Every morning the blaring sound of my small alarm clock on my nightstand jars me out of the same vague but unsettling dream. I jolt up, smashing the snooze button as hard as I possibly can. Still half asleep, I swing my legs off the edge of my bed, taking a few moments to recover from my nightmare. Every night I see the same charred remains of a house standing in the pale morning light. I can tell it used to be so alive, so vibrant. Inside had been a place of love and security, a place with memories and warmth. Now the wind whistles through and the steady rain falls right into the twisted plastic and metal that had been furniture and electronics. In the ashes, there are photographs, art, and personal possessions. Flashes of an inferno and black smoke replaced the skeleton of the home. Orange flames blow out the windows. I can feel the radiating heat on my face. When there are only bones and dust left, I can hear the faint cry of a baby. In my dream, I can walk in the charred home, and in the main room, I can see something truly horrifying. There, laying on the damaged ground, are two charred corpses. The fire had caused its destruction. The singed skin of the victims are intertwined in their clothing. The smell of over-cooked flesh is in the air. The whole scene is truly unsettling. I can never stay inside the house for long. Even if it is just a dream, I can smell the burnt flesh, the scorched wood, and plastic. I can feel the heat of the fire, the warmth of my tears streaming down my face as I stand and stare at the unholy scene. The relief I feel every time I hear the sound of my alarm is truly wonderful.
My friends always joke that it’s some kind of prophecy or something that happened in a past life, though it feels so much more real than that. It feels like a memory. A memory of my childhood. A childhood that I can not remember. Every time I try to think back on my past, I only see an empty void, a black hole. It feels like it’s been erased from my memory. My therapist says that something traumatic most likely happened during my childhood and my subconscious mind chooses to forget. He says I might never remember what happened and that’s normal for most people in my situation. However, for some inexplicable reason, I want to know, I want to remember, I want answers. I want to understand the reason behind these graphic and unsettling dreams.
Every morning is the same, wake up, eat, go to work. It seems like I’m trapped in an unbreakable cycle. However, this morning is a bit different than other mornings. One of my oldest friends “voluntold” me to go on a blind date with a woman of her choosing. I had no say in this matter, I owed her for helping me move out of my adoptive parents home. She is good at holding a grudge about these kinds of things and I know I don’t want to see her angry. The woman is petite, but extremely scary when she does not get her way.
After a few more minutes of sitting on the edge of my bed reenacting my dream in my head over and over again, I got out of bed. I opened my blackout curtains and window to let the autumn air in. I took a few moments to enjoy the weather, the falling leaves, and the faint beeping of cars that passed by. It was still early in the morning, so the traffic outside my apartment was still pretty quiet. Before I headed to my bathroom for a shower I took a deep breath of cool and damp air.
I grabbed my phone off my nightstand, put on my morning playlist, and pressed shuffle. The first song that started playing was Carry on Wayward Son by Kansas. A good jam to wake up to. Singing along, I took off my old mixed matched pyjamas and stepped into my hot and steamy shower.
As water poured down, dripping by my side, my mind faded into dullness and everything around me was a cloudy illusion. The sensation of the steamy water calmed me. It took my mind off of my dream for just a few moments. My mind swirled, and it felt like I was standing under an everlasting waterfall.
After a pleasant and relaxing 20 minutes, I got out, wrapped myself in a soft black towel, and stood in front of my foggy bathroom mirror. I contemplated if I should just bail out of this date and go back to bed where it’s nice and warm. Being social and meeting new people gives me so much anxiety. Nevertheless, I promised my friend that I would go and I would never break a promise, that’s for sure. I took another glance in the mirror and sighed. I grabbed my comb and brushed my jet-black hair. I pulled it into a slick high ponytail making sure there were no bumps or stray hairs. Since I was going on a date I decided to put on some long silver bar stud earrings that my adoptive mother gave to me before she passed. It's been a few years since my foster mother passed away from a heart attack. She never really felt like a real mother to me, still, whenever I needed her, she was there.
As I took a last look at my reflection in the still foggy mirror, I noticed that the burn scar that covered the left side of my face was starting to fade away. When I was younger, the scar was quite prominent, but over time it started to be less noticeable. I know the scar will never fully go away, especially since the redness of the burn was such a big contrast against the paleness of my skin. I don't remember what caused it. The only thing that I recall was that I've had that scar forever.
I grabbed my phone off of the counter and walked out of my still humid bathroom to my walk-in closet. The second I took a step out of the bathroom, I was hit with a wave of frigid air. I pulled my black towel higher to shield my exposed skin from the chilled air.
The walk-in wardrobe was meant for a small family. Therefore, there was enough room for two or three people, but since I lived alone, I only took up a third of the space. The rest of the space is just empty and collecting dust.
I looked through my small collection of clothes to see what to wear. I had been part of the foster system before I was adopted, so I never owned that many things. I was not allowed to have that many possessions, everything had to fit in a black garbage bag, so it was easier to lug around from house to house. Since then, I never had that many things. Most of my clothes and personal effects could fit in a few boxes and duffle bags.
I got dressed in a pair of light wash distressed jeans, with a random white Beatles graphic T-shirt and red flannel. I picked my favourite pair of black combat boots, with my old beat-up black leather jacket. I tried to make it look less old and grungy than it actually was. I wanted to make a good first impression. I didn't want whoever I was meeting to think I lived in the streets.
Before I walked out of my one-bedroom apartment. I looked in the mirror that was hung next to my front door one last time and picked up my car keys. I walked out the door to my old black 1969 Pontiac GTO. My adoptive father had left it for me before he ran away with a younger woman after my adoptive mother, his wife, had passed away.
I got into my old but well-maintained car, turned on the radio to my favourite rock station and drove off to the cafe where I was supposed to meet this mystery date.
Softly splashing water droplets hit the car windows as I drove towards the city. The sky was overhung with a blanket of grey, so much so that I could barely tell the difference between the sky and clouds. Despite the tediousness of the car ride, the rain calmed me. I watched the raindrops race down the window as I drove along the highway. The drive to the cafe was long and pretty stressful. I knew the whole ordeal would stress me out. However, my friend said the date would be worth it. I didn't particularly know if I believed her, but I trusted her. She knew me pretty well and what I liked, which means leaving my love life in her hands wasn't that disastrous of an idea.
After 35 minutes of driving, I made it to the cafe. I parked my old black car on the side of the road. I fixed my hair in the mirror, before heading in. As I placed my hand on the door handle, I took a deep breath to reassure myself and give me a little boost of confidence. After a few seconds, I opened the door and walked in.
I heard the little bell ring as I opened the door. At that exact moment, I had the feeling that everyone in the cafe was staring at me. I almost just turned around and left, but I knew I could not let my social anxiety get the better of me. Not this time. I walked a bit farther in the cafe and in the corner sitting alone at one of the booths next to a large window, I saw a gorgeous woman in a flowy green and white dress. The woman made eye contact with me, smiled, and waved for me to sit down with her. I slowly made my way to her booth as the woman stood up to greet me by giving me a soft and gentle hug. We sat across from each other at the booth. Before the beautiful woman and I started talking, we ordered drinks. The woman ordered green tea and a raspberry scone. I ordered a hot chocolate with no whip cream. Like a child, coffee and tea taste awful to me. Once we ordered and the waiter left, the woman gave me a gentle smile that showed off her subtle dimples.
"It's nice to meet you, Elizabeth. I'm Alexandra, but most people just call me Alex. Your friend has talked a lot about you." She said with a gentle and soothing voice.
"I hope all good things," I quickly replied with a nervous laugh. I bit my lower lip and hoped she did not think I was too uncomfortable.
She giggled, placing her elbows on the wooden table, getting more comfortable.
We talked and laughed for hours on end. Our conversations were so much more than words. It was the smiles, the gentle shrugs, and the light in our eyes. We were both elevated by each other's presence. Even the silences were comfortable and full of meaning. The more we talked and got to know each other the more I liked her, the more I felt like we had something together.
At one point, I just started staring at her, not really listening to what she was saying. I was just admiring her beauty. She had stunning forest green eyes that were hiding behind a feminine pair of black rounded glasses. Her dark eye colour complemented her bright red hair and freckles beautifully. When I first saw her, she seemed a bit shorter than me even though she was wearing a pair of brown boots with a two-inch heel. When she spoke, she had a bit of a lisp. Which I thought was the most adorable thing.
I loved that she never talked or stared at my scar like most people do when they first meet me. I've been asked the same questions over and over again, that I've started making up extravagant stories to explain what happened. It does get on my nerves that people rather look at my scar while having a conversation, then look at me in the eyes. However, Alex never did that. When we talked, she always gently looked at me in the eyes, making me feel important and heard.
After a few hours of talking, we decided to head our separate ways. We paid for our drinks, and I got a piece of banana bread for the road. I walked Alex to her car, which was a bit farther down the street compared to where my car was.
As we stood under the street light, I gave Alex a gentle kiss and said "I had a great time today. We should do this again soon. Would you be up for that?"
"Yeah for sure, that would be nice." She answered, giving me a sweet and gentle smile over her shoulder as she walked away.
"You have my number, just text me the details. I'm up for anything," She added before getting in her 2019 red Jeep Wrangler.
Once I saw her drive off, I slowly walked back to my old car that I parked in front of the cafe. I sat and smiled staring at the clear afternoon sky for a few moments thinking of the date and how well it went. After a couple of minutes, I turned on my car and drove back home in the peace and quiet of the afternoon light. The whole ride home I listened to the rumbling of my car engine as I thought about when I could see that beautiful woman again. I’m not one to fall in love easily or at all as matter of fact but this woman. This woman had my heart the second I saw her sitting in the booth waiving at me to have a seat.
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