Into the Velvet

The Signs of Change

Late at night, I dreamt of Henry. I hadn't wanted to. But as of late, Kathryn and I were having such in-depth discussions about him that he'd permeated my subconsciousness. It wasn't like the dreams of the past — fantasies which lingered on the rush of his touch, his attention, filled with a restless yearning for what could be.

This dream was a conversation. Different to the last argument I remembered us having — in a hospital room, after a crime I'd committed. With his angry words punctured by beeping monitors. Undercut by thick contempt.

This conversation was a clean slate. An interview.

"Hello, Louise."

"Henry."

He'd appeared as a blurry mist in a red Victorian room. Non-corporeal. A shadowy man with a strangely disfigured face. Familiar in some ways, yet entirely alien.

"Had you known?" I'd asked him.

"What do you mean?"

"I hadn't known better when I loved you. I hadn't even considered the impact that loving you would have on me. I just thought... if my feelings for you were so pure, then who was I hurting by having them? Why not embrace the force of what I wanted?"

Dream Henry watched in silence.

Dream Louise frowned in thought. "These days, I can look back on the past with clarity. Even if being together hadn't hurt anyone else, it was still wrong. Because it hurt me the most. Did you know, Henry? Did you know you were hurting me, too?"

Dream Henry hesitated. "You'll always have a special place in my heart."

My dream-self rolled her eyes. "Those are empty words. They don't answer my question. I had my whole life ahead of me, and it only took one wrong detour for me to lose myself. But you never lost sight of who you were. You'd chosen your own course of action. You caused pain that you haven't answered for."

My phantom guest had a quiet presence. Reacting as the real Henry would. Calculating the perfect answer. Absolving himself of guilt and shame.

"Did it occur to you that my damage might last forever?" I asked. Feeling desperate. "Did you care?"

My dream had been cut short.

"Lula," my mother said, shaking my shoulder. "Wake up. It's noon."

"No," I groaned. It felt too early. My day wasn't ready to start. I covered my eyes with the crook of my elbow. Turning my body to face the wall.

She drew the blinds wide open, flooding me with sunlight. I felt her shadow loom over me. "Come on. We're having this conversation now."

I opened my eyes. "What conversation?"

She lifted up the stack of rejection letters by my bedside table. "This conversation."

I heaved a great sigh, as if she was asking the world of me. She sighed back, mocking my pain. "Come on, lazy. Get up."

It took a monumental effort. But once I was up and freshly showered, I re-entered my room. My mother was sitting on the bed she'd made without me asking. Wearing her dorky spectacles, peering down at the letters with a frown.

"Not a single one of these colleges liked you, huh?" She clicked her tongue. "Waste of money. Do you think it had to do with your real name?"

I answered immediately. "Kathryn says that was just an unfounded fear. Having the wrong sort of name. It was my brain trying to justify the reasons for my heightened anxious state."