Two
two
WAKE ME UP - AVICII
OWEN - MARCH 21, 2013
I find myself back at my uncle’s farm, in that same old fishing spot we used to visit every chance we got. The trees stretch high, their branches interwoven like the arches of a cathedral, creating a canopy of shifting light and shadow. The air is eerily quiet, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the faint breeze. I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia, memories pouring over me. As a kid, I remember how my dad would get home from work, barely taking a breath before loading me up in the truck and driving us out here to our favorite fishing hole.
Darling Ridge Farms is a patchwork quilt of memories. It feels like I’ve been here a million times. I’m surrounded by the fields dotted with wildflowers. In the near distance, I can see the weathered barn with its chipped red paint where my cousins and I used to play hide-and-seek in the lofts.
Each corner of this place holds a piece of my childhood. I remember running through these fields, the taste of the fresh apples picked straight from the orchard, and the comforting smell of hay in the barn. This place is a sanctuary—the place where the world seems simpler and my worries are far away.
It’s been nine years since I first had this dream, but the details keep shifting. Each change is subtle, sometimes so slight I barely notice. I feel a strange sense of anticipation, knowing that she will be there, waiting for me. Alongside that anticipation is a gnawing guilt, a heavy weight on my conscience that I can never shake.
I turn away from the lake and walk down the path to a clearing. My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of excitement and dread coursing through me. There she is, standing with her back to me. Her hair's so dark that it’s almost black. As she turns to face me, her green eyes lock onto mine. Those eyes pierce straight into my soul and fill me with a warmth I’ve never known before–a warmth I only ever find in these shared moments with her. The irises are dark around the edges, and when the sunlight hits just right, hints of purple shimmer within the green, like a hidden amethyst.
Wait… Have I noticed that before?
I feel the familiar pull overtaking me, the inexplicable connection that has haunted my dreams since the day before my wedding. She appeared out of nowhere for the first time, and since then, she’s been a constant presence in my dreams. The intensity of my emotions surprises me every time—the longing, the yearning, the ache to be near her. And with each longing glance, each moment spent in her presence, the guilt intensifies.
The problem is… she isn’t my wife.
“Who are you?” I ask, knowing she won’t answer. She never does. Her gaze is intense and unwavering, as if she holds a secret just out of my reach. The amethyst ring around her iris is deeper and more vivid now.
Silence lingers in the surroundings. I can see every detail of her here—the subtle curve of her lips into an enigmatic smile, the hidden pain reflected in her eyes. It’s like my own version of “ Groundhog Day,” but instead of reliving the same day, I’m trapped in this recurring dream with her, and I never want to wake up. Phil Connors had it easy; he knew what to expect. She changes the game, and I never know what the dream is going to reveal to me next.
Is she trapped here too?
I take a step closer, the crunch of leaves underfoot echoing my unanswered questions. “Why are you here?” I ask, moving as close as she allows. “Why are you doing this to me?” My voice cracks with pain, desperate for her response. My heart breaks every time I wake, knowing I have to wait to sleep again to see her. I’m desperate to hear her voice, to break this cycle that has gnawed at me for years.
She tilts her head slightly, her expression softening, as she absorbs my frustration. But she remains silent. No whispered words, no murmurs, not even a sigh. Her presence is both a comfort and a torment, a reminder of something elusive. There’s a part of me terrified of what I might discover if she ever speaks. And then there’s the part of me that feels like I’m betraying my wife. Every time I yearn for this mysterious woman, every time I hope for her to break the silence.
In the dream, time seems fluid, stretching and slowing in defiance of logic. I could stand here for hours, lost in her eyes, yet it feels like moments… and it’s never enough. Each time I think I’m close to understanding, the dream ends abruptly, leaving me with more questions than when I first spotted her in the clearing years ago.
I reach out, desperate to touch her, to know if she’s real. But as my fingers brush hers, the dream fades. Tears fill my eyes as she slowly disappears, leaving me with an ache that lingers long after I wake—an ache compounded by the guilt of pining for someone who isn’t my wife .
As the clearing dissolves into darkness, I wake up, my heart pounding against my ribs. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, the image of her eyes burning in my mind. Each time I have this dream brings me the same torment, and yet, I’m no closer to understanding her hold over me.
The dream is a twisted form of hell, a relentless repeat with no apparent escape. I’m trapped in this cycle, waiting for answers that never come. I can only hope one day, she’ll reveal the truth behind her haunting presence.
Waking up without Sabrina next to me is a relief. I always felt a heavy burden of guilt after dreaming about another woman while my wife was sleeping next to me. Despite our divorce being finalized two years ago, waking up alone after these dreams remains just as difficult. I remind myself that I’m not married anymore, so I don’t have to feel as guilty about the dreams. And even when I was married, it’s not like the dreams are something I had control over. Yet, the sense of relief quickly fades, and the feeling of loneliness persists as a constant companion.
As messed up as it sounds, my ex-wife’s presence used to offer me solace, anchoring me in reality, a reminder that I wasn’t completely alone. I’ve tried to find ways to move on both from Sabrina and the enigmatic smile of the girl who invades my dreams. We’d been together since high school, dating for seven years and married for almost another seven.
Almost.
Even though I’m no longer married to Sabrina, I still wrestle with my conscience. The woman in my dreams only ever appeared in my sleep, but it feels like I had an emotional affair while I was married. The guilt lingers, a shadow over every dream, every longing glance at the mysterious woman.
The fact is, I fell in love with another woman while I was married to Sabrina. And I’ve never even met her. I don’t even know if she’s really out there somewhere.
I questioned myself constantly: Did these dreams affect my marriage? Was I unfair to Sabrina, emotionally connected to someone who wasn’t real? The answers never come, and the doubts gnaw at me, a reminder of the unresolved conflict within. I try to remind myself that, in the end, Sabrina and I didn’t have a happy marriage and my guilt starts to subside.
FEbrUARY 17, 2011 - TWO YEARS AGO
Our marriage was a societal expectation, a natural progression after college. I could almost hear my ex-mother-in-law’s shrill voice insisting that marriage was the next logical step. God, that voice was the stuff from nightmares. But, alas, I followed the script. But after five years of marriage and a year of parenthood, I grew weary of the routine. Fatherhood shifted my perspective, and I didn’t want my son to witness a relationship that felt empty, devoid of the passion and connection I wanted to model for him.
I did love Sabrina. How could I not? I’d known her for fourteen years. But I also couldn’t stand to be around her. Not in the typical “they drive each other crazy but are deeply in love” way. I genuinely couldn’t stand her presence. I didn’t want to be near her or share her company. My feelings for her had evolved into a complex mix of love tinged with resentment, a stark departure from the affection I once felt.
I even started working third shift just to avoid her. It allowed me to spend my days with Barrett while he was a baby, and we saved on childcare since Sabrina got home most days before I had to leave for work except for my every-other Friday double shift when I had to be in at Noon. The more time I spent away from Sabrina, the clearer it became that I couldn’t spend the rest of my life this way.
Growing up in Cedar Bluff, I watched my parents fight constantly. They stayed together “for the kids,” but their marriage crumbled soon after I married Sabrina. Nearly thirty years together, and it ended in a hollow, anticlimactic separation. I didn’t want that for myself. I couldn’t imagine enduring a lifetime of trying to force something that was never meant to work. Surely, Sabrina wouldn’t have wanted that either.
I pulled away, bit by bit, until one day, I did the most fucked up thing I could have done. I left. While she was at work, I packed my stuff, dropped Barrett off at her parents’ house–just like I did every other Friday when I had an early shift-and went to work. Her parents didn’t think much of it; they always watched him two Fridays a month. But that day, I turned my phone off.
I left a note for Sabrina, explaining that I needed time to clear my head. Leaving a note means I wasn’t a total monster, right? It’s not like I said that I was going out to get a pack of cigarettes or a gallon of milk and then just dipped out forever. I promised I’d be back on Monday to watch Barrett when she went to work. Our marriage might have been coming to an end, but there was nothing in the world that would make me walk away from my son.
It wasn’t just a Post-it note either; I poured out everything, telling her we both knew we weren’t happy and it was only a matter of time before everything imploded. I just happened to be the one to say out loud what we had both undoubtedly been thinking for quite some time.
When my shift ended at five in the morning, I turned on my phone and was greeted by a flurry of texts pinging one after another and a missed call from Sabrina. The first one was clueless, not realizing yet that I had left. Then came the furious string of pings on my phone as her messages came through.
Sabrina:
Making “Breakfast for Dinner” in case you want leftovers after your shift. Have a good night at work. Text me when you can. I love you.
I felt a pang of guilt reading that. She had no idea what was coming. I knew it was cowardly, but leaving a note seemed like the only way I could go through with it.
I clocked out and walked to the truck, my feet dragging with the weight of the night’s events. The parking lot was nearly empty, the dim streetlights casting long shadows. I got into my car, started the engine, and let out a deep sigh as the texts continued to pour in.
I opened them, knowing I was probably in for a Grade A ass-chewing as I started to read the rest.
Ping. Ping.
Sabrina:
Found your note. What the hell, Owen?! Call me.
Straight to voicemail, really? You shut your phone off? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?
She was right to be angry. Fuck, I was a coward. I should have handled this whole situation differently.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
Sabrina:
Please tell me this is a joke. Fourteen years together and you leave me a note?
How the fuck did we get here?
Going to bed. Text me when you get back to your dad’s. Don’t put me through this and then die on the way home. If anything is going to kill you today, it’s going to be me.
I was joking earlier, by the way. Hey cops, if he died and you’re reading this, I didn’t actually kill him.
Her attempt at humor stung me more than her anger. It reminded me of better times when we would joke to diffuse tension. But this wasn’t something a joke could fix.
Ping. Ping.
Sabrina:
Didn’t tell my parents. Your note said you’re staying at your dad’s. Please ask him not to say anything until after we talk. I love you, Owen. But I think maybe you are right.
I hope you know that even though you’re the World’s Shittiest Husband right now, I’d never keep Barrett from you. You’re a good father and he needs you.
Maybe she was starting to understand, even if it was just a little. Relief washed over me. Barrett was my world, and the thought of being separated from him has been one of the hardest parts of this decision. I was terrified that she would use him as a way to punish me for leaving.
Apparently, she went through every stage of grief while I was gone and landed on acceptance just in time for me to avoid a full blown confrontation when I got off work.
Me:
Just got off work. Hope this doesn’t wake you. I’ll text you when I get back to Dad’s.
Sabrina:
Thank you.
Me:
I’m sorry it had to be this way. I couldn’t face you. I knew if I did, I would never be able to go through with leaving.
I pulled out of the parking lot, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. Her words cut deep, but I knew she was right. I made this choice, and now I had to live with it.
The roads were quiet, only a few other cars passing by this early on a Saturday morning. The silence was oppressive, giving my thoughts too much room to roam.
She deserved so much better than this, better than me. I had thought about what to say a thousand times but could never find the right words. Maybe that’s because there weren’t any.
As I drove, memories flooded back–our wedding day, Barrett’s birth, the countless little moments that had once made us inseparable. Now, those memories felt like a cruel joke. How had we come to this? Was there a moment when everything had gone wrong, or was it a slow, inevitable decay ?
My phone buzzed again with a text I was sure came from Sabrina. It would be another twenty minutes before I could look at it, though.
When I pulled into my dad’s driveway, the sky was beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn. I turned off the engine and sat there for a moment, gathering the strength to face whatever happened next. Hesitantly, I looked at the last text I’d received while I was driving.
Sabrina:
It didn’t have to be this way, Owen. You made it this way. And you’re an asshole for it.
She wasn’t wrong. I made this choice, and now I had to live with it. I texted her back as I walked up the sidewalk, the cool morning air biting at my skin.
Me:
I know… I just pulled into Dad’s. Do you need me to come get Barrett so you can get some sleep?
I opened the door as quietly as I could, trying not to wake my dad and his wife, Beverly. The house was dark and silent, the only sound was the creak of the floorboards under my feet. I made my way to the guest bedroom, my old room now converted into storage space for old furniture, forgotten memories, and Dad’s coin collection. I set my bag down and sank onto the bed, exhaustion hitting me like a wave. My phone buzzed again.
Sabrina:
No, that’s okay. Thank you though.
Me:
It’s the least I can do. Let me know if you change your mind and need help with him this weekend. Hey cops, if I die today, she 100% was the culprit.
Sabrina:
Too fucking soon for jokes, Dickweed.
Me:
That’s fair. I really am sorry, Sabrina.
Sabrina:
It’s not okay. See you Monday.