Dream Student (Dream Series book 1) by J.J. DiBenedetto
“Jean with a J. From the fifties. Stay with me, OK?” He nods. “So Marlon Brando isn’t getting anywhere with her, and he asks her, what kind of man would she go for? And she says, right away, ‘He will not be a gambler.’ But that’s not good enough. It’s not really an answer at all. You see what I mean?”
He laughs. “So I’m Jean Simmons, whoever she is, and you’re Marlon Brando?”
I laugh too, but I’m not letting him off the hook. “You’re avoiding the question.”
He takes a deep breath, gathers his thoughts. “It’s hard to explain.”
“Try.”
“When I look at you–the Halloween party, or just when you’re a couple of tables over at the dining hall, or now. Whenever I’ve seen you, you have this quality, I guess it is–I’m not sure if this is the right word, but it’s all I can think of–you’re open. Do you know what I mean?” Actually, I think I do. But I want to hear him say it, so I shake my head.
“You’re open to whoever you’re talking to, you’re not judging, not looking down on anybody. You–when I look at you, I can see, you actually care what I’m–what anybody else is saying, what they’re thinking. You’re not just sitting there waiting to talk and thinking of something clever to say back. Like–like I’m–like whoever you’re talking to is a real person, and not just someone who’s only there because you are. Do you–do you have any idea how rare that is?”
I do. And–not to be immodest, but it’s one of the things I really like about myself, now I think about it. If that’s truly what he thinks, if he’s not just making it all up, trying to come up with whatever answer will satisfy me…
He’s not finished. “And the way you smile–it’s genuine, there’s something really there, and most people aren’t like that. But you are.”
“You keep saying I’m beautiful, but really that’s what you mean by it, what you said just now.” I feel a tingling down my spine as I say that. I think I’m right. It’s not my body, it’s not the dress I’m wearing tonight, it goes much deeper than that. I hope. I want more than I think I’ve ever wanted anything in my life to be right about this.
“Yes,” he says. He’s staring intently at me now, holding me in place with his eyes. I can’t move, and I don’t want to. “It’s your eyes, too. They’re so–so bright.” There’s something different in his voice now; the words are coming from somewhere deep inside, someplace that’s strong and sure and confident. It’s a place I think maybe he didn’t even know he had inside himself until this moment. “You know that saying, the eyes are the windows of the soul? Looking at you now, I know it’s true. And that’s why.”
“Why mine are so bright?” I can barely get the words out. Nobody’s ever looked at me the way he is now. Not in twenty-one years.
“Yes.” I don’t know how to respond; I suddenly feel warm and a little bit dizzy. I thought that the moment I first saw him was love at first sight, but I was wrong. That was nothing. It’s now, this moment. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do …
There’s a voice from behind me, and the spell is broken. “Hey!”
It’s Beth. I don’t know whether to thank her for rescuing me or smack her for breaking up a moment that–I don’t even know the words for what it was.
“Hey yourself,” I say, recovering my composure a bit. “Beth, this is Brian. Brian, this is my roommate Beth.”
“Her very tired roommate.”
The practical part of my brain kicks in. It is kind of late, and it’s not like I won’t be able to see him again. “Very subtle, Beth.” I shrug, try to look apologetic. “I guess that’s my cue to leave.”
He stands up, reaches over to hold my hand. I feel him shaking, just a little. He’s not in that strong, confident place anymore, but if he found it once, I know he’ll find it again. I’m the one who brought it out in him, right? Just like he brought–something, I don’t know what–out in me.
I hope he will. I hope everything he said is true. I have to take it all at face value and hope he really meant it. If I hope and wish and want hard enough for it to be true, maybe it will be?
“I’ll walk you out,” he says. Yes, please.
It’s still really cold outside but it isn’t bothering me a bit. I don’t think Brian notices either. “I had a great time tonight. I hope you’re around tomorrow, we can go out?”
He likes that idea. “We can meet for lunch.”
Nope. “I don’t think lunch is going to happen. If I’m up before noon it’ll be a surprise. How about I call you when I wake up, OK?”
That’s just fine with him. “There’s just one other thing,” he says, and the look he gives me is basically asking permission. I mouth “yes” and he takes me in his arms. I can see in his eyes–he’s found that place again. As he pulls me close I find it, too. He kisses me, and…
We kiss for what seems like a very long time. I don’t notice my friends or the cold or the noises all around or anything at all, just him and how he feels, how we feel.
When it’s over, he turns away from me; he’s heading back into the club to find his friends and his ride home. I whisper after him, “Thank you. Thank you so much,” and he gives me a little wave before he disappears inside.
Wow. It’s been too long; I’d almost forgotten how good it feels. Just–wow. That’s the only word for it. I’m in my own little world, I don’t really pay much attention to Beth dragging me back to the car, I just follow along blindly.
***
I’m back now, the magic has passed. We’re in the car.
“Sara Barnes, explain yourself! What the hell was that?”
At least she didn’t use my middle name. I don’t know if I could handle that. “I was just following your advice. You told me to go out and meet someone.”
“Well, fine, but that was not like you. I saw how you stared at him when we got there. What’s up with that?”
“It’s complicated. I’ll explain it later.”
“You better,” Beth is not with the program on this. She clearly thinks it’s just too strange, and I can’t really argue that, but at least she lets it go for the moment.
I think she’s mainly surprised that I kissed him like that, in public and everything. “You’re not the only one who gets to put on a show. The rest of us get to have our moments too.”
It’s only now I notice that Jackie and Fred are doing exactly that; they’re making out right next to me in the back seat. No wonder neither one of them has said anything all during the ride home.
Beth considers my words. “Fair enough. You just had a rough week, that’s all. I’m trying to look out for you. That’s what best friends are for, right?”
“Right.”
***
We’re back in our room and not surprisingly at all, it’s three o’clock in the morning again. This is becoming a habit for me.
We’ve been talking for a while already, and there are moments when I’m back there in the club, with Brian looking at me, into me, and there are moments when that feels like the whole night happened to someone else, some girl I barely even know.
I didn’t tell Beth that, and I’m not even sure why–normally I tell her everything. Instead, I told her about that first dream, the one with Brian, where I’m watching him watch me-as-a-cheerleader. “At the time I didn’t know what to make of it. I figured it was just a weird dream, a one-time thing, and not worth talking about. And then the nightmares started the next evening.” Beth doesn’t think that my weird dream is the ideal basis for a relationship. Not to mention, what if he’s got something to do with the nightmares?
He doesn’t, though. This sounds ridiculous, I know, but I would have known if he did. I realize I sound like someone who should be doing ads for the Psychic Friends Network, but I know what I felt and what I saw. And there’s so much more anyway. When I first saw him the connec
“Do you remember–the first week we were here, remember Adam and Marie, how they met?” They’re the ones I was thinking of when I thought about love at first sight. I’m trying to get this across to her without saying anything about the way he looked at me, or what I felt when he did.
“That’s your ideal couple?” It’s not working. Beth is staring hard at me now; I think she’s more worried than she was when I woke up screaming from the nightmare. Mentioning Adam and Marie wasn’t the right approach, clearly. I probably should have known that–things didn’t end well for them. It was pretty ugly, to tell the truth. The details aren’t terribly important right now; it’s enough to say that the words “train wreck” come to mind.
I try again. “No, no, no. But you remember when they met, right? It was love at first sight, we all knew it. It was like seeing lightning strike. I felt the same thing at the club when I saw Brian. I swear to God, it was exactly the same. Like we were meant to get together. Like we’re connected somehow.” Wow, I do sound crazy, don’t I? And that’s without talking about the craziest part of all.
Beth scoffs. “You’re a hopeless romantic. Behind that Little Miss Sensible face you put on, that’s exactly what you are. I remember Adam and Marie too, and if it was anything at first sight, it was lust. They wanted to screw each other, that’s all. Don’t get me wrong, I completely respect that. I think that’s probably just what you need right now, so go for it. But don’t try to convince yourself it’s anything more than that.”
No. She’s wrong. I’m no expert on the subject, but I do know myself pretty well. I’m certainly not above plain old lust, but that’s not what this is. I start to say that, when something very depressing occurs to me. I know exactly what Beth thinks about Brian and why he’s interested in me. I couldn’t understand at first what he saw in me, but Beth–I think–has an idea.
It’s not a very nice idea. It’s a pretty simple one, though: that night at the Halloween party I looked pathetic and desperate and lonely enough that he thought he had a chance, and at the same time I looked–just barely–pretty enough to be worth the effort.
She would never, ever say that to me, but I know she’s thinking it. Why shouldn’t she? I thought it too. But Brian had an answer, and it was the right answer. I’m going to believe it because–well, I need to believe it. And also because nobody could look at me the way he did if he thought I was just barely worth the effort.
I try one more time to explain to her how I feel, without really telling her. I want her on board with this. I want her to agree with me.
No such luck. “You’re scaring me,” she says when I’m done. “I just want you to know that. You wake up screaming and crying because of these nightmares, and now you completely flip for this guy, you think it’s one of these soulmate things like you’re in a movie or something. And you’ve never even seen him before, except that you dreamed about him dreaming about you. Did I miss anything?”
No, that’s pretty much everything so far. The only thing she missed–the one thing I left out–is those last few minutes inside the club. How he looked at me–and another thing about that occurs to me. I felt it at the time, but I didn’t have the words until this moment: He was looking at me like I was the only woman in the world.
No, that’s not quite right. He wasn’t looking at me like I was the only woman in the world, he was looking at me like I was the only woman in the world worth looking at.
I leave that out, and I leave out what he said about my eyes and my soul and how I felt when he did. I can’t bring myself to tell Beth that, even though it explains everything.
She’s my best friend, and I’ve never held back from her before. And it’s only at this moment that I understand why. It’s not just that I’m afraid of how ridiculous it’ll sound if I say it out loud, or at least that’s only a tiny little part of the reason. I’ve been ridiculous in front of Beth before, and I’m sure I will be again; I’m kind of used to it by now. The real reason is because I want to–need to–keep it for myself, at least for a little while. Nobody’s ever said something like that to me, and nobody’s ever looked at me the way he did when he was saying it. It was just for me to hear, and just for me to remember. I can’t share it with anyone yet, not even my best friend.
“I know how this all sounds,” is what I say instead of what I’m really thinking. “But it felt right,” I tell her. Because I do know her so well, I add, “and it felt so good. I’ve been going out of my mind, and now this happens and it’s exactly what I need, and I have to believe in it. Can you understand that?” That ought to be enough to convince her.
I realize something more: walking him through everything, completely taking the initiative, I needed that too, I think. Maybe I can’t control what I see when I go to sleep, but here’s something I can control. I tell her that as well, and I look at her hopefully.
“What do you want me to say?” is her response. “You don’t need my approval. I’m not your mother or anything. All I’m doing is telling you what I think.” She’s all serious when she says that, but she brightens momentarily, “Just enlightening you with the wisdom of my experience.”
What do I want you to say? That you completely understand what I’m saying, and you don’t think I’m crazy. How about that? “I don’t know. You’ve always had good advice about men. You’ve always been right about the guys I date. I guess I want you to tell me if you think I’m making a mistake, but the truth is I’ll feel much better if you tell me you don’t think I am.”
She’s serious again. “I don’t know. This is out of my league. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. You’ve been a mess the last week. I don’t mind helping you pick up the pieces because God knows you’ve helped me through enough crap. I’m just worried about you. I don’t think you sound like yourself. I don’t think you’re acting like yourself. I hope this thing works out for you, I hope he’s everything you think he is, and you have totally amazing sex and whatever else you’re looking for. I really do.” Her face tells me she doesn’t believe that’s going to happen. “If not,” she gives me a huge sigh, “I’ll be here and you can cry on my shoulder or yell at me or whatever you need to do. How’s that?”
She’s right, everything she said is right. I haven’t been myself the last few days. And tonight was an applied exercise in acting as unlike myself as I possibly could. But it worked. I felt great, I didn’t think about the nightmares at all, everything was wonderful. Maybe she’s right to be worried; maybe it’ll all come crashing down. Probably it will. But I’m going to enjoy it until it does.
“I’ll be careful. I promise. Good enough?”
“Good enough,” Beth says. “Can we get some sleep now?”
I’ve got a much better idea than sleep. I give her my biggest smile. “Actually, I feel like dancing some more. You want to go see if any of the fraternity parties are still going on?” I wish I had a camera right now. Her expression is absolutely priceless. I’m just full of surprises today.
Three: Casual Sex?
(December 2-3, 1989)
I wake up and I’m not screaming. There aren’t any horrible scenes going through my mind. If I had any dreams, I don’t remember them.
So this is how it feels to have a good night’s sleep and wake up normally–I’d almost forgotten. It’s really nice. It’s like they say, whoever “they” are, you should appreciate the small things. Waking up well rested, refreshed and definitely not terrified.
Maybe I did have a dream last night. I was at a club downtown and I met a guy, and we hit it off–no, I don’t think it was a dream at all. That’s a memory. That’s what I did last night. At least I hope it is.
His name’s Brian and he lives in the next dorm to mine. We talked and he did something to me–we did something to each other, I think–and then I made out with him in the mi
I’m fairly certain it really happened, but there’s only one way to be sure. I reach over to the desk, grab the phone. I dial the number, 1550, just the four numbers because it’s on campus. It rings. Once, twice, three times.
“Hello?” It sounds like his voice.
“Is Brian there?” I hope, I hope, I hope.
“Sara?” Yes! Yes, I’m Sara, and you’re Brian, and you’re real and everything is right with the world.
“In the flesh. Good morning,” I notice the clock and I correct myself, “Oops, I mean afternoon. I hope you had a good time last night.”
He hesitates. I know it’s not because he didn’t have a good time, but because he’s trying to think of exactly the right words to say. “Um–it was–you were…yes, I had a good time,” is what he settles for. “Did–did you?”
There aren’t words. But I do have to say something, don’t I? “I absolutely did, and I’d really like to see you today. Please tell me you don’t have any plans.”
“You want to go out on a date, right? That is what you mean?” He still doesn’t believe it. His nerves are back; he’s lost his way from that strong, confident place. But that’s no problem–he’ll find it again. I’ll make sure he does.
“Yes, I do. So when are you going to come over here and pick me up?”
***
Beth walks in from the shower just as I hang up the phone. “So how’s your new boyfriend?”
He’s not my boyfriend!
Not yet, anyway. But I’d like him to be, if things keep going the way they did last night. I put on my best stuck-up voice: “Brian is fine, thank you very much. He’s taking me out to dinner and a movie tonight, if you must know.”
“You do realize I’m just teasing. Right?” She looks almost worried, as though maybe I don’t realize it. I guess she thinks she was too negative about Brian last night. I don’t think she was, really. She was just looking out for me. Besides, I didn’t tell her everything–she’d understand if I had. Or maybe she’d be even more worried about me.