Drawn to Troubled Waters

Chapter 18: The Connection

There are two worlds colliding here. I feel as if I’ve stepped through the door to Narnia with Lucy, where it is always winter but never Christmas. I feel like Alice falling down a rabbit hole or Dorothy spinning in a cyclone on her way to Oz. What’s real and what’s a dream?

         “And then,” Sawyer prompts again. “What happened after this boy in your dream showed up?”

         I let our hands drop and I turn away, the heat flaming along my cheeks. The words feel heavy in my mouth. “We got intimate.”

         His voice is controlled and monotone. “How intimate?”

         “About as intimate as you can get.” I turn back, still not able to touch him though my body is desperately drawn to his. “That’s why I couldn’t. Why we can’t. Not here.”

         He nods and takes a step forward. His teasing smile returns though it is just a little tight around the corners of his mouth. “But you didn’t say not ever.”

         I force myself to tease back. “Typical male if all you’re getting out of this conversation pertains to your own sex life.”

         Sawyer sits suddenly and pats at the grass beside him. “I promise to behave myself. For now.”

         The bridge is now at my back; out of sight but certainly never far from my mind. I settle cross-legged once more across from him. Lucy, Alice, Dorothy: all had a friend or guide to get them through their worlds. Sawyer, sitting across from me with his floppy hair and rumpled look is as close to a scarecrow as I’m going to get for this adventure. In my mind’s eye I am even now sketching out what that would look like.

         Our knees are bumping but Sawyer, true to his word keeps his hands immobile in his lap. My own hands pick at blades of grass, still wanting to reach out for him. “So now what?”

         “Let’s look at what we know. There has to be a reason the two of us are having these dreams. It’s just weird that we both had them before we even met. And yet it feels like they’re connected. We’re connected.”

         The shade of the tree offers relief from the direct sunlight but little from the actual heat. There is a buzzing off to my right that I associate with a bee and a waxy and heavy smell confirms unfamiliar flowers in the vicinity. It’s not the bitterness of daisies but a light, almost sweet scent. The magnolias that Mississippi is so famous for perhaps? Such an idyllic day by the river. We should be picnicking and laughing not analyzing dreams that I’m sure would puzzle even Freud.

         “I’ve had them as long as I can remember,” I confirm. “I don’t think there has been any pattern to them. Though,” I chew on my bottom lip, the saltiness of perspiration tart on my tongue. “They’ve seemed more frequent the past two weeks. The thing is, they never changed until last night.”

         “And I only get them in late May, early June.”

         “So this time of year is significant for you and it seems this location is significant for me.”

His eyes stare straight into mine, his voice low and husky. “I know you’ve made the same connection I have. And one of us has to say it.”

He’s right. Saying things out loud makes them real though. How far am I willing to commit to the crazy ideas swirling in my head? But if Sawyer’s having the same ideas, they can’t be all that crazy. Can they?

         I place my palms on his crossed knees. He is my tether to reality. Without the concrete touch of him I fear my cyclone of feelings will suck me right out of reality. “We already know it has something to do with the bridge or we wouldn’t be dreaming about it. It’s not a large leap to think that it’s also somehow connected to the McAllister family and particularly to Billie Joe. But why would we both dream about drowning?”