When sleep came, I fell for it. Down, down, head over heels, clawing at thin air, bicycling knees to try and tread the wind.
I landed softly but I didn't know it.
Ben holds on as long as he can but it's inevitable, expected. And then he is holding a shell, the vessel of the soul that has escaped to a makeshift dreamland through some attempt by God to atone for all of the things I have been through.
In my dream I am never too cold or too hot. I'm never hungry and I never covet anything. I am never afraid. Dreams come from heaven, I know that now. Or maybe they are designed to give us a taste of heaven in order to not be overwhelmed later in life, should we be given that reward.
Huh. I must tell this to Caleb when he comes back so he knows what he'll be missing.
In my dreams Ben never leaves and I never have to wake up until I have slept for days. Food arrives via the butler and everything we do is a whim. Music plays at the perfect volume, the perfect song audible but not overwhelming, my soundtrack following me down the road. Life is a circus. My own perfect circus, and that is my secret.
I open my bag and Coney Island is inside. So I put one foot in and then the other and I pull up the handles and in a singsong voice I say:
We're here.
I'm standing in front of the gates and the sun is just beginning to rise. It isn't cold here. The seagulls are competing with my song, goddammit, I'm going to have to speak to someone about that. I straighten the hem on my dress and tuck my hair behind my ears. Time to get to work.
I see Ben at the far end of the dock. He is watching the sea and waiting for me. Too far away to call to, and too far away to walk to, even and so I break into a run. I can't hear my footfalls but I can hear the metal clang of shutters as the boardwalk comes to life. Once the sun breaks free of the horizon it seems as it it calls out to everyone to shake off their own dreams and join us in this skewed reality where tolerance and cash are the only focus, and illusion is the means.
It's like the midway only less family-friendly and sometimes more sinister but I know I am safe. There is no dread. There's no 'careful' here. There are no places I need to be warned to avoid. I am no longer that fresh-scrubbed ruined twelve-year-old girl pulling cotton candy out of her hair and counting the seven twenty-dollar bills at the end of a good week. It's my dream and Caleb can't find me here.
This is the big leagues and I fit in only by virtue of pretty with not nearly enough tattoos and my rampant disregard for public appraisal unless it's of the appreciative kind. Ben fits in because he can make a scary face. That is all. He refuses to swallow fire and we've decided being sawed into pieces is overrated and agonizing.
Freaks. As is.
I reach him at last. His tattoos have been drawn into his pockets as he turns to smile at me.
You made it.
Why do I always start out at the opposite end from you?
I don't know, princess, but it doesn't take us long to regroup.
Weird.
Maybe that's part of the theme of your dream.
You're right. I bet that's exactly what it is.
Are you ready?
Yes. Let's go.
I reach up high into the air and grab the zipper pull, swinging my legs up over the edge until I am sitting on the ledge high above the pier now. The sun is a huge ball of warm, an orange I can taste, tinged with a purple I can feel. The tangible sunrise is a parting gift I am eager to learn how to extract, but not today.
I open my eyes and Ben is wrapped around me, sleeping deeply, his thumb resting on my philtrum and the rest of his hand wrapped around my head.
We are sleeping on a bed of twenty-dollar bills and all I can smell is cotton candy and decay.
