Life..?

  The almost empty bottle of alcohol slipped from her fingers and crashed below her, on top of the massive rocks that formed the beach in that part of the port. It wasn’t an area to go an have fun of anything, rather a place for people who loved seafood to go and have a delicious dish of crab, lobster, fish or any other creature from the sea. The small pier on which Cynthia was seating, her legs dangling like she used to do when she was younger, was located in a part closed to the public, far from the restaurants and the bustling ambiance of the now exclusive and upscale area of commerce that was located a few steps away.

 Where she was, she could hear the ocean crashing softly against the rocks and then pull back and then crash the rocks again. She found that beautiful sound to be very soothing, especially at that precise moment of her life when she was feeling cornered by thoughts and things that were happening all around her. She knew the place from one time she had been invited to a party there and now she looked at the pieces of glasses on the rocks, as if they had the answer to all of her problems. And apparently, the answer was to open up the other bottle she kept on her coat and start drinking again, no regrets at all.

 Cynthia had never really been a lover of alcohol but it felt soothing for that moment to do something like that. She wasn’t into drugs or anything like that, having a crippling fear of dying from an overdose, so she would more often than not go to her nearest store and buy a couple of middle-sized bottles of alcohol, which she could feet nicely into her large winter coat. And it was that, the weather during that time of year, that made it all the more perfect. She knew it was the perfect way for her to handle what was going on and she wouldn’t let anyone else decide for her what to do or how to do it.

 As she took a good sip of the clear liquid in the bottle, she paid special attention to a fishing vessel entering the port. She was certain no one could see her there, on the spot she had chosen to be in, but realized it would be very annoying to have someone come and stop her from going on and on with that part of her life. Because that’s what it had become: alcohol had become the perfect gateway “drug” to make her feel a little less, something she really needed each time she was reminded of her past but also her present and the prospects her future held. Everything in life triggered her and made her unable to respond normally to anything.

 The fishing boat passed and Cynthia waved at it, already a bit drunk from the alcohol but also because of the cold. She closed her coat a little bit more, realizing she had chosen an especially cold evening to go out and sit over the ocean. But the truth was that she had never “chosen” such a place or such an activity. It was only the thing she could do without feeling she was doing the wrong thing or acting in an undesirable manner. She wasn’t a mess there, by herself.

  It was also easy to hear the screams and laughter coming from the people in the restaurants, but Cynthia tried hard not to pay attention. One reason was that she didn’t really liked any of the people that visited such places. They were mostly snobbish, the type of folk that don’t even realize people don’t normally have the kind of money to dine in such places every single night. That was exactly what she realized the day she was invited to a party there and soon realized how much of a mistake it had been to attend that event, at that time and in that place. It was all wrong and there was no real way to mend it.

She made everyone feel uncomfortable and the only thing she won out of that experience was the fact that she was very clear on how other people perceived her and what she didn’t really like about all of them. She was one of those people that don’t really mind what you say about them or how you say it, or at least they seem to not care at all. That’s way her appearance in that party was such a disaster, even if other things were feeling as if they had been improving in her life for quite some time. But those awful moments of social awkwardness made everything feel worse and seem worse, and she didn’t really need that.

 When she finished the bottle, she dropped it intentionally over the rocks, applauding loudly when the glass shattered and pieces flew all over the place, to the ocean, over the algae and on the rock. No one appeared after she had clapped. Maybe no one cared or maybe she had a way with the city and its strange places, but her next move was to go back to the mainland and try to exit the area without anyone looking at her. She was successful, after avoiding to look back on her way to the exit. Once there, she walked, cold and shaking but feeling a bit better. The cold wind on her cheeks was apparently doing wonders too.

 She sat at the bus stop and realized she was a bit tipsy. She looked around, and realized her only other companion was a very elderly woman who didn’t even have a reason to be walking around so late in such a remote place. Cynthia looked at her and tried to guess if she was actually younger than she seemed or if she seemed to be into the kind of things that hip people liked doing over there. She didn’t have much choice anyway, as the bus appeared soon and they both entered. Cynthia sat behind the driver and the old lady walked very slowly to a seat by the middle of the bus. Maybe she was buying something she wasn’t supposed to.

When Cynthia got home, she felt really dizzy and also very tired. She dropped on her bed in two seconds after she had arrived and realized, in a moment, that she was drunk and that she hated most of the people with whom she interacted ever. Everyone including doctors, shrinks, supposed friends and family and all other people that always try for you to have the life that they want for you, instead of the want for yourself. She really hated them, with feeling.  

 She then decided to strip for bed and stood in front of the mirror, looking at her almost naked body. Cynthia was not a supermodel but she wasn’t the ugliest woman in the world, she was fine. But she didn’t have much else aside a degree she never used and a lot of debt towards her parents. She was one of those so-called “leeches” that live in their parents’ home for years and never really go. Her fortieth birthday seemed close, even if it wasn’t going to happen for some more years. It was pressing on her, her mind and the body she was looking at.

 It was obvious that she didn’t really feel great about all of that but even so she got herself into a pajama and then into bed. She heard her parents entering the house right when she was about to fall asleep. It was nice she had chosen that precise night to be able to come back without her parents being there and asking something about her life or, much worse, not saying anything but giving her looks and glances, certain attitudes too, that made her realize what she already knew. But how the overcome the fact that she was a non- achiever?

 How was she supposed to overcome the fact that she was just one person, unable to change the world around her? That’s why she needed to drink, why she really needed to have a proper reaction to everything happening around her. She could just be there and take it or end it all in two seconds. Neither of those two options was an actual option, she didn’t have access to any of them. So, she had to endure and keep at it until something happened. But it had a toll on her and maybe that one would be the last straw for her and her consciousness. She knew very well she was not the kind of person to hold for years and years.

 Cynthia often found herself looking up at her ceiling, wondering about all of those people she had met at least once. She wondered about their lives, their success and their stories of greatness and achievements. And she felt so tremendously alone after that. She remembered the times she had borrowed money from her father to pay for a quality education and it had all amounted to nothing. They didn’t really say it but she knew, deep that, that it was the case.

 So every night was a struggle and every new day felt as one more iron ball had been put in a jar representing her life. It got heavier and heavier, never easy to properly carry around.

Hostilities have ended

   From the hospital, we could see the city burning. Several fires had been lit up by the crowd. It was an expression of happiness and revolt, of fury and a desire for the future. The people out in the streets were happy that such a long war had finally ended, after so many had been assassinated and others just disappeared as if they had walked into another dimension. Everyone knew they had probably been killed by the government and then buried somewhere far, but people didn’t want to think that. They would have years for that.

 We saw it all from afar, behind a glass that protected us from the outside, in a building that had been designed by and for our enemies. However, we needed care and when our group was finally able to enter the city, we were able to secure that hospital and its resources for own. Of course, the patients that had been left there were tended too by the doctors and the nurses of our team, but some of them were placed under “house arrest”, as many were involved with the military and the horrors of war.

 I decided to leave Mark, who was very tired, and just wander around the hospital. I thought I could hear someone talking about what had happened in the city or maybe some other information. There were many screens all around the hospital but none of them worked. Television had being suspended almost a year ago, as the prior government thought it was a misuse of money and electricity. They removed all permissions to broadcast and forbid anyone from broadcasting anything in any way.

 Even with the success of the rebels, television would take its time to return after such a long period of silence. It would take a long time to get the country running smoothly, if that was at all possible. Everyone had things to do and they all seemed to be much more important than television or things that people in general missed from the older times, before everything had gone to hell. I missed candy for example, but sugar had not been used to make candy in at least five years, by government decree.

 I walked all over the hospital, checking out every abandoned ward and every silent corridor. The place was sunk in a blue haze and the fact that the day was getting brighter did not improve the general mood. When I finally got to the reception, the lady tending to the only active phone line seemed to be on the verge of collapsing. I was afraid to ask her anything but when she saw me she just signaled me to go closer and she then handed me a paper. I read the only few lines that were written on it: “Call General Ford. Urgent.” And then a number underneath it.

 She had no chance to explain the message and I didn’t have the need to have it explained. After all, we knew exactly that our time in the hospital was going to be short. I was kind of sad for Mark, even thinking about how to tell him the news. When I got to the room, he was up. He smiled at me like he always did and I just got closer and kissed him softly. He smelled a bit bad because of the long way we had to go through to get to the hospital. I was sure I smelt exactly the same or even worse. But who cares?

 I then told him about General Ford and he understood it all in a second. We look towards the window, were smoke from one of the fires had grown pretty big and was almost covering half the city. It was obvious they were still burning things. That place was our destination. So I helped Mark with his clothes and into the shower. He insisted I should join him, so I did. We had a nice little time together, as we had never been able to have. It was so nice and incredible; I wanted to stay there forever.

 That wasn’t an option. We dressed up in new clothes that we had found in a closet, in the room across the hall. They were a little bit big on me and short on him, so we laughed for a while. It felt so good to be able to laugh, to have your ribs hurt because of happiness and not because of violence. We finished preparing and I helped him walk down to the reception. Once there, the woman in the reception was still busy but used her hands again to point at a couple of crutches I hadn’t seen there before. She was good.

 Mark went out first, followed by me. The surroundings looked safe, so we entered the car we had used to get there, a stolen piece of property. I turned it on and in a short moment we were already on the main road towards the city center. Through the windows, we could see some of the fires that were burning. There were no stores in flames, no residential buildings. Only government offices where people had entered to burn every single record in existence. It was a way to say we had to start over.

 No one out there seemed dangerous, but they did stop doing their things as we passed by because there were not too many cars being driven around the city at that time. Only the rebels, the winning faction, were operating any kind of vehicle. That kind of scared me. Mark must have thought the same thing because he just put a hand on my thigh and pressed gently. I was so lucky to have him there. For a while, I had no idea if I would ever go back to that city, the place where I had been born. After so much, it was pretty much a surprise to be there, as if nothing had happened.

 We finally got to the main fire, the one from where a huge plume of smoke was rising to the sky and across the city. It was the presidential palace that used to be white and was now some shade of grey. A large amount of people were gathered there, some staring and others carrying stuff to throw to the main pyre. We stopped the car and got out, in order for them to know it was us and no one else. Yet, no one really noticed us. It was only when we got real close, that a few guards stopped us.

 Mark started explaining who we were but he was interrupted by a scream of joy. Sophia was there and she ran straight for Mark. She was obviously happy to see him alive and I have to confess I couldn’t blame her for being so excited. After all, she had been promised to him in marriage for a couple of years before the war. However, the wedding was never performed because of all the fighting and the fact that her family wanted her to be safe, somewhere very remote. So she had no idea who he really was.

 I smiled at her and she smiled back. She had no idea I knew her from a photograph he had in his wallet, she had no idea who I was. But that wasn’t important. The guards left and, before I could ask for anything, General Ford walked straight to us and pointed to a building on the other side of the square where the presidential palace was located. People applauded when they saw the general, a woman that looked so strong was the cause the government had finally fallen and they were free again.

 We entered the other building and then a room that was very nicely arranged. There was no food or anything, only other people that had fought the war with us. We all knew each other, because we had met in the battlefield, in the camps where they had interred us and in the mountains we had to hide for so long. Mark hugged half the people there and I waved and smiled a lot, more than in any other occasion in my life. It was nice, after all, to see them there. It was like having a family again.

 General Ford informed us about our particulars, our real families. Some of them had died, others like mine had fled the country and a few had somehow survived the ordeal. It was a sad, solemn moment but we were thankful to her. It was then she invited us to take part in the first televised event of the new era. We were a bit surprised by the proposal but she gave us no time to say anything. Apparently, she was going to be the first one to use the airwaves again to properly announce the end of hostilities. A television camera was brought and several microphones. I just took Mark’s hand and thought it could never get worse than the war.

After all, we are in love

   The first thing I did, was giving him the biggest hug I could. It was amazing how I could feel his sweater against my face, how I could feel his warmth through the fabric and hear his heart beating beneath it. It was so real I cried, both in the dream and outside of it. I don’t remember how long we stood there, but I do remember I started seeing him in other places in my dreams, just running into him casually while he was saying something nice about me or about what he felt for me. I was over the moon.

 Actually, the full moon loomed above us for most of the dream; it was quite a beautiful sight. It was also nice to be able to touch his hand and hold it out in the open, in front of all the people in campus. Or at least I think it was a campus, it didn’t look anything like the college I had been to years before. It was bigger and with more faces and nice walkways lined with trees. And we would hold hands and just talk about movies and laugh about silly gossips that we had heard about people we knew.

 I have to say that, even then, I knew he wasn’t real. I knew that I was dreaming but it all felt so real that I didn’t mind. I knew what my real life was like and I wanted to have something different for a change and it didn’t mattered if it could only be in a dream. That’s why I tried to remember every single thing, repeating in my head as I went through it, because I wanted to remember every single part of that beautiful dream. I want to memorize his face, because somehow he was more than real to me.

 We even made love and he whispered in my ear how much he wanted to make me feel pleasure. I know, maybe that’s too graphic for some or to little information for others, but I have to say that also felt amazing. I could almost say that I was moaning loudly in my room, in bed, while we were having sex in the dream. We kissed a lot and he really seemed to care for me while we were together. I think that’s what everyone one’s in a partner, someone that really cares for you and who’s not there just to be there.

 Afterwards, we lay there talking a bit. We were tired and sweaty, but we couldn’t prevent our faces from grinning and smiling. We were too happy not to express it with our souls. I remember touching his face, feeling his stubble. He kissed my hand and then hugged me and I felt I could drown in his smell. I still have in my head, and I hope it never goes away. He kissed me like no one has kissed me before and, I have to admit, that maybe no one will ever kiss like that. After all, I lived that vivid dream in a moment but that’s all it was, it was just a dream, as unique as it was.

 When I woke up, I felt really good. I was smiling and I didn’t feel tired or worn down. It was quite the opposite and it has to be said that’s not very common. I usually feel I have just arrived from running a marathon. But not that time. I knew the alarm would go off in any minute, but that wasn’t important. My brain and even my body were still with him, feeling his body against mine and every single feeling he felt towards me rushing between both our beings. No idea if that makes sense at all.

 As I was in the shower and putting on my clothes, I thought of everything I had dreamt of. Some of it was already gone, something that was bound to happen. But most of it was there, for me to think about it over and over again. As I prepared to leave home for work, I realized how silly I would sound to anyone if I told them I had fallen in love with an imaginary person, with someone that only existed in my dreams. They would think that I was going insane or something worse.

 Then again, maybe I am. Maybe it is insane to think that a person that you own mind created is simply not healthy. Even I can say that it sounds crazy but I cannot stop thinking about him and about how he made me feel. In the bus, standing up facing the window and looking at cars and buildings pass, I realize that I don’t really care about what people think or not. He made me happy and it doesn’t matter where it happened or if he was just my mind creating him to make me feel less lonely.

 I couldn’t afford not to care, not to recognize he had been there. After all, I actually thought, for a moment, that maybe my head had not created everything about him. Maybe humans are connected in ways we do not yet understand and we were connected during that time. Maybe he exists, somewhere, and maybe he’s also asking the universe what this all means. I know how all of this sounds but sometimes you just have to believe in something to keep going, in order not to crumble and just give up.

 And I have to believe the love of my life is out there somewhere and that he’s thinking of me too. I would love to know if the face I saw in my dream is the same as the one in reality, but he will surely be thinking the same thing. I’ve found myself hoping he’s not very disappointed, because I’m not exactly a top model or anything like that. But maybe worrying about such a thing is just stupid, because he probably worries too about what he looks like. If he just knew I would love give him a hug and just feel him close to me, maybe that would make his worries disappear.

 Meanwhile, real life is going on as usual. I go to work and I go back home, I sometimes cook and write and do things to pass the time. But every now and then I find myself thinking about him. However, after a while, I just think about how lonely I feel and how nice it would be to have someone close to tell him all my worries and my problems and to laugh and be idiots at the same time. I sometimes think about that and it makes me sad because and over thirty and that hasn’t happened yet.

 I’m the first one to say age doesn’t mean shit but the older you are whenever you finally get to meet that wonderful person, the less time you will have with them. And that scares me a lot, because I want more than a few good years with someone. Shit! After so many years of avoiding any kind of emotional attachment to others, I find myself in a position in which I would be ecstatic if I could feel something for someone else. It would be hard and strange and new, but it could be worth the shot.

 But life doesn’t work by wishing, or I would have met him several years ago, when I was more of an innocent kid that ever before or after. I was someone else and that guy really believed in possibilities. Me, not so much. I know that the dream is just a dream and that, even if there’s a possibility he could be real, that doesn’t mean everything would just work according to my imagination or some kind of plan. You don’t plan life because she will never let you. She’s tougher than that, always.

 Anyways, I want to keep dreaming about him. He made me happy, he made me smile. No one achieved that in a while and I want that here, with me. I know how it sounds and how it looks, but I’m the kind of tired that has to use his imagination to go forward. Reality is not the kindest to me, although it could always be worse. That’s why I dream of him, because even if things really go south, I would have someone nearby to really live with, in every single of the word. And that word means hell of a lot.

 My only hope now is that, somehow, I can see him again in my dreams. I feel like I’ve done that before so, maybe, it could happen again. Maybe this time we could go out dancing or singing before going to his place and have sex. Because that’s something I’m not willing to give up.

 I go to bed tonight thinking… No, I go to bed wishing I will see him again. And then I shed a tear and realize how silly, childish and stupid this is. But I don’t have anything else to hold on to. Real or not, I really need him right now and I just know he will come. After all, we are in love.