Dream a Little Dream of Me

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The woman from the base came back later that afternoon and found Dreamaway where she'd last seen her; she listened while the poor girl talked of her inability to read, and the woman tried as best she could to explain to the girl that as she and Jimmy hadn't been married she would have to leave the apartment within ten days and that she would not receive any assistance from the Coast Guard.

The woman from the base left Dreamaway and was ashamed to have had to tell someone so woefully unprepared for life that they were about to be cast out into the night. She resolved to call the base chaplain and tell the old man what she'd learned and see if there wasn't something he could do to help. He had, after all, reported the matter to her.

The Chaplain came by see Dreamaway the next morning and learned the girl had already left; cleaning ladies contracted by the base were already clearing-out the apartment and packing up the young man's belongings.

"Was she here when you came this morning?" he asked them.

"Yeah, she was," one of the women said. "We asked if we could help her or somethin' but she just put her stuff in a sack and left."

The Chaplain shook his head and turned to leave, and that, he told himself, was that.

+++++

She had no idea what to do or where to go so she walked back to town; she hadn't considered what she might do that night or the next because for all she knew she was having a nightmare and she'd wake up soon and find Jimmy's smiling face leaning down to kiss hers and all this nonsense would be over and done with. That was the only possible explanation because nothing else made sense.

She made her way back to the river hoping to wake up sometime soon because she was getting hungry, and she found herself on the same park bench by the boardwalk where she had passed the day before, only now she sat in the fading light and watched as autumn leaves fell from trees and swirled around the concrete before falling into the black water below the boardwalk.

People walked by from time to time and some looked at the laundry bag at her feet then at her eyes and she saw an awful mixture of pity and revulsion drift through their eyes before they faded from view; their passing condemnation only strengthened her belief that all this was a nightmare.

What had she done to hurt them?

'Why did they look at me like that?'

Shadows grew longer and darker, street lights winked on as shopkeepers closed-up for the night and still she sat on the bench -- no longer wondering what might happen and wishing only she could simply dissolve into the darkness and disappear.

Before it grew completely dark a sailboat came downriver and tied up at the town dock beneath her bench; a huge man hopped off and tied the boat to the dock below then ambled away unsteadily to a little brick building down the boardwalk and disappeared inside. She looked at the boat, wondered about all the places the man might have been even as the cold evening wind whipped her bare legs; she reached into her bag and pulled out an old sweater and put it on. The man from the boat walked by a few minutes later and looked at her as he drew near, said "Howdy, Ma'am" as he passed and she thought he had a kind face; she watched in silence as the man made his way back down to the sailboat and hopped onboard and she wanted to smile or laugh at him: he looked like a roly-poly in his orange sweatshirt and baggy blue sweatpants. He grumbled around for a moment on the back of the boat then disappeared below and she couldn't imagine someone so huge living in something so small. She heard pots and pans clattering in the darkness then the most God-awful smelling food drifted over the park-bench -- but even so she found she was getting hungrier and hungrier and no matter how weird the stuff smelled she found she wanted some of whatever he was cooking -- 'anything would be just fine,' she told herself as her stomach rumbled.

Then she heard the man getting ready for bed -- teeth were brushed, a couple of coughs here and there before a massive, rumbling fart ripped the night -- then the lights went out down below and she wondered what kind of crazy fool would sleep on a boat and what had he eaten to produce a fart that loud? She reached into her sack and brought out Jimmy's big hoodie-sweatshirt and put it on, then laid herself out on the bench with the wadded bag of clothing as her pillow and she closed her eyes. For a while she tried to ignore the growling in her belly or the occasional car that roared across the bridge to the other side of the river, and eventually she fell asleep.

She felt light shining through her closed eyelids and opened them, sat up too quickly and halfway expected to find a policeman standing over her -- but then... nothing... she looked down the sidewalk and over her shoulder at the street and she couldn't see anything, hear anyone...

"Excuse me," she heard a man say; what? where? from the water?

She turned and saw the huge man on the boat, saw a flashlight in his hand... she rubbed her eyes and yawned: "What? Did you say somethin'?" she said as she shielded her eyes from the light.

"Uh, yeah, pardon me, but are you sleeping out here?" he said as he turned off the flashlight.

"Yep."

"Christ! Look, it's forty three degrees out here and it's only midnight. It's gonna get colder than stink tonight!"

"So?"

"You wanna blanket or somethin'?"

"Nope."

"Coffee? Or hot chocolate?"

Her stomach rumbled and he seemed to hear that and she turned away: "No, thank you," she said dismissively, quietly.

"When's the last time you had something to eat?" he said.

She shrugged her shoulders, looked down at her feet then up at the man when she heard him clambering off the boat and walking her way. She thought about running -- but where? Where would she go? He didn't look mean -- just huge! She could easily run away from him if she had to...

She kept her head down, saw his huge feet as he walked up to her: "I'd be right happy if you just left me alone, mister," she said softly.

"I think you are alone," he said. "And I don't think its doin' you much good."

"Please?" she pleaded.

"You run away from home or somethin'?" His voice was deep and oddly resonant, almost comforting.

"What?"

"How old are you?"

"Twenty! Do I look like I just run-away from home to you?"

"You look like you're about half that age! Now come on, no BS, how old are you?"

"I told you how old I am, mister! Now, would you leave..."

"Why are you out here? I mean, what happened?"

She didn't say a word, just looked down at her feet and a moment later she heard him walk away. She watched as he hauled himself up on deck and listened as he thumped and bumped his way down below, then she heard pots banging and soon smelled bacon frying, and coffee...

"Bastard!" she mumbled.

A while later he lumbered up on deck and hopped back down onto the dock while balancing a plate in his hand; he walked up to her and handed her a plate loaded with bacon and eggs and buttered toast then stood back from her:

"You want cream and sugar?" he said.

"What?"

"In your coffee?"

"Oh. Both, I guess."

"Right." He turned and thumped back down to the boat and came back a minute later with two huge mugs of coffee.

"Thanks," she said, and she meant it. She'd never had better eggs in her life...

"No problemo."

"What?"

"You're welcome. Eat up before the eggs get cold."

"I ain't never had coffee b'fore."

"Oh, you want something else?"

"No, it's real good." She wolfed the food down and mopped up the yolk with toast. "Those were real fine."

"You still hungry?"

She nodded her head. "Uh-huh."

"Look, I'm fine carryin' stuff out here but it'd be easier if you, you know, at least came up and sat by the boat. I ain't gonna bite, ya know?"

She laughed a little. "I'm alright here if that's okay..."

"Yeah, sure..." He took the plate from her and returned to the boat; she listened while he resumed cooking and suddenly felt ashamed of her suspiciousness and simple bad manners. She stood and stretched, grabbed her things and walked along the dock down to his boat, and while she felt unsure of herself she still felt the guy looked harmless, even nice. She felt stiff all over, however, and was still chilled to her bones -- and besides, the food smelled good, too. She thought a little about lambs being led to slaughter but somehow this guy didn't seem like the type...

He came up from down below and saw her standing beside the boat and stopped in his tracks: "You like to come up?"

She nodded and he folded out a table in front of a huge steering wheel and put a plate on it, then he reached over and held out his hand to help her up.

She hesitated a moment, felt like she was on the edge of a vast decision, then reached out and took his hand and let him pull her up.

She put her coffee on the table and sat down; the man trundled back down inside the boat and she looked after him and was shocked by what she saw:

It was another world inside, a world of honey colored wood so glossy the walls seemed to glow. Little brass oil lamps cast splashes of amber light onto the impossible wood and the whole effect was to her quite otherworldly and so completely at odds with her expectations that she grew even more unsettled. She saw him disappear at the far end of the cabin then come back a moment later with a huge blue-green blanket; he came up to the near end of the cabin and handed the blanket up to her then turned to the 'kitchen' and started cleaning up. She shook herself free from the spell and looked at the food, then at the man again: part of her wanted to run while another part wanted to stay and understand how all this could be.

She took the fork and started eating again, looked at the back of his head and his shoulders while he scrubbed a big shiny skillet. He wasn't fat, really, she saw, he was just incredibly tall and wore really loose clothes. She could see huge, sloping muscles under his shirt; they seemed to angle up to his neck in one smooth, unbroken line, and the back of his head was a series of hard angles. His hair was short, real short, and looked like a load of salt and pepper had been thrown on what once had been very light brown hair. She leaned forward and looked down at his back and his legs: again she was left with the impression of muscle, vast, strong muscle. She was staring at his legs when she felt his eyes on her.

She turned back to her food and tried to fight the shame she felt washing over her face, and again she wanted to pick up and run -- but she couldn't. She felt almost glued in place, like a fly in amber, yet for some reason she wasn't afraid anymore.

He came up a moment later with his own mug and sat across from her; he crossed his legs and she had the impression that ancient tree trunks were shifting before her eyes... She knew she was unfocused and must look a fool but she found herself speechless and helpless to even move. She looked at the man and he was looking directly at her:

"Your eggs get cold?"

She could hardly understand what he said: "What?"

"The eggs? They're gonna get stone cold if you don't eat 'em."

"Oh." She took a bite, then another, suddenly felt full and sleepy but was still afraid to move.

"Look, there's a spare bunk in the aft cabin. I don't want you to feel weird about it but feel free to bunk out there for a while."

She grew stiff and still, her eyes focused straight ahead...

"None of my business," the man said, "but did something happened? Are you okay?"

She pulled her knees up to her chin and started rocking back and forth, her eyes now wide open and remained fixed dead ahead... she started humming something her mama used to when she'd been very little and she could see the fields and the mountains and their little mobile home, then she felt a blanket being wrapped around her body and arms closing around her shoulders...

"Sh-h, sh-h-h," she heard her mama whisper, "it's gonna be okay now... don't cry, baby... don't cry..." but it wasn't her mama's voice she heard -- she had the impression it was the man's voice because he was beside her now, holding her and rocking her and patting her head. She could feel herself crying from someplace far away and all of the pain and fear and uncertainty of the past two days came boiling out of her and into the night -- onto this man's impossibly hard shoulder -- and while she wanted to run away she also wanted to turn around and look up into his eyes because something told her she had to get to know him before something real bad happened.

She struggled with all these impossible emotions until she drifted away in his arms, until she felt sleep come for her. She felt herself lift and float for a moment, felt impossible softness under her and enveloping warmth all around her and incredible peace came to her in a dream and even deep within her sleep she could feel herself smiling. She knew she had found something important.

+++++

She heard a muffled 'Goddamnit-all-to-hell', felt hot sun on her face and opened her eyes. There was an odd, sloped ceiling not an arm's length above her and more of that wondrous glowing wood all around her and suddenly she fought the feeling that she was inside an impossibly beautiful coffin. Then she remembered the sun on her face and looked toward the light; she saw pure sunlight coming through a hole in another ceiling higher than the first one, then she heard the man struggling with something in another room, heard him cussing and struggling with tools and she smiled. These were sounds she understood.

Dreamaway looked around this little womb-like space: she was in a tiny room that was solid all-glowing honey-colored wood, she was laying in a narrow bed that was incredibly soft -- like a cloud -- and she was covered with a heavy blanket that smelled of flowers and sunshine. She needed to go to the bathroom, she was thirsty and her mouth tasted thick and foul and she sat up and twisted out of the narrow bed and stood up in the tiny room. She was still in her clothes and her bag was on top of a little bureau built into the impossible curves of the room and she shook her head and rubbed her eyes and opened the wooden door and stepped out into the main 'room' and saw the man laying on the floor in his shorts, his arms covered in grease and with a pile of tools laying on towels all around him on the wooden floor...

"You alright, mister?" she said.

"Crap!" he said as he bolter upright. "Oh, sorry! Did I wake you?"

"I need to go to the bathroom!" she said with some urgency. "Now."

"Right!" He jumped up and led her forward and pointed out the little cabin: "Just leave it when you're done -- I'll come do the honors..."

She didn't understand what he meant and didn't care, she darted into the little room and yanked her pants down and just managed to sit on the likeliest looking contraption before she wet herself. She went for what felt like an hour then she stood and turned on the tap -- and water came out! -- and she washed her hands and rubbed her face with cold water, then looked at the contraption and wondered how the hell was she supposed to flush the thing. She'd heard about toilets before but never seen one...

"Excuse me, but how do I flush this thing?" she said through the door.

"Don't bother!" she heard him say from somewhere by his pile of tools. "I'll have to show you."

She wiped her face on a clean towel and opened the door, slipped out of the bathroom and made her way back to where the man lay on the floor, his hands underneath a huge, gray engine.

"You need a hand?" she said.

"Not unless you know how to change a fan belt? On an alternator?"

"Sure," she said, and she thought he must be like he must be a moron or something. "I can do that."

He stopped what he was doing and turned around and looked at her, his lips bunched up under grease smears on his forehead. "Well, I can't! Thought I could, but I can't!"

"That the belt?" she said as she kneeled beside him.

"Yep."

She looked at the engine for a moment, studied it, then sat down and in less than two minutes changed the belt. "My daddy showed me how," she said as she looked up at him.

"I'll be ... I see..." the man said as she stood there looking at her.

She looked at him and smiled at his discomfort, then she remembered last night and for some reason she felt afraid again. "What happened to me last night?"

"You were having a rough time. I got you down and put you in the bunk. Hope you don't mind."

"Oh."

"You wanna talk about it?"

She looked away. "I don't even know your name. Why would I want to talk to you?"

"Good point."

"My boyfriend was just killed," she blurted without thinking, "in Iraq. I had to move out of base housing."

"Yeah. You mentioned something about that. When... did this happen?"

"Day before yesterday, I guess."

"You have someplace to stay? Family you can call?"

"Family, yeah, but I ain't going back. Not like this, anyways."

"Have you thought about what you're going to do?"

"No."

"Well, I'm leaving here, probably tomorrow morning. You're welcome to stay onboard today if you like. Until you figure out what you're going to do."

She nodded, didn't know what to say.

"And I've got to run to the grocery store in a little bit."

"You want me to leave? When you..."

"No, no. Stay as long as you like."

"Thanks," she said. She walked by him and slipped into her tiny cabin and lay down. She curled up into a fetal ball and did her best not to cry. She heard him leave a few minutes later and closed her eyes.

+++++

She was aware of an intense smell again, this time in her sleep, and it was like the stink she'd been covered with the night before, only now it was stronger. She crawled out of the bunk and slipped into the kitchen: the man was frying chicken, but not like any she'd ever cooked. She eased by him and went into the bathroom and washed-up again, then went back and sat across from him and watched him while he cooked. He moved economically, his hands moved quickly and precisely; chicken breasts were dredged in egg and spices, deposited in hot oil; he had done this before and was comfortable with himself -- even with her watching.

"What's your name?" she said.

"Alan. Alan Whitman." He looked at her, smiled. "What's yours?"

"Dreamaway."

If he was surprised he didn't show it, and he didn't make any jokes about it either.

"So. You're from the mountains? Here, in North Carolina?"

"That's right. West of here, I think."

He nodded. "Where'd you go to school?"

"I didn't."

"No? No college? What about high school?"

"I didn't go to school."

That stopped him -- in his tracks: "Really? Never?"

"Well, I went one day but everyone made fun of me so I stopped."

"Where'd you learn to read and write, then? At home?"

"Nope."

He looked at her again with... what? Pity? Concern? She couldn't tell; his expressions were hard to read. "Was your boyfriend in the Coast Guard?"

"Yep."

"Ever had a job?"

"Nope. Except working on my Daddies farm."

"Excuse me for askin', but how old are you? Did you say twenty?"

"Yep. A couple months ago. How about you?"

"The high side of fifty."

"You ever had a job?"

He smiled at her, at her humor, only she wasn't smiling. "Well yeah. I used to fly airplanes for a living."

"No shit! I seen some of those out at the base. Big white ones."

"No kiddin'?" he said. "You ever go up in one?"

She looked at him like he'd suddenly sprouted an extra head: "Ain't no way you'd catch me up in one of them things. Nope, not me!"

He laughed at her reaction: "I know what you mean." He moved and turned the chicken in the oil, turned down the fire under the skillet. "Hope you like fried chicken."

"I'm so hungry I could eat the bark off a tree!"