hips, and flung her hair over her
shoulders, flaunting herself. Her legs looked long and lean beneath her flouncy
white skirt. I realized I was dressed still in my ordinary clothes, which
confirmed, in my dream logic, that Eve had somehow tricked me into coming with
her. My heart beat fast as I realized that this was the only possible
explanation: I was where no living person should have been. I kept trying to
prove that I was living, trying to show her I could do things she no longer
could do.
I woke up
twisting my hands into my pillow, as if I were trying to turn the knob of the
maxi-pad dispenser. My throat felt sore, like I’d been moaning half the night.
A death-and-period-dream was something I was sure couldn’t be found in the Interpret Your
Dreams book I’d flipped through the day before at Barnes and Noble, but it didn’t take
a genius to figure out that the guilt was killing me, killing sleep. Figures
that was the one line I remembered from Macbeth: sleep no more.
The bad dream
feeling stayed with me through most of the day at school. I felt kind of
outside my own body, just sleepwalking through my classes, even though I tried
to tell myself Eve wasn’t actually mad at me, that her issues were about ten
times the size of what was bothering me.
I tried to get
my spirits up, eating lunch outside with Tom and Jill on the grass near the
cafeteria. Jill was leaning up against Tom’s shoulder, letting her Indian-print
blouse fall open so you could see whatever you wanted. I thought he was trying
pretty hard to look the other way. They were talking about some loser-girl’s
party they had both gone to Saturday night. I had made up some excuse about
having a cold so I wouldn’t have to go out with them. I didn’t think I was ready
for their beer-sodden company.
“Jill was in a
deplorable state,” Tom said. “You really need to have her by your side at any
of these jock parties. She sees those football players, and then can’t hold
herself back.” Jill had apparently had a few too many and had been spotted
making out with both Alexander Hirsch and Michael Sands. Jacob Abrams, Eve’s
old boyfriend, had finally intervened and told Tom to get Jill out of there
before something happened to her.
“What a guy,
that Jacob,” I said. “I miss spending time with the old chap.” I had spent so
many Saturday nights being the third wheel with Jacob and Eve I felt entitled
to bash the guy. Anyway, he seemed to have made himself scarce, was even
rumored to be going out with some freshman, since Eve had gotten really bad, a
fact I hadn’t gotten my courage up to ask her about.
“He isn’t so
bad,” Jill said. “He actually asked me how I was doing today. It’s those
asshole friends of his I can’t stand. What business is it of Keanan’s whether I
make out with someone?”
“Well, I guess
it’s that it was a plural night,” I said. Not someone, but somebodies.”
“Jeez, Andy, I
thought you were my friend,” Jill said and shifted away from Tom, putting her
head on my shoulder.
“I am, sweetie,”
I said, and gave her a little pat. It felt good to me to console Jill. Her
regrets made mine seem, if not smaller, at least more private. I hadn’t been
drunk with Doug. I hadn’t made a spectacle of myself. My problem was personal.
I felt like my mind was being stretched in so many different directions, I no
longer knew who I was. But this wasn’t anything anyone at school needed to know
about. As far as my friends were concerned, I was the same old Andy.
And in a way, I
was, until after track practice.
Practice was
amazing. It could have been the warm weather - I felt so loose and ready to go.
My mind felt sort of blank, the dream-feeling finally lifting, like the bonding
with Jill and Tom had restored me to a more normal state. As soon as I hit the
track, I knew I had upped my pace but I felt comfortable right from my first
stride. I could see Coach Landy was impressed with how I was running.
shoulders, flaunting herself. Her legs looked long and lean beneath her flouncy
white skirt. I realized I was dressed still in my ordinary clothes, which
confirmed, in my dream logic, that Eve had somehow tricked me into coming with
her. My heart beat fast as I realized that this was the only possible
explanation: I was where no living person should have been. I kept trying to
prove that I was living, trying to show her I could do things she no longer
could do.
I woke up
twisting my hands into my pillow, as if I were trying to turn the knob of the
maxi-pad dispenser. My throat felt sore, like I’d been moaning half the night.
A death-and-period-dream was something I was sure couldn’t be found in the Interpret Your
Dreams book I’d flipped through the day before at Barnes and Noble, but it didn’t take
a genius to figure out that the guilt was killing me, killing sleep. Figures
that was the one line I remembered from Macbeth: sleep no more.
The bad dream
feeling stayed with me through most of the day at school. I felt kind of
outside my own body, just sleepwalking through my classes, even though I tried
to tell myself Eve wasn’t actually mad at me, that her issues were about ten
times the size of what was bothering me.
I tried to get
my spirits up, eating lunch outside with Tom and Jill on the grass near the
cafeteria. Jill was leaning up against Tom’s shoulder, letting her Indian-print
blouse fall open so you could see whatever you wanted. I thought he was trying
pretty hard to look the other way. They were talking about some loser-girl’s
party they had both gone to Saturday night. I had made up some excuse about
having a cold so I wouldn’t have to go out with them. I didn’t think I was ready
for their beer-sodden company.
“Jill was in a
deplorable state,” Tom said. “You really need to have her by your side at any
of these jock parties. She sees those football players, and then can’t hold
herself back.” Jill had apparently had a few too many and had been spotted
making out with both Alexander Hirsch and Michael Sands. Jacob Abrams, Eve’s
old boyfriend, had finally intervened and told Tom to get Jill out of there
before something happened to her.
“What a guy,
that Jacob,” I said. “I miss spending time with the old chap.” I had spent so
many Saturday nights being the third wheel with Jacob and Eve I felt entitled
to bash the guy. Anyway, he seemed to have made himself scarce, was even
rumored to be going out with some freshman, since Eve had gotten really bad, a
fact I hadn’t gotten my courage up to ask her about.
“He isn’t so
bad,” Jill said. “He actually asked me how I was doing today. It’s those
asshole friends of his I can’t stand. What business is it of Keanan’s whether I
make out with someone?”
“Well, I guess
it’s that it was a plural night,” I said. Not someone, but somebodies.”
“Jeez, Andy, I
thought you were my friend,” Jill said and shifted away from Tom, putting her
head on my shoulder.
“I am, sweetie,”
I said, and gave her a little pat. It felt good to me to console Jill. Her
regrets made mine seem, if not smaller, at least more private. I hadn’t been
drunk with Doug. I hadn’t made a spectacle of myself. My problem was personal.
I felt like my mind was being stretched in so many different directions, I no
longer knew who I was. But this wasn’t anything anyone at school needed to know
about. As far as my friends were concerned, I was the same old Andy.
And in a way, I
was, until after track practice.
Practice was
amazing. It could have been the warm weather - I felt so loose and ready to go.
My mind felt sort of blank, the dream-feeling finally lifting, like the bonding
with Jill and Tom had restored me to a more normal state. As soon as I hit the
track, I knew I had upped my pace but I felt comfortable right from my first
stride. I could see Coach Landy was impressed with how I was running.
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