Daydreams and Nightmares: A Short Story Collection

Porcelin Flowers

Dakota check out of his convenience store job. He waved goodbye to his manager. It was a small store managed by a man in his late fifties. Mr. Rodriguez, the owner, had taken a liking to Dakota. He liked the way the boy handled himself. Dakota was genuine and hardworking. He couldn't ask for a better employee. Mr. Rodriguez knew Dakota had plans. He didn't ask; they were the kind of plans that one had to discover as they played out. The kind of plans no other seventeen-year-old boy made. Dakota wasn't an ordinary seventeen-year-old.

Dakota counted his pay. Exactly two hundred. If he added it to the money he had saved up, that made five thousand five hundred dollars. Dakota thought it was just enough. He didn't know for how long. He didn't know where. He didn't know how. But Dakota was going to go somewhere. His plan lacked dependability, but his life did to. Dakota couldn't live the way he did anymore. The small town had failed him. The people had failed him. His family had failed him.

It was dark outside. Dakota thought it was almost midnight. Last time he looked at the clock it read 10:45. Time slipped from Dakota's fingers. His seventeenth birthday arrived faster than he knew. Dakota remembered the proud look in his father's eyes. He had "accomplished so much for seventeen-year-old boy." Dakota hated his father's words. He wanted to love them so much. He wanted to have his heart swell at the words. He wanted to melt like the daddy's boy he was. But Dakota didn't, because he wasn't that person anymore. Not after everyone had pulled out the floor from beneath him.

Dakota glanced at his wrist. He realized he didn't have his watch anymore. It broke a couple days ago at work. Dakota thought about buying a new one, but he couldn't afford it. If he wanted to leave, he would have to save every last dime he had. Dakota kick a rock as he walked. Not many cars drove by, so he walked on the road. It felt good. If anyone saw him, they could probably tell him to get on the sidewalk, because only crazy, death-seeking people walked on the road. Maybe Dakota wanted to be crazy. Maybe he wanted to be the boy who walked in the middle of the road. Maybe he wanted to break the rules.

Dakota was close to his house. He glanced at the stars. There were always stars. Dakota only wished of when he lived in a big city. People said you never saw stars. Dakota wondered what it felt like. He noticed car light approaching rapidly. The car drove faster than it was supposed to. Suddenly, the car was close. Close enough to hear its engine roar and the heat hit his presence. Dakota's heart leaped. He ran to the curb. Dakota fell to the floor just seconds sparing his life. All Dakota could do was stare at the car. His eyes glimmered. His heart swelled. Butterflies grew in Dakota's stomach. The kind of butterflies formed from pure anticipation. He knew he had a crazy idea. But Dakota was already the boy who walked in the middle of the road.

Dakota ran home. He unlocked the door quietly even though he knew his father would be awake. Dakota found his father stirring awake on the couch. He smiled. Then, he shook his head. Dakota hated his father. But he didn't really. He hated the idea of his father. The entire town was constructed on traditional values and judgmental people. Dakota's father was the only person in the whole town who had senseable ideas. Dakota hated that because he knew he had to leave his father behind.

"Dad, I told you not to wait for me," Dakota said, helping him up from the couch.

"Maybe if you didn't work so late at night."

"You know I have to work as many hours as I can. How else are we going to pay the bills?"

Dakota helped his father into his bedroom. He scowled when he saw Mirtha in the bed. Dakota despised her. His father settled into the bed. Dakota whispered goodnight as he left the room. Mirtha turned in the bed. Dakota bit his tongue. He made sure there was a glass of water at the bedside. Dakota glanced at his father. He walked out.