6. Ashlynn
6
ASHLYNN
Bright lights warm my face as I glide effortlessly across the polished floor. My heart beats in time with the music, every movement perfect. The music swirls around me, lifting me higher with each pirouette. Adrenaline pulses through me, and I feel invincible, like nothing in the world can touch me.
This is where I belong, on this stage.
My friends from Brookfield are here too, their faces flush with excitement as they watch me twirl. Their eyes are glued to the stage, to me, like they can’t bear to look away.
Mom’s face beams from the front row, pride and love radiating from her eyes. Her smile is so bright, so full of warmth that it feels like the sun is shining just for me. Next to her, Rachel’s eyes sparkle as she clasps both hands against her chest, her smile wide and genuine.
I take a bow, the thunderous applause of the audience deafening.
It’s perfect.
It’s everything I ever wanted.
The dream shifts, and we’re in the car now, still basking in the afterglow of our victory. In this version, Mom is behind the wheel, her fingers tapping lightly to the beat of Cry, Baby, Cry playing on the radio. Her auburn hair catches the sunlight, creating a halo around her head. Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror, her smile wide and reassuring.
Rachel sits in the passenger seat, her posture relaxed, her head tilted slightly as she listens to Mom. Her chestnut hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders. Something Mom says has her turning to look at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she gives me a proud nod, her smile reflecting the elation coursing through my veins.
In the backseat with me are Wynter and Rose. Rose sits to my left, her long legs folded gracefully beneath her, her eyes sparkling with excitement. I think Rachel reminded her at least twice to stretch those legs, but it is futile. To my right, Wynter leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees, her hands gesturing animatedly as she talks. Her dark brown hair is pulled back in a neat bun, a few wisps escaping to frame her face.
The car is filled with laughter, light and airy, as Rose tells a joke that has Wynter doubling over in laughter. The late afternoon sun casts a golden glow through the windows, and the air smells faintly of Mom’s lavender perfume.
It’s all so vivid, so real, every detail sharp and clear.
My eyelids drift closed, the warmth of their laughter washes over me. I feel the gentle hum of the engine beneath me, a comforting rhythm that matches the steady beat of my heart. My chest feels light, my heart full. Today’s dance competition was a clean sweep for Brookfield Dance Academy, our trophies carefully nestled at my feet.
It really is the perfect day, and I want it to last forever… until it doesn’t.
It never does.
On cue, the air grows heavy. The laughter fades, replaced by a low, ominous rumble. My heart skips a beat, a cold dread settling in the pit of my stomach. I know what’s coming, even though I don’t want to believe it.
My eyes snap open, like it always does, but I’m blinded momentarily by a flash of light. The crash that follows is deafening, and I feel the impact, my body thrown violently against the seatbelt. Mom’s scream pierces the air, sharp and desperate.
The world tilts, everything slows.
And then, silence.
The world is eerily still, the deafening crash replaced by a haunting quiet. The weight of the silence presses down on me, making it hard to breathe.
Someone shakes my arm furiously — Wynter, I think — her lips are moving but her voice is muffled. Rose’s head rests at an unnatural angle against the window, her curls tangled and matted. Mom is slumped over the wheel, her auburn hair matted with blood. More trickles down her forehead, the sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me. Rachel is motionless, her eyes staring unseeingly at the cracked windshield, her usually vibrant face now eerily pale. Her hand rests on the armrest, her fingers intertwined with Mom’s, coated in crimson.
“Mom? Rachel?” I call out, but my voice is barely a whisper, lost in the vast, crushing silence.
The air is thick with the smell of gasoline and smoke, the metallic tang of blood. I try to move, to reach them, but I’m trapped, unable to move, unable to escape. The seatbelt cuts into my skin, the pressure painful and unyielding. I can feel the panic rising, my chest tightening, my breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. Tears stream down my face, hot and fast. I can’t see through the blur, but I can feel the terror, the helplessness. The wreckage around me feels like a prison, the shattered glass and twisted metal closing in, trapping me in this nightmare.
The world around me is darkens, the edges of my vision closing in. This time I scream, a raw, primal sound, but it’s swallowed by the darkness.
There’s no one to hear me.
No one comes.
No one ever does.
I’m jolted awake, the darkness replaced by the soft, dim light of my room. My body is drenched in sweat. My heart races, my breaths coming in ragged gasps. The room spins as my mind struggles to process where I am.
“Lynn, it’s okay. You’re safe now. It was just a dream.” The familiar, soothing voice is a lifeline that pulls me out of the nightmare and back to the present.
I blink, trying to focus as the remnants of the dream clings to me like a heavy fog. Aunt Bonnie’s face slowly comes into focus, her face etched with concern. Her hands are on my shoulders, gently shaking me.
“It felt so real,” I whisper, my voice trembling. I can still feel the pressure of the seatbelt cutting into my skin, the silence crushing me.
“I know, sweetheart. I know,” she murmurs, her warm brown eyes filled with worry.
She sits down on the edge of my bed and pulls me into a comforting embrace. Her body is warm and solid, grounding me in reality. I cling to her, my body shaking with the aftershocks of the nightmare.
“It’s over now. You’re safe. I’m here,” she repeats, her voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. I nod, burying my face in her shoulder, trying to let go of the terror, trying to remind myself that it was just a dream.
“Breathe with me, Lynn. In and out, nice and slow,” she says softly, rubbing my back in soothing circles.
I try to match her breaths, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. The air fills my lungs, each breath pushing back the lingering fear. Gradually, my heartbeat steadies, the room coming back into focus.
“Good, just like that,” she whispers. “You’re here, you’re safe.”
I nod again, my head resting on her shoulder. Reality around me becomes more solid — the familiar posters on the walls, the soft comforter beneath me, the gentle hum of the air conditioner. I take another deep breath, letting her words sink in. The fear begins to ebb away, replaced by a tired but comforting sense of safety. I pull back slightly, looking up at her.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, her voice gentle.
I shake my head. “Not right now.”
“Okay,” she says. “Whenever you’re ready. Just remember, you’re not alone. I’m here for you.”
“I know,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
She kisses my forehead, her lips warm and reassuring. “Do you want me to stay with you for a while?”
“Please,” I say, the word coming out as a soft plea.
She nods, shifting to sit more comfortably on the bed.
As I cling to her, the images of the accident linger, the echoes of my screams reverberating in my mind. And, something else…
“What happened to Mom’s ring?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
She freezes, albeit momentarily. “What ring?”
I worry my bottom lip. “The one Rachel gave her.”
The tension eases from her body. I feel her shift, her arm tightening around me. “She was buried with it.”
“And Dad was okay with that?”
“He didn’t know. I snuck it on her when he wasn’t looking, otherwise he would’ve…” she trails off at that, then lets out a weary sigh. “Why are you asking about that now?”
I shrug. “I just remembered it. In the dream.”
What I don’t tell her that I still remember the look on Mom’s face when Rachel slipped the ring on her finger that day. It wasn’t the first time I saw them kiss, but it was the first time I saw them do so in public.
In their defense, they were backstage and they thought they were alone, but they weren’t. Then again, they were holding hands too, in the car.
“It’s just a dream, Lynn,” Aunt Bonnie gently reminds me as she takes my hand in hers, her grip gentle but firm. “Come on, go shower and change out of these wet clothes, and I’ll change your sheets.”
“This part wasn’t,” I mutter under my breath as I do what she asks.
Ten minutes later, I lay back down, my head resting on the pillow of my freshly changed sheets. I opt to skip my pill, since she agreed to stay with me until I fall asleep. The room is quiet, but it’s a comforting silence now, filled with the soft sounds of our breathing and the occasional rustle of the sheets.
Gradually, my eyes grow heavy, the exhaustion from the nightmare and the reassurance of Aunt Bonnie’s presence pulling me back towards sleep. This time, it’s a peaceful, dreamless sleep, the warmth of her hand in mine a constant reminder that I am safe.