I’ve Never Been to Me
“Do you know when you’re dreaming?”
Heather asked the question from the same spot she had been confessing from for almost eleven years. As usual, she had the leather pillow pulled up to her chest as she tentatively eyed the box of tissue on its usual stand. She maintained unwavering eye contact with her doctor and had no intention of continuing the conversation until he answered her question. She felt frustration simmering inside of her but she couldn’t identify its roots.
“Do you mean me personally, or people in general?” Dr. Angel asked as he shifted from one position to another.
“You, me, everyone,” Heather answered. “I mean, are we supposed to be aware of our dreams while we’re having them?”
She didn’t realize how much she wanted his response until she’d asked the question. Never one to commit to an answer until Heather gave a valid reason for asking it, her doctor deflected the question back to her.
“What makes you ask? Do you know when you’re dreaming?” he finally asked.
“No, but I used to when I was little.”
Heather wondered when and how she had lost the awareness. She couldn’t remember if its loss had been a blessing or a burden and she cursed her brain for blocking out so much.
“You remember being aware of your dreams as a child?” Dr. Angel asked.
His intrigue made Heather tread further into the conversation. His willingness to participate gave her the validation was looking for. She couldn’t believe it was the first time they had discussed it in all their years together.
“I wasn’t just aware. I used the awareness to escape from my nightmares,” Heather said with a note of pride evident in her voice. She found it easier to be impressed with the child she was rather than the adult she’d become.
“How?” Dr. Angel wanted to know.
“When I was scared or trapped in a bad dream, I’d create an escape route out of anything that was elevated,” she explained before pausing briefly. The short silences didn’t bother her as much as usual.
“Now I have no idea when or if I’m dreaming,” she continued. “I could be dreaming right now for all I
know.” Spooked by her own statement, she looked at him and waited for a response even though she hadn’t asked a question. When he didn’t offer one, she decided to go ahead and ask it.
“I’m not, right?” Heather wondered. “I’m not dreaming, right now, am I?”
“No. You’re very awake and with me in my office right now.”
A nervous giggle raced from her lungs to her tongue and then shot out of her mouth.
“I know. I was just kidding,” she fibbed.
“How did the awareness of your dreams help you to get out of them?” he asked as he scribbled on the bright yellow pad. She tried to ignore the secrets he told his steno but realized she really wanted to be included in the findings and was suddenly annoyed by the intimacy she’d been excluded from.
“What did you write just now?” Heather asked.
His lip tugged as he fought a grin but the doctor’s tone couldn’t hide his amusement.
“Let’s talk about why that’s important to you,” he said.
She wanted to tell him it was normal to wonder what someone was writing about them but didn’t feel like wasting one of her precious minutes on the pointless subject. Instead, she brushed off her annoyances and told herself that as long as Dr. Angel was focusing on her, it didn’t matter how he expressed it.
Heather closed her eyes and fought hard to kick-start her impotent memory. She knew if she could transport herself to one of the memories that scared her, she would be able to explain her thoughts with more clarity.
A frown spread itself into tiny wrinkles between her eyes and its appearance told Dr. Angel that she had hit on a recollection. The downward turn of her bottom lip told him it was closer to a nightmare than a dream. Speaking softly, Heather narrated the frightening memory in which she stood on top of a stranger’s dining room table as a terrified five year old.
“I’d find something high enough to jump from and when I wanted out, I’d jump. Sometimes I’d wake up from the dream still airborne,” she finished.
The casual tone she tried to force was phony and had been born of her need to counteract the real she felt. Heather glanced up at her doctor and waited for his hand to move as it poured out more secret observations but he made no movement.
“Tell me more,” he encouraged.
The blurriness tried to take over and Heather felt drops of confusion gradually seeping in. Her memories were merely clips of scattered, broken thoughts that floated by randomly. When she would reach out to grab one, she’d realize it was impossible to catch and the lack of tangibility would make it harder for her to believe herself.
The scent of pine jammed up her olfactory system and the sound of kitchen appliances coming to life filled her ears. Dim candlelight glowed softly in the background of her