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[hadenodom-stories]

Clair’s Voyage, Part 1

Clair woke up in a cold sweat.  There was no light breaking through her open window, and her heavy dark Navy curtains made no noise as they wavered in the summer wind.  It was the 5th of July, and she was freaking out.  Have you ever had a dream that stays on your mind and colors your mood for an entire day?  Clair had just endured the second such dream in as many nights.

Regardless of the dread her dream had instilled in her, she knew she had to get up and moving.  Yesterday's dream had nearly sapped her of all of her energy, and her friend Elaine had noticed at the neighborhood 4th of July cookout.  "I've never seen you in such a foul mood", she'd remarked.  She couldn't let that happen today.  She had a very important interview, and her entire future potentially hinged on it.  She couldn't be in a dour, depressed state -- 'Then I'll have to fake a smile', she thought, 'and I'm absolute shit at that'.  

Despite a grim determination to force herself into a better mood, she found herself dwelling on the previous day's events as she trudged through the hallways of her quiet house towards the kitchen.  By the time she was sitting down, her head full of frizzy auburn hair slumped forward beholding the sight of a depressing bowl of some "healthy" cereal that'd been sitting in the cupboards well past its expiration date, her mind was busy replaying  and reliving the most traumatic part of that day.  The part that she'd seen before in a nightmare just hours before it happened in real life.  The part of the day that was at first clouded in a sense of Déjà vu -- a surreal "I've seen all of these events, in this exact order, before..." sense -- until it burst into traumatic realness.  The pops and whizzes of fireworks zooming into the sky.  The cheers of the neighborhood kids as one particularly bright, low, and loud firecracker exploded.  Her younger brother looking at her with a cheeky "watch this" expression as he prepared to light a cobbled-together collection of old fireworks that he'd taped together and put into a small pipe to launch.  His uncomprehending, still-excited face as the spark ran along the fuse far too fast and the pipe began to tilt back towards him.  The flash and screams afterwards.  And everything going black once she saw the blood and exposed bone.  Once she realized how bad it might be...

She neatly placed her spoon back on the table and stood up.  'No way I can fucking eat now', she thought.  As she walked out onto the back patio and tossed the now-soggy cereal out into the yard for the local cats to enjoy, she remembered her mom's instructions:

"Look, go home.  Just go home.  You heard the doctor, honey.  He's going to be alright.  They're doing their best.  We won't be able to see him for quite a while.  I'll stay here for now.  Just go home and sleep in your own bed.  Get you mind off of it and come back when you're able."

Clair slammed the patio door shut behind her, furious now.  She understood that her mother wasn't exactly a master of emotional understanding or empathy, but how could she be so fucking stupid?  How could her mom just think that she'd be able to go home and be comfortable knowing her brother was in surgery, having seen what happened to him?  'I'm an adult now, but goddamn, how do I even process this on my own?  How do I just move on with my life?  How can she expect me to just go home, forget all about it, and then get ready for this interview?"

She continued to ruminate and curse her mother's lack of empathy - or at least the kind of empathy Clair expected - as she lazily got ready for her interview.  It was only 5 AM and her interview wasn't until 9, but there wasn't anything else to do and she certainly couldn't go back to sleep.  She was going to put on a frightfully awful dress - she hated dresses - with a pair of shiny black businesslike pumps - which she also loathed - and apply more makeup than usual, and then go spend a couple of hours at the hospital trying to get an update on her brother's situation.  'I'll go ahead and let mom know that I can't handle this on my own while I'm there', she thought.  'She won't care, but I'll let her know'

In her old, grey Civic hatchback with the paint peeling, she barely focused on the road or on driving.  The static-filled dulcet tones of an NPR reporter reciting headlines momentarily calmed her, but she wasn't processing any of the words.  She was just busy thinking of what she could remember from last night's dream.  It was a mess - all she could remember was some boy she barely recognized (but couldn't place) talking to her mother, and her mother suddenly displaying more emotion than Clair had ever seen from her - but she still wasn't able to actually identify the emotion her mother was feeling in the dream.  Something like shock - or confusion - or betrayal - or all of those.  Clair tried in vain to figure out who the boy in the dream was - his face looked very familiar, but she couldn't remember where, other than the dream, she'd seen him. And as for what emotion her mother had been reacting with or what the boy had been telling her mother, she was at a complete loss.  Her eyes flashed upon a sign and her brakes squealed.  Lost in thought, she'd almost missed the exit for the hospital.

The hospital was a tiny rural hospital on the edge of town, a decaying building full of old doctors and young underpaid nurses, kept alive on a shoestring budget despite the exorbitant prices it charged you for the simple privilege of remaining alive.  Clair was sure that her mom wasn't ready for any of the financial burden her brother had just incurred -- at least not on the meager retirement checks and alimony they'd subsisted on since her dad had left.  Walking into the main waiting room, she was mentally prepared to hit her mom hard with three questions:  "How is he?", "When can I see him?", and "You're not going to make me stay at the house by myself for another night".  The last one wasn't a question, but she expected, at the very least, her mother's acknowledgement.  Instead, she was met by the face from her dream - the unfamiliar boy - walking out of an empty waiting room.  She couldn't help but stop in her tracks and stare at him.  "You're Micheal's sister, right?", the boy said, seemingly unphased by her glare.  "Yes", she finally managed to respond.  "He's not here anymore", the boy replied.  

"What?"

"They took him to a hospital in Jacksonville.  He's stable.  Your mom didn't call you and tell you?"

"No..."

"Oh, well.  They left about 30 minutes ago.  He's stable, but your mom's kind of a wreck.  I stayed to meet up with his friend Lisa who wants to ride with me to Jacksonville.  He's going to go into another surgery to try to save his face and they said he'll probably be ready for visitors by later tonight."

'This is absurd', Clair thought.  'How can this random boy know more about my brother's situation than me.  How could my mom be so detached as to not tell me any of this?  And I'll be goddamned if anyone's going to finally visit my brother's hospital room before me'

"You can ride with us if you'd like", the boy offered.

"No, thanks, I actually have to drive to Jacksonville this morning anyways.  I have an interview at 9..."

"Say no more... I guess I'll see you there"

With that, the boy walked past her.  She turned and followed him outside.  "So... who are you?"

"Oh, we've met before I think.  I'm Cavill, Micheal's... we're friends.  I've been here since last night worried sick about him.  I guess your mom wanted you to be home so you wouldn't worry yourself sick like her."

"Fat lot of good that did", Clair replied drearily.  "And yeah, we have met... Micheal just never bothers to introduce his friends to us.  I guess he gets that from mom, the habit of keeping everyone at a distance"

"Cigarette?"  Cavill was holding out a crumpled pack of smokes.  It was odd to think that anyone Micheal hung out with smoked -- to Clair, she couldn't think of her brother as anything but a kid.  Hell, she had a hard time calling herself an "adult"

"No thanks", she replied, waving sheepishly.  

"I quit like a month ago - most on your brother's insistence.  But sitting here waiting last night and stressing out... I just couldn't do it.  I went and bought a pack of smokes.  Micheal would be ashamed of me."

"Don't say that.  I've never known Micheal to be anything but supportive"

"Yeah, but he..."  Cavill's voice trailed off as he began to choke up.  "He's the only person that really ever cared, you know?  And I care about him too.  I don't want to let him down."  A single tear ran down his cheek.

Clair was at a complete loss.  She always came to a complete loss when anyone cried or became vulnerable around her.  'I guess I'm not too unlike my mother', she thought.

"You won't.  You know he talks about you sometimes?  The other day he told me that you're learning guitar and that you're pretty good"

"I'm not, and he knows it.  He just..."

She wasn't sure why Cavill was trailing off now.  She'd met friends of her brother's before, but something was different in the way Cavill talked about his bond with Micheal.  What was it?  

Suddenly, some neurons firing in her brain or some semblance of emotional intelligence came to her, and it made sense.  Months before, Micheal had confessed to her that he was in a relationship but said it was a secret and refused to give her any more details.  It'd annoyed her at the time - she hated secrets in any form and saw them as puzzles or riddles that she needed to solve - but now, with her brother's somewhat-secretive friend quietly crying over a cigarette in front of her, an uncomfortably vulnerable figure, she felt like she was close to unraveling this particular puzzle.  She eyed Cavill again, taking him in.  He was a bit taller than her brother, and thinner.  His hair was golden-brown and jettisoned out from his head at odd angles, like some sort of anime character's.  His face didn't quite match it - soft angles, a small button of a nose, and thin lips.  Blue eyes.  He looked absolutely sad, and she couldn't stand to leave him here on his own.

"You're going to Jacksonville, right?", she said.

"Yeah, but I'm waiting for Lisa, remember?  She's my ride"

"Well, you can ride with me if you want.  I'm going right now."

"That's probably more convenient.  Lisa lives between here and Jacksonville and hasn't even left her house yet".

"Well, I'll make some room in my car.  And I have an interview later on, so I won't be able to give you a ride back until after lunch"

"That's okay, I'm staying at the hospital for the day if I can help it"

Clair looked at Cavill, who'd extinguished his cigarette between his fingers and was starting to walk behind her towards her car.  "Go wash you hands and splash some water on your face", she said.  "I don't want the smell of cigarettes in my car, and besides, you look tired"

Cranking her car, her head disappeared in thought again.  What was the meaning of the dream she'd had the night before?  What kind of secret life had her brother been living?  Who is this Cavill kid she's seen around who's suddenly very attached to her brother?  Why would her mom not tell her that her brother had been taken to a hospital an hour's drive south for surgery?  What was Cavill telling her mom in the dream she'd just had, and why did it make her mom so... upset?  

She couldn't sit there with her thoughts for a second longer, so she reached for the pair of pliers in the center console and used them to twist the metal stub on which her car radio's volume knob had once rested.  The dulcet tones of the NPR announcer now filled the silence:  

"Next on NPR:  We talk to an experimental psychologist about a new study on the phenomenon of apparently precognitive dreams.  Can dreams predict the future?"  

Not even NPR was going to give her a moment of escapism. 

=============================================

This is part one of my unfinished series about a girl named Clair whose dreams begin to mirror reality (sounds fun until it happens to you!), which for now is going to be titled “Clair’s Voyage”.  I started writing a story along these lines, with much less detail, a few years ago until it was apparent that I was writing a longer story than I’d set out to write.  At that time, I just saved the draft but left it unfinished.  Now, I’m adding more details and breaking it out into different parts.  It may become a book by the time I’m done.  Clair, you see, is an aspiring psychiatrist - she loves studying the mind and how it works - but right now she’s just trying to struggle through community college and get a job as a secretary at the local psychiatric hospital.  She’s also trying to struggle with the traumatic events surrounding an eerie July 4th, on which her brother was grievously injured in a scene that played out exactly how it had played out in her nightmare the night before.  With her brother’s boyfriend, Cavill, at her side, she’s about to embark on a journey of discovery and empowerment filled with ups and downs and unspeakable trauma.  So be sure to tune in for the next Part of Clair’s Voyage. 

[hadenodom-stories]

Confirmed Bachelors

Micheal plodded down the steps, into a bright room, empty except for the brightly-lit and colorful displays on the walls.  He had begged his father to go to the museum to see the new exhibit from a local artist - a close friend of his - all morning, but now that his father wanted to stop and look at each and every work of art before seeing the main attraction, Micheal was questioning his life choices.  I could have just waited and went with my friend, he thought.  The thought stung, for a brief moment.  He and Cavill were more than friends, but to the world, they were friends, and he’d been trying to work up the courage to introduce Cavill to his parents, going so far as reciting how he’d introduce him.  He’d gotten very used to the words “This is my friend, Cavill” but, even in his internal monologue, referring to his lover as “my friend” pained him.  He wished he could perceive anything in his father’s attitude as a clue for whether he’d accept the truth.  He’d been dropping hints and watching his father for over a year, but couldn’t read anything, good or bad, in the man’s stoic expression.  As they walked into yet another exhibit room, Micheal noticed his father lingering, looking down at the explanatory plaque below one of the exhibits - an exhibit they’d probably seen before in their previous trips to the Museum, which had mostly remained static since the days when his father brought him here as a younger child, teaching him about the world by pointing at exhibits and reading the plaques.

As he caught up with his father, he looked at the painting above the placard.  It depicted two men, one with his tie loosened, sitting on a couch and leaning his head on the other man’s shoulder, the other carefully pouring wine into a glass, their faces glowing in the light of what must have been a television in front of them.  They looked exactly like a couple just settling down after a long day at their respective jobs.  The room around them was meticulously tidy and well-decorated, with flowers and little flashes of greenery adoring the mauve-painted walls and the light hardwood floors.  Micheal inwardly groaned at how his younger mind had perceived this painting - he thought they were two friends who perhaps shared an apartment.  He remembered the title of this one - “Confirmed Bachelor Pad” - but he couldn’t really recall what the placard, which his dad had probably read to him years before, said.

As he tilted his head down to read the placard, his father seemed to shift a bit, and suddenly Micheal felt like he was being observed - “watched” would be a loaded word here, and it didn’t really feel creepy.  This is just what parents do sometimes, suddenly realize that their child, their precious baby, is growing before their eyes and that time is fleeting, and choose to spend a moment just observing them.  That’s how he passed it off, anyways, beginning to read the plaque as he could feel his father’s eyes reading his face.

“Confirmed Bachelor Pad by Lucious Thomas, 1986:  

Lucious Thomas himself was frequently referred to as a “Confirmed Bachelor” by journalists in his lifetime, and by his biographers for nearly a decade after his death.  In 1993, when his estate, in accordance with his will, released a collection of until-then secret and hidden works, this painting caught a large amount of public attention with its title and subject matter.  The subjects in the painting resemble a younger Lucious Thomas and his longtime “roommate”, Henry.

Micheal caught a lump in his throat and tried not to betray anything in his facial expression. The sensation that his father was watching him passed.  He turned around and, following his father, proceeded to the next exhibit.  He remembered his father reading that plaque to him now - when he was too young to understand it. He was too young to have possibly ever met Lucious Thomas, but in that moment, he felt like he was in one of his portraits, a classic Lucious work, where the subject grimaces in some uncomfortable or awkward circumstance, no easy escape in sight.