Pillow Talk

Most nights begin like any other in my little house on Evans street. There is nothing glamorous or special about my ratty old shirts and shorts I sleep in. My hair is up in a floppy bun, auburn curls slipping out and making my hair look like wildfire. I turn on Netflix to watch my embarrassing array of docudramas, my eyes drooping and popping open when I hear the tri tone of my text ringtone. Most of my texts come from my best friend Caleb, who is off to college in Arkansas. We talk about how our day went and the new people hes met, a laugh occasionally escaping my mouth.

I exhaust myself into sleep. My mind is silent until the hours or minutes or seconds before I wake at 5:30 A.M. Suddenly, a splash of color appears behind my closed eyes. A scene is painted. There is the calm sound of grumbling waves on the sandy shore, the sun beating down. I recognize two faces, but I seem to be watching the scene from some sort of window above the earth. Mitchell is running through the sand, frantically kneeling by a lifeless body.

I recognize the dark hair.
I know that small frame.
I've seen those closed eyes in slumber,
but never like this.

The paramedics arrived, pumping the chest of my best friend. I remember several thoughts running through my subconscious. The words I spoke to him in the waking world were the same as the ones in my dream. Those were my last words.

No "I love you"
No "I'll miss you"
No "I'm sorry"

My eyes shot open, my heart pounding at full speed. My throat felt like I had been screaming to wake up. Reality hit me like the waves on the shore from my dream. Immediately I grabbed my phone to see if Caleb was okay. I remember worrying about him all that day until he woke up and replied. I took that morning to think about life and how fragile it is. That dream will always be in the back of my mind, haunting me with the thought that life can be over in a matter of seconds.