Once Upon a Nightmare

a dream is a wish your heart makes

i: a dream is a wish your heart makes

 

Nobody looking at me would call me a heroine.

But as we all know, the first step of eventual heroics is to be completely hopeless (a standard to which I have brilliantly risen), then on to epic adventure.

Tonight, I face my first monster.

Is a monster still a monster if it’s not real?

I say yes. Nightmares are the inner demons of heroes. Until this week, I would have said my soul was the most tortured by math. Due to recent development, I have to conclude that I’m actually a much more sinister individual on the inside, because seriously, my nightmares make the Freddy Krueger films look like Dora the Explorer.

Or—

Yes. Maybe, deep down, I’m nursing an embryonic murderer within me. If I drank a formula like Dr. Jekyll’s, I would totally have a Mr. Hyde that kills people. A single mishap in the kitchen, an unknown ingredient in my Cheerios, and so long Somniville as we know it . . .

But probably not.

I mean. Obviously not.

Anyway.

I plug my iPod into the speakers on dresser. Rising up, straight to the top - Had the guts, got the glory! I approach my bed like a matador. I hop onto the mattress and pull my arm across my chest in a stretch, though I think it’s safe to assume I’m not going to be straining any muscles while I sleep. I’m embodying Rocky.

There’s a trick I made up as a kid. It started after my dad let me watch Jurassic Park when I was seven (not even the worst of his parenting oversights). That night, twisting and sweating under my sheets as I fled from carnivorous dinosaurs, I beat back my first nightmare. I was crouched behind a rock and saw the shadow of the Tyrannosaurus Rex silhouetted on the cliff side next to me. I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could, clenched my fists near my temples, and forced my eyes open. I rose into the air and literally flew out of my dream.

If this doesn’t work, I’m going to have to buy a BlissMax pill. Dad will freak. Anything that smells even vaguely of brainwashing puts him on edge.But they’re not expensive and over the counter at the drugstore, so he doesn’t have to find out. Normally, I’m cool with placating his extreme version of reality, but after three nights in a row of nightmares, I’m tired in a way I didn’t even know I could be tired. I’ll try anything.

Even though it’s late September, it’s still hot in Nevada, so I crack my window open, let in the breeze. Snuggling into my covers, I close my eyes and remind my tense body—so uneager to sleep—that we can get out if we want.

My aching mind sleeps in a matter of seconds.

In my dream, I’m chasing someone. The panicked way I hunt for this person makes me think someone is chasing me, but no one is. I’m scared I won’t find him, but more scared I will. If I don’t find this monster, this demon from hell . . . I don’t know, but the uncertain outcome grips my heart with terror.

The dream rushes on in an anxious haze. When at last I corner the monster, I know it sees me. It will kill me. Hot fear comes with this simple truth and makes me feel sick. The beast charges and bites into the side of my neck. When he’s done with me, those I love are next.

I pause in a moment of clarity amidst the fear. Those I love? As in, more than one?

I’m dreaming. I know I am.

I’m so scared I can’t breathe. The monster and I are locked in some sort of sick embrace. Sharp blades sprout from his body and slowly, slowly, press into my skin. Soon they will puncture.