Sweet DREAMS

Sweet DREAMS(JAMES VARUGHESE) I woke up Sunday morning feeling particularly energetic. I usually feel like death—hungover with a bad case of the Monday dreads. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, immediately noticing that absolutely everything is wrong. This isn’t my bed. This isn’t my room. This isn’t my house. It’s my childhood home. With tiny, 6-year-old hands, I pull off Batman sheets to reveal Batman pajamas.
Oh, I’m still dreaming. I get it. I drop out of my bed and shuffle out of my room, my face level with the door knob.
“Look who’s up without a fuss!” It’s Mom. She looks great. Really great, actually. I had no idea she was so young. I guess traveling 20 years back in time will do that. Hot waffles are on the table with milk. Jackpot! Loving this dream. Sunday morning comic strips are already spread out. Awesome. Certainly not the worst lucid dream I’ve ever had.
“How about you practice some of your math early today so you have the rest of the day to yourself?” Sounds reasonable enough. I nod with mouth stuffed full with waffles, syrup dripping down my chin. She rubs a wet paper towel across my face and hands. It feels so real. She hands me a worksheet. Addition and subtraction. Well, this should be a breeze. I finish it back and front in about 60 seconds.
“You’re...finished?” Mom asks me. “Wow, I guess all the practice is paying off! That’s a relief. Good for you, honey! You can go play now,” she says kissing my forehead.
Time for video games, I think to myself. I head to the living room, then my bedroom, then...oh, wait. It’s 1995, and there’s only one giant computer with a tiny screen in my parents’ room. Quel horreur. Right, this dream can end any time now, I chuckle to myself. I opt for cartoons on our little TV. Pinky and the Brain! I forgot about these guys. 26 years old and still loving cartoons. I can’t say I’m ashamed, though. This was quality television.
I suddenly remember my awesome backyard—my bike, rollerblades, rope swings, the lizard family that lives under the porch stairs—and I run outside for hours of nostalgia. The streetlights turn on, and Mom says it’s time for dinner. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob. Oh, man. I haven’t eaten this well in ages. Dad’s absent. No surprise. He always worked late. Curious that my dream would be in keeping with that detail.
It’s 8 pm, and Mom says it’s time for a bath and bed. The lights are out, and I’m tucked in with a snuggle by 9. How could I have ever complained about this as a kid? So much tasty food, no work, and a decent night’s sleep? Yeah, I’ll forgo the beer and day job. This rocks. Too bad it has to end, I think to myself. Eventually, I doze off.
Now I’m rudely awoken from my blissful dream by my alarm clock. I slap it off and sit up. Why am I still in this room? Where’s my cell phone? I have to be to work. Where am I? Still sleeping, I guess. Okay. Ooookay. My eyes scan the room—toys on the floor, my little overalls laid out for the day. I’ve heard of these. Lucid dreams that go on for ages but only occur in a few minutes while you’re sleeping. Fine with me. Pancakes and eggs for breakfast. How does she do it? My mother looks incredible again. So youthful, makeup on, hair done, hearty meal already on the table. Dad’s out of the house by 7 am.
“Up again without a fuss! What a good girl you are!” Was I that much of a pain in the butt when I was younger? I can’t remember. I should really call Mom when I wake up.
I finish eating, and Mom walks me to the bus stop. My stomach drops. I don’t want to have to re-live elementary school. Not this. My strict, private, Catholic school was terrifying. Insane teachers who screamed and made you feel like a horrible person. Equally horrible and crazy children. My dream was turning into more of a lucid nightmare. Okay, let’s wake up now, shall we?
Drat. No luck.
I climb the steps with my tiny little legs and remember the way I used to feel when getting on the bus. Luckily, the dread isn’t quite as intense as I remember. It’s just bunch of little snotty kids. I’m relieved to have retained my adult mind in this little body. Otherwise, this dream could have taken a traumatic turn.
I sit down next to my buddy Riley. I had almost forgotten about Riley. I think he’s married now. Does he have a kid? He might have a kid. I should call him tomorrow. Man, I suck at keeping in touch.
“Check it out!” Riley yelled, as he shoved a little Hot Wheels car in my face. Kids are not the greatest at respecting personal space. “Cool!” I say, trying to sound genuinely enthused and not patronizing.
“What’s that?” I turn around. It’s Lauren. Ugh. Lauren. I remember her now. Lauren liked to belittle and lie. “What a piece of junk,” she sneers. “My daddy bought me a real car.”
I think 6-year-old me would have said something like “I bet it’s ugly!” or “Nuh-uh!” But 26-year-old me shot back, “Too bad you can’t legally drive until you’re 16.” Silence. She wasn’t expecting that. I revel in my little victory over one of my childhood enemies. Am I burning a little girl and gloating about it? You bet I am. I grin to myself.
We get to school, and my stomach does a backflip. So many negative feelings about this place. So many horrible memories. I would just like to wake up already, please. This is getting old really quickly. I hope I’m not sleeping through my alarm right now. I file off the bus and line up with the other kids on the giant asphalt yard behind the school. I remember this. Every kid stood out there every morning and said a prayer and the Pledge of Allegiance. Random kids make faces at me while I murmur the words to myself.
“...indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”
Our teachers lead us upstairs. First, there’s homeroom for announcements, then math, then social studies, then religion, then English, then reading, then art or P.E., then computers (my favorite class)... How am I remembering this? I not only knew my schedule for the day, I also knew what homework was due in which class—homework I hadn’t completed. Whoops. Aren’t I supposed to show up to class with nothing done, get yelled at by the teacher and laughed at by my classmates, look down to find that I’m naked, and wake up in a cold sweat in my bed at 5 am? I guess the lack of humiliation is nice.
I go through my classes. School’s not so bad when you have the intelligence and knowledge of an adult. Teasing doesn’t bother me, the material is incredibly simple, and the teachers aren’t even that intimidating. I hop on the bus and get swept off by my grinning mother. She holds my hand and walks me home, just a few houses down from the drop-off. She asks me how my day was, then tells me we’ll go crazy and have pizza tonight. What a saint, this woman, I think to myself. I thank her profusely and ask her how her day went.
‘I...well...well, aren’t you sweet? It was a good day, dear.” I ask her what she did. “Well,” she laughs with a slightly surprised, slightly confused expression, “I went to work. Mommy’s a lawyer. She helps people when they’re in trouble. Not too many people were in trouble today, so that’s good. Then I came home a bit late and decided tonight we’d go for pizza! Do you have a lot of homework?”
“Nah, I finished most of it on the bus ride home.”
“Look at you, you whiz kid! I knew you’d get the hang of it. You’re so smart.” She unlocks the door, takes my backpack from me, and dials the pizza place. I finish reading about Christopher Columbus for the millionth time while we wait. Pepperoni and mushrooms. My favorite.
Mom’s fun. I hope she felt appreciated when I was growing up with her. I wonder what we’ll do tomorrow, as I pick off a slice of pepperoni and pop into my mouth. Dad walks in and heads straight for the bathroom. I hear the shower turn on. Mom doesn’t look up from her pizza.
I’m in bed by 8:30 and planning tomorrow’s activities. There’s a creek I’d always wanted to explore with Riley—I’ll do that after school—and a half dozen jumps I always wanted to try on my bike. That’ll be Wednesday maybe. My eyes get heavy, and I snuggle deeper into my Batman sheets.
*BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP*
Man, I could use another alarm clock. So harsh. I smack it off and pull on my little blue polo, khaki trousers, and uniform shoes. I smell bacon. Can I smell bacon every morning? And night? Please? Mom’s looking particularly swanky in a white blouse tucked into a red skirt, cinched with a thin, tan belt. I don’t even remember Mom owning high heels quite so...high.
“If you keep waking up so early I’m going to have to get you to start making breakfast!” Mom says. She beams at me while placing a plate of eggs, watermelon, and—of course—bacon in front of me. I jump up and hug her, thanking her profusely again. I tell her I should make her breakfast tomorrow morning, that she deserves it for working so hard, and that we should get cereal so she could sleep in and not have to cook every morning. She stops. I look up, and she’s tearing up. Oh no. She crouches down to me.
“You are just the sweetest,” she says, hugging me hard. “Don’t you ever worry about me. Save all that for Mother’s Day. Mother’s Day you can make me breakfast in bed.”
I smile as she hold my hand and walks me to the bus stop again. I realize how much I miss her. How could I not keep in touch? What a jerk I am. I look down and see my tiny hands and feet again. I’m still here. This isn’t right. What feels like two whole days has gone by in real time. I’ve had lucid dreams before. They don’t work like this. I panic. Am I in a coma? Mom sees my facial expression change.
“You okay, hon?” she asks, concerned.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m good. I have a presentation today. Just a little nervous.” I don’t want to worry her. She says I’ll do great. A kiss on the forehead, and I’m on the bus again. What is going on? This is a dream. This is a dream. A dream that won’t end. I pinch myself, shake my body, and give myself a hard slap on the cheek. Why won’t I wake up? What if I am in a coma? Will anyone know? Did I die?
The panic surges. I go to school, go to class, go home to pork chops and broccoli. Homework, TV, bath time, sleep. Blueberry crepes and orange juice. School, class, home, chicken pot pie, homework, TV, bath time, sleep. Cheesy eggs on a croissant and milk. School, class, home, spaghetti, homework, TV, bath time, sleep.
Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months. I go through the motions, trying to enjoy it, but I can’t forget that I’m trapped here. I become more and more introverted. I can’t accept this is real. I’m a grown woman stuck in my own little body and I’m re-living everything in real time. Did I die? Insanity? Coma? A second chance? A second chance.