4.My dream that night was different. I was standing in front of an arched doorway in the middle of an empty desert. It was night, and it was cold enough that I could see my breath. The door was broken and warped. The large grey bricks that made up the frame were chipped, broken, and of course, all but missing. I mean, it was a doorway in the center of a desert. No roof, no walls, just a door. Looking back on the dream now, I wish I could have walked behind it to see what was there. Instead, I just stood there staring at the rotting wood for a moment before I reached for the rusty doorknob. I remember feeling so cold that I was shivering. All I wanted was to get warm. I felt like there would be fire on the other side of the door but when I grabbed the enormous, rusted metal doorknob and turned it, the door wouldn't open. I looked more closely at the door itself. It smelled like mold. I pressed my frozen cheek against it instead of being frozen, it was warm. I passed my fingers over the wood, and there were carvings all over it that I could have sworn weren't there before. The wood had turned immaculate, waxed and polished. I slid my finger over a large loop in the carved design and as I touched it I felt the door move inward. I looked down at the knob. Where the rusty doorknob once lay there was now an ornately caste golden handle. The delicate design reminded me of something Elven. The mounts on the top and bottom of the handle were like roots that spidered out over the rich mahogany of the door. It was beautiful. I stopped shivering. I took the handle and pulled the door open. I woke up. I was vaguely aware that my alarm was going off. Beep, beep, beep... I turned over onto my back and opened my eyes. They burned so I closed them again. When my hand found my phone I pressed the side buttons until the alarm shut off and then I tossed my phone away. Does your alarm ever wake you up from a dream at the worst possible moment? That's how I felt. Every fibre of my being wished I could close my eyes and go back to that exact moment again. I lay there with my eyes shut for a long time picturing the door, but I never fell back asleep. Honestly, I never do. When I finally got out of bed, I grabbed my phone and stumbled into my hallway. I looked at the clock - 7:10 a.m. I turned the screen off. My mind was still brimming with that dream. Everything from the feel of the carvings under my fingertips to the warmth of the wood against my cheek. Whenever I closed my eyes I could feel it again. It was so real. After I got dressed - I wore essentially the same thing I had worn the day before, except I'd adorned a full-length black velvet dress rather than a black t-shirt and pants - I began to make breakfast. I still felt nauseous so I opted for dry toast and a banana. At some point, I heard my phone ring and when I looked at the caller ID it was the clinic. I stared at the ID for almost too long and then swiftly answered it before time ran out. "Hello?" They confirmed my identity and explained they had my test results back. "Oh..." I said. "What are they? What is it?" I asked. "You're pregnant," the nurse said. "Con-" I felt like I'd been hit with a stun grenade. My vision felt blurry. I could hear a faint, tinny echo somewhere in the distance as the nurse tried to speak to me. I couldn't breathe. My stomach tightened painfully. My chest caught every time I tried to take a breath. "Hello..." said a distant voice. My head felt tingly, woozy, blurry. I couldn't control my fingers. I dropped my phone. Then I was on my knees. Then I was throwing up. My stomach heaved. I heard the sound of stomach acid and bile hitting the floor but my mind was too foggy, I couldn't see it. My esophagus burned, and my stomach twitched and threatened to heave again. I steadied myself. I tried not to move. My stomach heaved. My body tried to throw up and nothing but a bit of saliva and acid came up. I couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't open my eyes - I don't know how long I stayed on the kitchen floor. When I finally opened my eyes again, I was crumpled forward on the ground, my face against the cold tile. My head was pounding against the back of my eyes. When I pressed my fingers into my eye sockets it felt a little better, so I laid there and applied pressure to my face for what felt like a long time. When I sat up and looked around, my hat was on the ground away from me and there was a puddle of bile on the ground next to where I had laid down. Seeing it made my stomach churn so I looked away and pried myself up off the floor. Once in a standing position, I made my way to the sink to find a vessel for water. I grabbed a mason jar, filled it, and I drank the entire thing. Then I filled it again and drank another. I took a deep breath and placed the jar on the counter, then I looked around for my phone. I could see it on the ground. The nurse had of course hung up. "Oh my God..." I muttered to myself. I was pregnant. I remember continuing to mutter things to myself. My mother was going to be furious. My father was going to judge me silently without saying anything. There was no way I was getting away from that conversation without being handed an ultimatum. Echoes of their voice in my head began threatening to take away my tuition money, the funding for my gallery show, and my invite to the family trip - I realized I was more afraid of telling my parents than I was of being pregnant. By the way, when I say silently judge, it might sound like a normal kind of judgment. Maybe you have a judgmental parent in your life, too. Someone who doesn't understand you or your life choices, and decides to act like a prick because of it. Well, my father is a cut above your regular prick. If he doesn't like something that you've done - it could be me, my perfect sister, my mother, the mailman - he will make sure everyone he knows is aware of how distasteful he finds you. That might not seem like a threat, but my father is a well-known reporter and his connections run far and wide. He has his nasty tendrils in everything from finance to fine art, and he seems to enjoy scheduling get-togethers simply for the purpose of ruining uninvited rival's reputations. He gave me a gallery show, and he could so easily take it away. Once I had my phone in hand I went into my living room. I have to tell you, my living room is the best room in my house. I have a Victorian antique sofa that was refurbished with blush pink velvet. It looks so luxurious, and it's actually quite comfortable. You couldn't sleep on it, but it's excellent for reading magazines and staring wistfully out the window. Sitting on my couch, I looked around at my plants and other furnishings. It usually makes me feel better to look at my decor and be in a space that I love, but in that moment I felt fed up with it. Everything around me seemed so pointless and empty. What good was having a beautiful living space when you were soon to have a child running around putting their sticky little hands on everything? This is probably a good time to tell you that I'm not all that fond of children. I don't hate them. Some people make their whole personality hating children. But on a general level, me and children just don't mix. They're loud, they smell weird, and they're always saying rude things that you're not allowed to get upset about. The idea of being pregnant, having to baby-proof my home, and getting a stain-resistant couch made me feel queasy all over again. I picked up my phone, navigated to my texts and found Mildred's name. "Omg," I typed. "Dude, no." It took a few minutes, but she responded. "What's wrong?" "I'm fucking pregnant," I replied. "I'm coming over," she said. A feeling of relief washed over me.
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AuthorStory fanatic. Published in the Camosun College literary journal Beside the Point. Former Senior Staff Writer at The Martlet. Current and future freelance writer. Archives
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