Twenty-One
Rilee
The wreck was traumatic. It stayed with me even after I was home.
It also felt weird, after being half drowned by the rain and dipped in mud, that I’d want more water.
Despite my fatigue I couldn’t crawl into bed without rinsing off.
My shaking legs wouldn’t hold me so I laid in the bath until the chill was gone and my hair felt human.
Then I crawled between the sheets and fell asleep.
On the way to my bed a technicolor memory of the white cow danced through my head.
Everything happened just the way I’d dreamed it, even if I hadn’t known it at the time.
The flavor of the steak, the building, the audience, the crazy cast of characters, and Craig.
All there. I’d lived it twice. Once while asleep, and again when awake.
I’d dreamed of meeting him, and it happened.
I dreamed of the date, and it happened. As my face touched the pillow I wondered, was I dreaming him into my life, or was I just seeing what was going to happen?
With Craig on my mind, I dreamed him again.
The comforter on my bed was mussed–slept in.
It was as white as the paint on my walls, and brilliant like the afternoon sun on the sea.
Sitting on the corner of my bed, my feet on the floor, the memory of the bed sheets still warmed my skin.
Slipping on the black bra in my hands, reaching behind to secure its hooks, I glanced over my shoulder to the bathroom door.
Craig stood in the doorway, towel around his waist, bare chested, hair and skin bright with a damp sheen.
He smiled, eyes crinkling, scarred hand on the doorframe.
I couldn’t hear what he said because the rush of my heart filled my ears.
I awoke breathless and sweaty, my legs tangled in my own sheets.
Groaning at the stiffness in my muscles I climbed out of bed. My shoulders were tight and achy and my thighs felt like I’d run ladders on the basketball court. A hot Sunday morning soak felt necessary. I put on a pot of coffee while I ran the bath water again.
Coffee in hand, I slipped into the bath and let the heat knead out the knots.
I’m not above admitting that I thought about what it would be like to have Craig’s hands rubbing out those knots in my muscles.
I refreshed the water twice before I felt ready for the day.
Not that the day was exciting, just catching up on some housework and lesson plans.
Things I should have done on Saturday but put off ahead of the play.
All day my phone wasn’t far from me, but no phone call from Craig.
I wasn’t sure what I would say if he called today.
As I went through the mundane tasks of mopping the floor and doing the laundry I wondered what Craig would think about the place, the shells, the nautical rope decor.
I glanced at the white and red life preserver, the brightest color in the room.
Everything was taupe and white with splashes of blue.
I’d always found the place relaxing, but imagining Craig lounging on the sofa I wasn’t sure if his greens fit.
This was a very silly thing to worry about but it consumed me.
When the phone finally rang, I snapped it up like a life preserver. It wasn’t Craig.
“Hello Mom.”
“Rilee, we haven’t talked in ages.”
“It’s been a few weeks,” I admitted. “Basketball season gets busy. Sorry about that.”
There was a rushing sound that obscured her response. “Are you traveling again?”
“I’m in Santa Barbara. It is so windy here, but very pretty. Everything was just too gloomy, I had to go somewhere warm. Though the airline lost my luggage so I had to buy new clothes.”
It wasn’t the first time that a shopping trip had been blamed on lost luggage. “I’m sure it will turn up,” I assured her.
“I’m not worried about that.” The background sound was clearly wind and waves. “But I was worried about you. When I don’t hear from you, I know something is wrong.”
Was something wrong? My sleep was still regular, if disturbed. The girls were playing their best, and Craig was preoccupying my thoughts. But it wasn’t wrong, just full.
My thoughts were too distant for my mother and pushing against the silence she said, “Something is definitely wrong. Who is troubling you?”
Troubling was the wrong word. Though Craig was seeping into unexpected places he wasn’t exactly unwanted. “I got in a car wreck yesterday.” It was easier to talk about things that happened rather than people with my mother.
“That is horrible, are you hurt? Do I need to come up there?”
I didn’t want my mother anywhere near Craig. “No no, I’m fine. Car is fine. I just went in a ditch. A guy I know pulled me out.”
“A guy?”
“A nice guy.”
“Rilee, nice guys are a lie. They always want something.”
Did Craig want something? Yes, he did. He wanted his body back but that didn’t seem likely. He wanted a job, but that depended on what someone else thought of him. He wanted me? He’d asked me out twice. What did I want?
“Is it bad to want something?” I asked.
My mother’s metallic laugh sounded like a lawn mower. “It always leads to disappointment. Always. They want and they take. You want and they let you down. And that’s when you’re lucky, honey. When you’re unlucky it’s dangerous and wanting gives them power.”
“Hey I’ve got to go, my mimosa is here,” my mother added.
This conversation was too much for her. She’d wanted to tell me about how much fun she was having shopping and lounging on the beach, not to hash out the direction of our lives.
That was a conversation she usually avoided.
We expressed our usual affectionate conversation closers and then hung up.
Someplace sunny and warm was pretty typical for my mother when the weather was bad.
After leaving my dad she didn’t have much bandwidth for discomfort.
I finished my housework and took out the trash.
I almost put my boots in the bin, they were totally crusted with mud, but after the effort Craig had made to save them my hands wouldn’t let go of them.
Instead, I worked them over with a brush and some polish.
The plastic of the block heels were still scraped and there was a gouge in the leather of one toe, but they looked decent again.
When I laid down that evening, I returned to the question of whether I was dreaming Craig into my existence.
He was Jackie’s uncle. He’d had a whole life before I saw him in that leather coat, taking my hand in that sunny dream.
I hadn’t just dreamed him up like an apparition.
He was a person with history. Did I want that history to become my history?
That thought accompanied me into my sleep.