Darkness engulfs me. Silence rings in my ears. My heart shifts from rhythmic beats to a rapid thump.
Sweating nervously, I take a step forward and call out. "Hello?" The echo of my raspy voice fades into the nothingness that surrounds me.
Gulping down the lump in my throat, I try once again, "Hello? Is anyone there?"
As the echo dissipates, I can't help but wonder why I am automatically searching for someone. I don't know where I am. I don't know who put me here, so perhaps seeking company isn't the best of ideas.
The empty darkness makes my skin crawl with fear of the unknown. Slowly, I reach my shaking fingers to my face, tapping my fingertips from my cheeks up to my eyes. I check to make sure my eyes are indeed open. After confirming that my vision hasn't been obstructed, I extend my arms outward to my sides. As I wave my arms in the open space in front of me, I take another step forward.
Swoosh.
Startled by the something or someone that grazes past me as they run full speed, I take a step back and brace myself.
Swoosh.
The mass rushing by shoves my shoulder and spins me around to face the wall of darkness behind me. My breathing approaches hyperventilation as I attempt to process what is happening.
Can I run? Where would I run to? Can I hide? Where would I hide? Can I fight what ever this thing is? What would I fight? Who would I be fighting?
My chest tightens with overwhelming anticipation. Anticipation of what is to come next; my triumph or my death.
Swoosh.
Instead of passing me by, whatever it is stops to my right. The energy raises the hair on my arm and prickles my skin.
Its cold wet breath condensates on my neck. "Don't be afraid." The rich husky voice rolls through the air like silk.
Immediately, I become paralyzed. Paralyzed with fear of not knowing who or what is speaking to me.
Swoosh.
Another mass to my left crackles in contrast, "We won't hurt you. We need you."
Who is "we"? What do "they" need me for? My thoughts to race into the darkness swirling my body.
Swoosh.
A third being rushes up to my back and while running its cold hard finger down my spine admires, "Yes. This one is strong. This one will prevail."
My entire body shivers in response to the icy touch.
Prevail? What is that supposed to mean?
My mind spinning with confusion, my body still frozen in fear.
What do I do? What do I say? How can I get out?
Not wanting to endure another touch, I attempt to defend myself, "LEAVE ME ALONE!" My scream echoes twice as loud.
Immediately, I am surrounded.
The energy buzzes in my ears as several, what I presume to be, people approach me. Whispering assurances, shouting demands, judgmental comments, slithering temptations and cackling laughter swirls around me. Each voice growing louder and louder, demanding to be heard.
The weight crushes me.
I collapse to the floor bringing my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs. I search for any type of comfort or relief.
As the overwhelming noise grows, I shove my palms into my ears to block the screams.
Becoming desperate, I join the chorus of diversified shouting, "Stop! Leave me alone! Go away!" My cry is stuck on repeat as I scream over and over again.
The clock ticking, years begin to pass, but yet time has stood still. Screaming at the top of my lungs until my voice gives way, I'm left curled in a ball cradling my sanity miming the words I once could shout.
~ ~ ~
Opening my eyes and sitting up in my bed, I try to gain control of my breathing. The warm glow of the twinkle lights hung on the poorly painted beige wall above my wooden headboard brings me comfort.
I push the sweat damp comforter and thin white top sheet down, and fold my knees outward to sit up more comfortably. I wipe the tears from my face and reach over to grab my phone sitting on a messy stack of books. While checking the time, I tuck a clump of my matted long black hair behind my ear.
5:05 a.m.
"Ugh," A sigh of irritation escapes my throat. I am definitely not going back to sleep.
Variations of this dream have been haunting me each night for the past week. Although there are different "beings" approaching me, all with something to say, each dream is relatively the same. In the beginning, total silence, complete and absolute darkness and my response to the crushing weight of building noise.
Once I feel grounded to reality, I swing my legs over the edge of my bed and plant both feet on the rugged beige carpet. Moseying towards my bathroom, I contemplate skipping school. Which is something I think about quite often, but I'm too chicken to actually do. It's merely a fantasy to consider missing even one school day because it could jeopardize my current foster placement.
Foster care can be as great and horrible as everyone thinks. Yes, there are those horrifying placements where you don't understand how these so-called adults have been cleared to take in minors, and there are magical unicorn placements where minors are adopted. My current placement falls somewhere in-between but closer to the magical unicorn side; mediocre at best, depressing at worst.
Garvey is pretty chill. Well, his name is Grant Harvey, but everyone just calls him Garvey. I'm honestly not sure where that came from and I haven't asked. Garvey's absence is sort-of a blessing. He works night shift driving log trucks, so our interactions are limited to early morning and evening hellos. Since I'm gone at school and work most of the day, I practically have the house to myself.
I flip the switch to a fluorescent bar bulb hung over the dingy off-white vanity. I avoid eye contact with myself by glancing over the mirror.
After a few steps further in the bathroom, I yank back the rubber duckie covered shower curtain and turn the water on.
As I wait for the water to heat up, I can't help but think of my dream. It must have some sort of meaning.... Right?
You don't just have the same dream consistently every night for no reason.... Right?
Maybe it's just my subconscious throwing my past at me in some twisted form to remind me how grateful I should be for what I have.
Either way, I can't keep having this dream. The lack of sleep has created dark craters under my eyes and has seriously affected my ability to think clearly.
The steam wafting towards my face pulls me from my thoughts.
I slip off my Nirvana t-shirt and wiggle out of my black bikini cut underwear, tossing them both on the floor. I retrieve a lavender, sage and eucalyptus braid from the wood cabinet hanging on the wall above the toilet. After tossing the braid in the base of the shower, I carefully lifted my legs over the edge of the tub wall and closed the shower curtain behind me.
Deeply breathing in the herbal braid's soothing aroma, my mind clears. I close my eyes and lean forward into the hot water allowing it to cascade down the front of my face. As I face my back to the water, I allow my tension to melt away as if it seeped from my muscles and flowed down with the running water into the drain.
Feeling invigorated, I scrub my scalp with shampoo creating tiny circles with my fingertips.
Today is going to be a good day. The mental declaration rings on repeat. A
fter rinsing the shampoo, I apply a bit of conditioner to the ends of my lengthy onyx hair.
Slam!
The abrupt noise jolts me out of my blissful trance of relaxation. Garvey's home. He must have had a rough day. Which also means I have been in the shower for almost an hour. Geeze.
I quickly finish rinsing my body, and get out of the shower. I wrap my body in a worn white towel that once hung on the oversized Command hook adjacent to the toilet.
I hope I left some hot water for Garvey; he must have had a rough day to slam the door so loudly. He isn't usually the type to get loud, scream or even slam doors, but on occasion... on his worst days... he would make an abrupt entrance.
Slam!
Yep. He's had a bad night at work. Perhaps a hot breakfast will cheer him up. I don't typically cook Garvey breakfast, but I can make an exception, especially since there is a high probability that when he showers, he will quickly run out of hot water.
After brushing my teeth, combing my sopping wet hair, hanging the towel, and putting my dirty clothes in the pooling pile by the end of my bed, I get dressed. I throw on my underwear, a pair of basic skinny jeans, a plain t-shirt and off-brand Converse. I slip on my black and teal flannel and grab everything I need from my room for school.
Slinging my dingy canvas book bag over one shoulder, I make my way down the hall to the kitchen.
"Mornin'." Garvey grunts before downing a shot of Captain Morgan Spiced Rum and slamming the chipped black mug on the table.
"Bad day?" I consoled.
"Ayuh." Garvey scratched his forehead with his left thumb and slumped further down the wooden kitchen chair.
"Breakfast?" I quisitively raise an eyebrow and toss my book bag in the chair on the other side of the round table in the eat-in kitchen.
He responds while staring into his liquor. "Nah. Thanks. I'm going to shower and head to bed."
"Are yoooouu suuurreeee?" I drag out my sentence to lighten his mood.
"Thanks, Alex, but no. You don't need to be worryin' about me. Ya hear?" He breaks his trance to meet my eyes.
I stare into his dull sleepy eyes, "Alright, alright. You can't say I didn't try." I flash a reassuring smile.
He lightly chuckles while scratching the side of his jaw. The stubble under his fingernails mimics the sound of Velco. "Have a good day at school."
Garvey uses, what seems to be, his last ounce of energy to push himself off of the tarnished tabletop to stand and shuffle down to the hall.
After checking the time, I decide to grab a quick breakfast, so I could catch the bus. The bus ride is long and uncomfortable, but just like most mornings, uneventful.
Typically, I sit in the back with a seat all to myself. Most mornings, that is exactly what I want. This morning, I was desperate for anyone to sit with me, or heck, even near me. Anything to pull me away from my endless swirl of thoughts.
Why did Garvey have a bad day? What happened at work? Why wouldn't he allow anyone to show him compassion or do anything for him?
Garvey has always been kind and supportive in his own way. I can't help but wonder why he decided to become a foster parent in the first place?
Why am I in foster care? That question rings on repeat, morning and night, every day.
I don't know what is more haunting, the lack of answers that define who I am, or the torturous nightmares I've been having.
Despite the slow agony, I endure replaying my nightmares as if it was a Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives marathon on Food Network.
Endlessly repeating.
I can't seem to learn anything new despite replaying each variation of the same nightmare.
A chill runs down my spine as I remember the beings encircling me. Their screams fills my pounding head.
Who are these "people" and what do they want from me?