Chapter 12 …But What If It Is?
…BUT WHAT IF IT IS?
ALICE
My subconscious has always erred on the vivid side.
It’s a blessing when I’m dreaming and a curse when nightmares creep in.
Tonight, I’m somewhere in the middle, stuck in a purgatory of twisted recollection—lost in that in-between state of waking.
My heart is fierce in my chest, pumping my blood with a panic.
I know something is off, but I can’t place what.
I reach out. My palm slides over the foggy mirror of memories and comes away wet. It’s me in the reflection, but not.
It’s a cloudy day and children scream on a playground.
Someone dumped fresh wood chips beneath the swings and monkey-bars, and my nose greedily sucks up the scent.
There’s grass between my toes, and they curl, digging into the dirt like roots at the edge of the action. I’m trapped, halfway between the kickball field and the jungle gym, unsure of where to go next.
Turn back? Go home?
It’s getting late—the sun is at an angle in the sky instead of straight up—and I have to cover my eyes and peek between my fingers to get a good look at it. Nana would want me to go home. She’s cooking spaghetti tonight and doesn’t like when I’m late for dinner. But I don’t want to go inside yet.
Going inside means that I have to go to bed, and that means Mom and Dad come tomorrow, which means it’s my birthday. It being my birthday means that summer’s almost over, and that means school is starting soon, and the kids at school are mean…
If I just stay here, then tomorrow won’t come.
I wander across the field to where the nature preserve starts, plopping myself under the big tree—the one that’s marked all over with carved hearts and initials.
It’s nice and cool here in the shade, and it gives my sweaty skin a chance to dry.
The leaves are a pretty canopy, and they allow me to stare straight into the beams of sunlight without my eyes going splotchy.
A little longer outside will be fine. Nana won’t mind. We live down the street anyway.
I close my eyes, and wish. Wish and wish and wish.
Can the sun slow down so today doesn’t have to end? I like it here: where there are views other than skyscrapers; being close to the beach and the salty air that makes my nose tickle; with paint stuck under my fingernails from when Nana decided it was time for me to try out acrylics in her studio.
Can time just stop. Please?
“Who are you?”
My eyes snap open, but it’s hard to make out the silhouette of the boy standing in front of me. He shuffles nervously from foot to foot at the edge of the shade, like he’s got too much energy to spare and doesn’t know what to do with it.
“Who are you?” I huff. “I’m trying to relax here.”
“I-I’m sorry,” the boy stutters, stepping back. He’s flooded with sunlight, revealing his own perplexed expression. “I didn’t mean to bother you.”
My head tilts to the side, curiosity getting the better of me. “I’m Alice.”
“My name’s Harley,” he says, pushing a set of thin wire glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’ve never seen you around here before.”
I shrug. “My Nana usually takes me to the beach, but I wanted to go to the park today.”
“Oh,” he says, face scrunching into deeper confusion. “But we’re in the Meadow?”
He turns sideways to unveil a large field of flowers. They grow wild and tall, and I get the sudden urge to run through them.
“Whoa…” My mouth gapes open, and I scramble forward; my fingers dig into the grass and my knees scrape over the tree’s exposed roots.
I squint and shake my head, because surely, I must be dreaming.
There’s no more park. Just the flowers. They span the entire rainbow in color, and their shades are so uniquely bright that they’re hard to look at. “That’s weird.”
A giggle escapes my growing grin. I’ve never been awake in a dream before.
“Anyway, can I sit with you?” the boy—Harley—asks. “My friends said they’d be back soon, but I hate being alone and the flowers are mean to me when they’re not around.”
“The flowers are mean?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he sighs.
“Like cause of the pollen? And you have allergies that give you the sniffles?”
“No.” His lips contort like he’s trying to find a better way to explain. “You’re not from Arcadia are you?”
“Clearly not.” I shift into crisscross-applesauce, patting the ground next to me. “Might as well tell me about it while we wait for your friends.”
He plops down, also barefoot. His soles are just as dirty and grass stained as mine.
“Well, I’m trying to memorize the paths, but the Wandering Woods make it hard.
The trees like to play tricks and want you to get lost. But right now, we’re in the Meadow, and if you go that way”—Harley points in one direction—“then you should get back to town. And if you go that way”—he points in another—“then you can go to the Lake in the Sky. It’s kind of a pain, climbing up the ladder, but it’s fun once you get up there. ”
Harley continues to tell me about a Dark Forest that’s shrouded in night twenty-four seven, and the ladies who sleep in the clouds.
Apparently, they’re the ones who make it rain by crying.
He explains all sorts of magical things, plucked straight from my storybooks at home, that I start to question whether it’s a dream at all.
“Can you pinch me?” I ask, cutting Harley off.
He casts me a strange glance. “Why?”
“Just do it,” I say, grabbing his hand and positioning his fingers on the flesh of my forearm. “Pinch me.”
“Okay…”
His nails dig into my skin, and I squeal at the pain.
Harley yelps in turn, screeching out a horrified, “I’m sorry!”
“It’s okay,” I eek out between uncontrollable fits of laughter. “This is freaking awesome!”
He looks at me like I’m crazy but doesn’t comment on it. At my insistence, he explains more about Arcadia—the realm I’ve somehow fallen into. We stay, tucked under the tree for another thirty minutes, until two other kids dash into the meadow.
And when he stands to meet them, offering his hand for me to join in their next adventure, I take it.
I throw away all my drawings of Harley. I rip the pages from their sketchbooks, ball up the loose ones, and chuck them all in a big black garbage bag.
Said garbage bag gets tossed in the bin and set out on the curb on Monday morning, and I watch as the green truck gobbles it up at the ass-crack of dawn.
Ridding myself of the reminders of him hasn’t stopped the spiral of memories flashing behind my lids like I thought it would. They’re pervasive, and they dominate my dreams, taking over the few hours of sleep that I manage to sneak in between re-runs of my comfort movies.
Memories of that meadow.
Memories of strange creatures.
Memories of them.
Except it wasn’t them now, it was eight-year-old versions of them. Of us. Together. But that can’t possibly be real. Because I remember what happened that summer. I remember that day.
I fell asleep under the tree in the park. I was super late for dinner. Nana freaked out. And she was about to call the neighborhood watch to start up a search party when I stomped up the porch stairs.
My phone buzzes for the hundredth time from its spot on the coffee table.
I sit up on the couch and swipe open my messages, teeth grinding at the unanswered string of texts from both Harley and Jessa.
See, the thing is, I could logic this all away easily, had I woke up the morning after the gala with two things: a glass of water on the nightstand and a bottle of Advil.
I could say what happened was a way-too-vivid hangover dream.
There. Easy. Done. No more mental breakdown over talking flowers and other realms.
But Harley acknowledged it. The text I woke up to from him dragged me to the cliffside, and as a result, I’m teetering on the edge of disassociation.
I can’t fall again.
I re-read our exchange from Friday morning.
Hey, I’m sorry about how last night ended.
I would have stayed until you woke up, but that felt like a breach of privacy at best and a creeper move at worst. Can I come over later to explain?
I imagine falling into Arcadia freaked you out.
It’s a lot to take in, but it will make more sense if you hear the backstory.
HARLEY
Did you drug me last night?
I had to ask, because it’s the only explanation… except I know that it isn’t. I’ve done my share of drugs in college, and not one has done that to me. Whatever that was.
And Harley was there with me. He… saved me?
The truth is there’s no logical explanation.
No!!!
HARLEY
No, Alice. I would never do that.
HARLEY
Please, can I come over to explain? Or call? It’s easier said out loud…
HARLEY
I don’t think that’s a good idea.
Okay. I can try in text…
HARLEY
Don’t bother. I need some space.
Oh. Okay.
HARLEY
Are you sure?
HARLEY
I ignore him after that. Ignore everyone, actually, except for a proof of life text I sent to Steph. I think her and Erica can sense I’m not okay, though. But I don’t want to bother them—and I don’t even know how to explain what’s bothering me.
The world is simply tilted off its axis.
I scroll through the unread messages that have come in over the past few days.
I know you said you need some space, but I wanted to make sure you’re okay?
HARLEY
Jessa brought home leftover pastries… Do you want me to drop some off?
HARLEY
The books at the library miss you. The art section is feeling a little unloved.
HARLEY
How are you feeling? Do you need anything?
HARLEY
Can you text one of us back so we know you’re alive, please?
JESSA
I’m not joking around, Alice. Don’t ghost us.
JESSA
Hey, I need to get the canvas specs finalized soon. Any updates on the big ones? Less concerned about the small boys. Also dying to see some progress pics…
STEPH
Unfortunately, there are no progress pics to be shared. I no longer possess the sketches of my ideas to fake them. And I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.
I toss my phone onto the couch and jab my fingers into my temples. I need to get out of the house. My head is full of static and my thinking muddled. I need fresh air. And I need clarity.
My feet bring me to the park.