I woke up this morning with a sense of sweet euphoria washing over me caused by the dreams that I was enjoying just moments before being yanked from bliss by that infernal phone beginning its morning rings. Everything was going along like clockwork in dreamland until some stranger in Wilmington, Delaware urgently needed to tell me that I had been pre selected to apply for a new credit card with an amazing one thousand dollar spending limit. It’s not often that I get worked up about dreams. It’s not often that I get worked up about anything. Some people call it insensitivity. I call it not getting worked up. But about this dream for some reason, I’m, well, worked up.
Back in college I met this little, smiley, brown-haired girl from Indiana. So the story goes, we met, I got drunk at a frat party and tried to kiss her, we went out for a while, broke up a few times, and somewhere along the way we fell in love. Crazy storybook love. Cinderella love. You know, if I were a nasty foot, she’d be the beautiful glass slipper that fits just right. She was everything I had always hoped to find. Every quality I told myself a suitable companion should have, she had. Everything I had ever wanted to feel, I did. Everything.
For a long time, it was great. She was happy, and if for some reason she wasn’t, I could usually say something to make her smile. We spent nearly every day together, often mused about spending the rest of our days together. When we danced, the whole world disappeared, and it was just the two of us twirling in nothingness. We often would hug goodbye for what seemed like hours in the balmy cold of autumn as people would come and go from the concrete steps behind her building. In the winter we wrestled and made angels in the snow.
I messed it all up, so the story goes, something went wrong. When people ask me today, I still can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it’s the old “afraid of commitment” song and dance, maybe I thought we lived too far apart, maybe I’m just making up excuses. It seems that way now.
Some time ago, she moved on. So the story goes. Turns out an old friend showed up one day and decided he didn’t want to be “just friends” anymore. We phone each other every so often and she tells me that she’s happy. She tells me that they fight more than she’d like. She also tells me that she’s not supposed to tell me about that fights, and that, if he had it his way she wouldn’t be telling me anything. So the story goes. She tells me that she’s been taking pills to make her happy.
So, I’m having this dream about this girl. It’s not a sexy dream where I’m getting all hot and bothered by a girl in the raw rubbing her nasties all over me. Which, don’t get me wrong, are fine and dandy, and have their own place. In this dream, I’m lying alone on my bed finding that things are pretty dull in general when she, like an angel, appears at my door.
This is when the aforementioned euphoria begins. I think to myself, “I feel how sweethearts being reunited with each other after war in a distant land might have felt.” I've never been to war. Estrangement, though you know every mannerism, every word, and every thought sometimes even before she does. I worm out of bed to exchange pleasantries, as old friends do, followed by her trademark all consuming embrace. She is crying, and pounding on my chest understandably upset with me. Upset because she had to hurt someone very dear to her. Upset because I waited so long. Upset for making her choose. But, ultimately, just as euphoric as I am, still locked in her trademark all consuming embrace.
READER'S REVIEWS (2) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"This story is short and sweet. However, there is no real definition for the characters, just that the woman is all the man wanted and the man is some guy who's reminiscing through a dream. I would suggest more description as to why she's all that and why he started dreaming about her. Perhaps he's lonely. There seems to be a little bit of redundancy in this short. You can emphasize your point without repeating the same words over. These are a few suggestions. Good job on your first attempt I urge you to keep it up. " -- Jessica Zidik , GA, USA.
"good story. i liked reading it. only there is no real ending, youre dreaming till the end right, you don't actually hook back up again and interrupted by the phone in the end. re-read the story and clean up some of the sentences and add to the ending. good work." -- sunny, DC, good ol' USA.
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