Dream Student (Dream Series book 1) by J.J. DiBenedetto
It’s me. Goddamn it, I hate this!
I turn on the light, and what I see doesn’t make me feel any better. The first thing I notice is the blood on my pillow. I can taste it in my mouth. I guess I must have been biting my lip to keep from screaming, and I bit so hard that I drew blood. And then I screamed anyway.
No more sleeping.
***
It’s almost three o’clock in the morning now. It seems like it’s three o’clock a lot lately.
The door opens, and Beth comes tip-toeing in. She takes one look at me and she knows she doesn’t need to worry about making noise. She doesn’t need to ask what’s wrong, either; she can see it’s last night all over again.
I haven’t looked at myself in the mirror, but I can picture what she sees all the same: dead eyes staring out at her, clutching my bloody pillow as though I’m drowning and it’s a life preserver. Beth doesn’t say a word, she just throws her coat on her bed and strips down to her underwear. I never really gave it much thought before, but she really does that awfully quickly. She puts on the double extra-large Van Halen t-shirt she always wears to bed–she keeps telling me there’s a really juicy story behind that shirt, but after two and a half years of not hearing it, I’m not sure I believe her. “Move over.” It’s the first thing she says to me. “You obviously need someone to hold you. Scoot over.”
I do, and she gets into the bed with me. “You really ought to be doing this with a boyfriend. When are you going to start dating again?”
She’s just trying to distract me. I realize that. But she hit on a good subject. It works. “You’re the one who kept telling me to dump Thomas!”
“Yeah, but I didn’t tell you to join a convent or anything. You need to find somebody. Soon. Right?
Maybe. I’m not sure I really want to have this conversation right now. On the other hand, it beats the alternative. “Sure. You’re right, Beth.”
“Of course I am. But since you don’t listen to me, I guess this is my job tonight.” She laughs. I know what she’s going to say next. “Besides, it’s not like we haven’t slept together before, right?”
Last Spring Break, to be exact. We went to Florida with two other girls from the floor, Kathy and Theresa. Someone–Beth, not that there’s any point in bringing it up just now–messed up booking the rooms. We ended up with just one room and a single king size bed instead of two rooms with two double beds in each. The second night down there, Kathy saw a spider, and nobody was willing to sleep on the floor after that. So all four of us ended up in the big bed every night that trip.
She’s got her arms around me. I don’t object, because she’s exactly right, I do need holding. It’s half an hour later before she asks about the nightmare. I tell her, it was exactly the same. Exactly as awful as the last few nights. But I do feel a little better right now, thanks to her. She says she’s glad she can help. She says that she’ll stay right here the rest of the night, if I want her to. I’m fine with that. She asks me if she can turn out the light. I’m fine with that too.
***
There’s someone in bed with me. Someone’s next to me, someone warm and soft and he’s–wait a minute, that’s not right. There isn’t any “he” at the moment for me to be in bed with.
She. It’s Beth. She’s in bed with me–I don’t know why, I don’t remember–and then it all comes back in a rush. I had a nightmare, I freaked out, and she decided I needed to be held. Except it isn’t helping. I sit up, and it’s as though it never went out of my head–I’m seeing it again, the bedroom, the man, the…
Beth stirs herself awake, sits up. I can barely see her; I’m still in that bedroom, still watching that helpless girl scratching and clawing and…
Beth fades in and out of view; for a moment I can see her more clearly. Her eyes narrow, focusing on mine. Then she’s gone again, and I’m watching the–the–the murder. That’s what it is. I can’t get it out of my head.
I feel–what? A hand, soft, gentle, on my cheek. It’s Beth. She’s back. She’s moving towards me, her face is just an inch or two away from mine, her lips are…
“What the hell are you doing?” The bedroom and the man and his victim are gone, and Beth is suddenly three or four feet away from me, her hand up, bracing herself against the wall. My hands are out in front of me; I must have shoved her away into the wall without even realizing what I was doing.
She’s staring hard at me, right into my eyes, trying to see if I’m back here with her, if the nightmare is out of my mind. It certainly is. She stares for another moment or two and then, without any warning, she dissolves into laughter. “You should–God, you should see your face right now!”
I don’t really see what’s funny about anything right now. “What were you doing?” I snap at her, breathing rapidly.
She needs a few seconds to recover her composure. “You were gone again, and I felt like I had to do something to bring you back. It was either that or a good hard slap.”
My breathing slows; it’s almost back to normal. “I guess that makes sense.” I think I might have preferred the slap. But I have to admit that her way did work; I’m certainly not thinking about the nightmare now. I'm pretty sure she's driven it away for the night.
“You forgive me?”
Of course I do. I lean over and hug her. “You bet.” Our heads turn towards the alarm clock in unison: 5:20 AM. “You think we can get a little more sleep? I’ll be OK by myself now, I think.” If I didn’t know better and I heard myself just now, I might even believe it.
She’s already up and halfway over to her bed. “I know you will,” she answers. I wish I were as confident as she is.
***
I’m sure I did things this morning. I must have gone to my class, and I assume I had conversations with people and all the usual things that make up the day. I can’t remember any of it right now. It feels like I’ve been sleepwalking all morning, which really isn’t too far from the truth.
Now, lunchtime, I almost feel something close to awake. I’m in Lardner Commons, which far too often means I’m staring at a bowl of Froot Loops. Today is no exception.
Needless to say, Lardner is the dining hall for this side, the north side, of campus. Also needless to say, the food is usually, to use a technical term, yucky. We’ve got a rule: if you can’t immediately identify it by look and smell, you don’t eat it.
Almost everyone else at the table shares my opinion of today’s entrée. Beth is sitting across from me, and–maybe to show solidarity with me–she’s also chosen the Froot Loops. Joe Karver, the upstairs Resident Assistant, went with Cheerios. John from New York selected Frosted Flakes, and George from the fourth floor apparently decided to be a rebel and went straight for dessert. He’s busy slurping down a bowl of vanilla ice cream.
Jackie and Fred, two of our freshmen, joined us, too. When I say “our freshmen,” I really mean it. Carson House is a very friendly place; at least it’s been for all of my time here. With only a handful of freshmen out of the hundred or so of us who live there, most of us have gone out of our way to make sure all of them feel like they belong. It looks like we’ve fallen down on the job a little bit, though. They clearly haven’t memorized the rules of the dining hall; Jackie and Fred are the only ones at the table to brave the hot food.
“I think its Swedish meatballs. That’s what the sign said,” Fred says, when Joe asks him what, exactly, he’s eating. Amazing.
“If you have to read the sign,” Joe starts, and then we all chime in, “You don’t want it!”
We chat about our final exam schedules while we eat. Finals start a week from today–on a Friday, for some reason none of us have been able to figure out. Jackie’s the most worried, she doesn’t know what to expect. We all try to reassure her that finals really aren’t that bad. George tells her that last year, when he was a freshman, he played Monopoly every night of finals
Having put Jackie at ease, our conversation turns to plans for tonight. It is Friday, after all. There are a couple of fraternity parties, and the campus movie. As usual, none of that really appeals to me, so I just sit tight and listen as Jackie and Fred start talking about this new club downtown that they got into last week, a place called Checkpoint Charlie’s. It’s the new “in” spot, apparently.
“That’s a great idea,” I hear myself say. I’m not quite sure where the words are coming from. “Yeah. I want to go out and dance and drink way more than I should. Let’s go.”
Beth stares at me, extremely confused. A few hours ago, I was a complete wreck. And in any event, the idea of me actively wanting to go out when there’s studying I could be doing is a shock to her. Honestly, I’m just as surprised as she is. I had no idea that’s what I wanted to do until I heard myself say the words. I’m not entirely sure that’s a good thing, but too late to worry about it now. “Are you sure?” Beth asks
“Maybe it’s not such a great idea,” Joe adds. “You don’t look like you’re feeling too well.”
Well, thanks for noticing that. Thanks a lot. I wasn’t sure until just this second, but now I definitely am. “I’m fine. And I’m sure that I want to go out. OK?” It’s OK with everyone. “Jackie, you and Fred want to join us?”
“They’re only eighteen. How do you expect them to get in?” Joe asks. It’s not his fault; he is the RA, after all. I suppose it’s his job to discourage irresponsible behavior. Maybe that means we should be irresponsible every so often, so that he’s got something to do. Isn’t that what they call “division of labor?” “They got in last week, Joe. I’m sure they’ve got it all figured out.”
Jackie grins, fishes into her purse and pulls out what looks to me like a pretty convincing fake driver’s license. Hey, whatever works. The rest of us are legal, at least Beth and Joe and me are. It doesn’t matter anyway. The really important point is that maybe going out and having a good time will take my mind off the damn nightmares and I can get a decent night’s sleep. It seems like a good plan to me.
***
It’s nine o’clock, and everyone’s waiting downstairs for Beth and me. She looks great, which is no surprise. She generally does. What is a little surprising, at least to me, is just how good I look. That sounds immodest, but what the heck. I’m allowed to be immodest once in a while, right?
Beth spent the last two hours helping me do my hair and makeup, and she absolutely demanded that I wear the dress I bought with my birthday money. It doesn’t quite say “do me”–nothing I own says that–but it might say “buy me some drinks and dance with me and I’ll think about it” if I wear it with the proper attitude. It’s black and strapless and–for me, at least–very short. It’s such a change from my usual wardrobe that I barely recognize myself in the mirror. Especially with my hair up and the way-more-than-usual makeup job.
She gives me a final once over, and claps her hands. She’s thrilled. “There may be hope for you yet!” She doesn’t need me to check her over, she knows without even looking in the mirror that everything’s right, not a hair or anything else out of place.
I have to take one last good long look at myself, though. The woman staring back at me has my eyes, but the rest of her…
I hear my own voice asking, “Who is that?”
Beth laughs, and steps into view next to me. “That’s one hot babe, that’s who it is.”
Hot babe? Me? Not quite. Beth is the only hot babe in the mirror. There’s really no comparison between us. She’s got ridiculously perfect shoulder-length blonde hair, while I’ve got a tangle of barely-manageable brown curls. She has unbelievable legs and a good five inches on me. And to top it off, she’s–“well-endowed” is probably the best way to put it, and I’m, well, not.
You know what, though? Despite all that, even though she’s beautiful and the most I’d ever call myself is “cute” or, maybe right now, at my absolute best, “pretty,” I’m not a bit jealous or envious.
I feel really good next to her, actually. I look into my own eyes, green and bright and alive, as though I haven’t just gone through a week of horrible nightmares and barely any sleep, and I like what I see.
OK, enough staring. We’ve got places to go. I grab my purse and we’re off, out the door, down the stairs. “Prepare to be amazed, people!” Beth shouts out ahead of us. There’s a crowd in the lobby, and they all stare up at her coming down the stairs. And then they stare at me.
Someone says “wow,” and there’s a whistle or two. I’m sure it’s all just joking, but still, it feels really good to hear it. I can’t help showing off, I do a little twirl at the bottom of the stairs. Why not? It’s a special occasion. I’m not sure why, but it feels like one.
Beth knows it too. She winks at me, and I wink right back; maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but I don’t think so. I’m convinced it’s more than that. This is going to be an evening to remember. I don’t have a doubt in my mind about it.
Two: Footloose
(December 1-2, 1989)
Making it downtown in one piece turns out to be quite the adventure. Five of us jam ourselves into Joe’s car, which isn’t a recommended number for a creaky old VW Beetle. Jackie and Fred and I squeeze together in the back seat, while Beth is driving Joe crazy in the front.
Beth can’t help but give advice when she’s a passenger. Usually it’s along the lines of “you’re not going to let him cut you off like that, are you?” Not surprisingly, that kind of thing doesn’t tend to go over very well. I spend the whole drive massaging Joe’s shoulders and telling him over and over that everything’s OK.
Thankfully we do make it downtown in one piece, and we even find parking only a couple of blocks away from the club. That’s got to be a good omen, right? So here we are. We’re walking down Superior Avenue; I’m hanging back with Beth and Jackie. The boys are half a block ahead of us, leading the way. Right now Jackie’s telling us that she’s hoping Fred will make a move on her tonight.
“I know he wants to. I’m pretty sure anyway. I thought he was going to last week but he got nervous, I guess.”
“You could just make a move on him,” Beth tells her. It sounds simple enough, but Jackie’s clearly not comfortable with the concept. I know how she feels, but two and a half years of living with Beth have rubbed off on me at least a little bit.
“She’s right. If there’s anything you can trust her on, it’s matters of the heart,” I reassure Jackie.
“And other organs,” Beth says. “They’re much more fun than the heart anyway.” Well, that’s settled. As usual Beth has the last word. And here are the boys. Joe’s stopped to talk to someone. It’s a small world, because he’s talking to a mutual friend.
“Hey, Reggie!” Reggie Morton’s an RA on the other side of campus. Now, anyway. Our freshman year she was our next door neighbor.
“Sara! Wow, you look fantastic!” It really is nice to be noticed like that once in a while. I could probably get used to it.
“Thanks! Where are you headed?”
“I was just telling Joe, we’ve got some free passes to Sharky’s. You guys want to join us?”
Free is good. It’ll be fun to go with Reggie, too. I haven’t done anything with her in a while. “Fine by me.”
“Sure,” Beth agrees. Jackie and Fred nod their heads. Sharky’s it is. It’s just a few doors down from Checkpoint Charlie’s, so it’s not out of the way. This is good, because it’s freezing cold and I’m not wearing nearly enough to be walking around outside for any length of time.
***
I feel much better. A couple of drinks and an hour of dancing were just what I needed. Right now, I’m resting for a few minutes, dancing takes a lot of energy. And it’s very crowde
I remember reading in a novel once how a character took a turn on the dance floor that “could’ve gotten her pregnant.” I was never sure quite what that involved before, but now I know exactly what it means. I’m sure Joe wasn’t expecting anything like that. It’s good to know I can still surprise people once in a while.
Jackie catches my eye. She’s wading her way through the crowd to me. It doesn’t look easy, but she eventually makes it over here. “Sara!”
“Yes!” We’re not quite two feet apart and we still have to shout at the top of our lungs to hear each other.
“We want to try the other club!” I think that’s what she says, anyway.
I like this place just fine, but right now I think I’ll do great wherever we go. Besides, I’ve never been to Checkpoint Charlie’s and from the little I’ve heard it sounds kind of interesting. Why not? “I’ll go get Beth! You find everybody else! Meet us outside!”
She nods her head and starts pushing through the mass of people away from me, so I assume she heard me correctly. I head back onto the dance floor; Beth is there somewhere. I’m shaking and swaying my way into the crowd and I see her. No surprise; she’s dancing with three guys, all very good-looking. She finally sees me, smiles, gives me a little wave. I slide between two of her guys and grab her arm. She blows all of them a kiss as I pull her away.
“Something wrong? Or were you just jealous?” she asks me when we get off the dance floor and then to a halfway quiet spot so we can actually talk.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil your fun, but we’re leaving. Jackie wants to go to the other club, and I kind of want to check it out too. OK?”
Beth looks back at her suitors, shakes her head. “Oh, well. I can do better anyway,” she says as she follows me towards the door. We get outside, pushing past the line of people trying to get in. Joe and Jackie and Fred are waiting for us a little way down the street.