the dream about my wife right now,
I do nothing to stop myself from giving into the seizure.
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