The Sorrowful Shores of Dream

I am a brother to dragons, and a companion to owls. - Job 30:29

(For Robin, who asked me to write a story about dragons, elves, and unicorns . . . . )

Melissa came awake with a start, her heart beating in great excitement. Her husband Tim had turned over in his sleep, tearing her from the world of dreams, and the transition was so jarring that she almost wept for the loss. Melissa glanced over at the alarm clock on the bedside counter; it's glaring red 6:45 mocked her. Time enough to fall back asleep, but not long enough to return to the world of dreams. She reached over and shut off the alarm, then quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to rouse her husband.

Melissa started the coffee running, then got into the shower. As the hot water poured down upon her, she closed her eyes, and tried to recapture her dreams. But they were lost to her, scattered upon the winds like the gossamer strands of a spider's web. One thing remained, however, an image from her childhood. In the dream there had been a large dragon, a sleek and elegant creature out of a child's storybook. But unlike most dragons, this one had shimmering black scales, opalescent as they reflected the light of the moon. It's underside was purple, with streaks like lavender flames running up its sides. In the dream she had ridden on the creature's back, pressed low against it, as it soared through the sky, high above forests untouched by the hand of man, over beaches of black sand, and oceans that stretched out into infinity. She remembered the feel of its scaly flesh, the warmth of its body as she held on for dear life, occasionally daring to raise her head to peer out at the clouds that raced by her, or the alien marvels that spread out below them. The world of the dragon was too beautiful to be her own.

The dream of the dragon was not a new one. Melissa had, in fact, been having it all her life. It had been especially strong as a child, when she would hide in her bed, the covers pulled tightly over her head to drown out the angry sounds from her parents' bedroom. Curled in a ball, under her covers, she would eventually fall asleep, and then dream of a land where her drunken father would never be able to find her, a land of two suns and purple skies. A place where elves danced deep in the forests, and unicorns ran along the black sand beaches. A place of magic and possibility, of escape and happiness.

As the years went by, Melissa dreamt of her imaginary world less and less, until she stopped dreaming of it altogether. Perhaps she had no need of it any more, or perhaps she had no time for dreams. When she was 12, her father was taken from her in a drunken accident, which, surprisingly, he hadn't been the cause of. A carload of teenagers returning from a school dance ran a red light and barreled into his car, killing him upon impact. Over the next four years, her mother went from one loser boyfriend to the next, until she ended up marrying an abusive asshole named Rick who was more interested in Melissa than her mother. When Melissa came to her mom and tried to explain what Rick was doing to her, her mother exploded in a rage, and threw her out of the house, unwilling to believe that the man she loved could be capable of such things. (He was arrested a year later for the rape and murder of a neighborhood girl.)

Melissa managed to stay with friends, until she met Tim, who was willing to take her in. They eventually married, although he was a number of years older than her, and while their life together was not great, it was certainly better than it could have been. Certainly she didn't love him, but he had shown her kindness in her time of need, and one has to make do with what one can. Besides, he only beat her when he was drunk, and she knew him well enough to avoid him when he was in "one of those moods".

Unfortunately, Tim had been laid off a while back, and with winter coming on, things were looking pretty scarce in the job market. He was increasingly getting moodier, and it was less and less common for him not to be drunk. But she avoided him as best she could, working as many hours as they would give her at the diner. And whenever someone called in sick, she was the first to volunteer to fill in for them. That's why she was getting up at seven in the morning, although she had helped close the diner just a few hours before.

Melissa, then, was too busy to dream, to wander in fields of fantasy. Yet, increasingly of late, dreams of her childhood world kept coming back, and not just while she slept. Several times over the last couple weeks she had found herself staring off into the distance, joining the elves in their lithe dances, or racing though the thigh-high grasses of a distant veldt with a herd of unicorns. And the black and purple dragon - her imagination conjured him most often. He seemed always to be with her, just behind a corner, almost out of sight, but not entirely.

The ice cold water brought Melissa back to herself. Shivering as she stepped out of the shower, she mumbled aloud, "How long was I in there?" and then she spotted the bathroom clock and began to swear. "Damn it, damn it, damn it! I'm going to be late."

Like an avenging fury, she rushed through the house, getting dressed and collecting her things, stopping only long enough to grab herself a cup of coffee, and then she was out the door. It was a chilly November morning, and predictably enough, her old Plymouth gave her trouble starting. She let loose with a string of vile invective and began pounding her fists on the steering wheel. Apparently this frightened the car into submission and the monster roared to life. Thankfully, no one was on the streets at that obscene hour, and Melissa began to think that she might actually make it to work on time.

Her hopes were dashed when she saw the angry look on the face of Mike - the eponymous owner of the diner - who was hurriedly setting things up in the kitchen. "Goddamnit, don't any of you have any responsibility? Look at this!" He growled, pouring oil into the fryer. "My cook calls in at the last minute, saying he ain't coming in, he's sick. You haven't shown up - I'm thinking I'm gonna have to run this shit-hole myself. What the hell is wrong with you kids today?"

Melissa ignored the red-faced old man as he continued his tirade, slipping into her uniform and then helping him set up for the morning rush, refraining from mentioning that she was covering for one of the other waitresses on this, her day off. When the first customers started trickling in at 9:00 they were ready for them, though, so it turned out well.

Mike's was an old, tired place that had definitely seen better days. Unfortunately, those days were long behind it, and not likely to return. The linoleum was dingy and cracked, and many of the leather chairs had silver electrical tape on them. None of the cups or dishes matched, and the vases of fake flowers that sat on each table were faded and brittle from age. Yellowed pictures of mountain scenes and sad old women stared down from the walls. The lights were dim and flickered occasionally.

But the regular customers who frequented Mike's didn't mind. In many ways they resembled the little diner. Elderly men in heavy flannel shirts that hung limply off their shoulders; women who dyed their hair unnatural colors and wore too much make-up but never succeeded in hiding the ravages of time; dirty, vacant-eyed vagrants who came in for the cheap food and free refills of coffee; and the lonely truckers passing through on their way to Highway 110. Just as the moribund spirit of decay and depression had touched the little diner, it was no stranger in the lives of all those who frequented Mike's.

Although the term "morning rush" was something of a joke at Mike's, as they usually only had the same five or six people who ritualistically came to the diner for breakfast before work or to stem off the loneliness that comes with old age, on this particular morning, the term was indeed applicable. All of the stools in front of the counter, and well over half of the booths were occupied, with just Melissa to serve them all.

Melissa tried admirably to do it, running from one table to the next, juggling breakfast specials, order slips, and pots of coffee in her arms. But she was only one woman, and quickly fell behind. She got orders wrong several times, spilled coffee on a customer, and gave incorrect change to another. He did not return the amount, and she only found that out later, when she was counting her till. A number of customers grew impatient after having to wait, and made all manner of rude comments about her inability to do her job, and their need to hire more help. She merely nodded and poured their coffee, or counted out their change, and moved on to the next table, where she heard it all over again.

At one table there had been a family, a man and a woman, and two children, one aged 8, the other a toddler. When she had come for their order, they hemmed and hawed indecisively while the person at the next table rattled his empty cup suggestively. When she asked if they would like a few more moments to choose, the father said that they had certainly waited long enough for her, she could wait for them. So Melissa stood there patiently while the family went over their menu yet again, and the person at the other table began to pound his cup and make loud coughing sounds. They eventually decided, and she brought them their food, but the youngest child did not eat it. Instead he dumped his juice all over the table, painted the walls with his scrambled eggs, and dropped bits of toast on the person sitting behind him.

This was essentially how her day went, until around 11:00 when there was enough of a lull that Mike could come out from the kitchen and make calls to the other waitresses. Eventually he reached Jamie - the girl that Melissa had agreed to cover for - and she consented to coming in, much to the delight of Mike.

"Ya see that, Missy." He said, helping her clear off the counter. "That's what I was talking about earlier. Jamie there, she's got the responsibility. She's coming in to help on her day off. If only more of you kids were like that, this country wouldn't be going straight into the crapper."

Before Melissa could sputter out that she was the one who had come in on her day off, a trucker in the far corner booth shouted, "Yo, a little help here?" And she resignedly went off to take his order.

When Jamie eventually showed up - almost an hour and a half later, well into the lunch rush - Melissa was about ready to drop dead. She hadn't had her break, and the burden of being the only waitress all day was bearing heavily upon her. That's why, when she first saw the dragon, she was convinced that it was an hallucination from her fatigue.

She had been cleaning a table that looked out onto the street-front when she glimpsed in the distance an odd shape. At first she thought it was a low-flying airplane until it made an abrupt dive and then turned that into a loop. No airplane she knew of could do that. A bird, perhaps? A bat? What could it be? She stared intently out the window as the curious black figure performed a series of aerial acrobatics above the abandoned building across the street. Then it seemed to stop, and turn, and look directly at her. It slowly began to come forward, and as it approached the diner, Melissa, the air catching in her throat, was able to make out what it was - it was the dragon from her dreams!

"Hey, girl. Whatcha looking at?" Jamie asked, coming up behind her.

Melissa, startled and speechless, just pointed out the window.

"What?" Jamie asked, leaning up against Melissa. "I don't see anything."

Melissa turned and looked at her friend. "It's right there in front of us. What do you mean you can't see anything?" But when she turned back to stare out the window, the dragon had vanished.

Jamie squinted to see, then shook her head. "Okay. No more coffee for you, girl. You're seeing things."

Melissa pressed her forehead against the window to try and get a better look, but the dragon really had disappeared. She felt her heart sink, and was gripped by an unbearable sense of loss. Tears welled up in her eyes, and it was only her steely composure which kept them from falling.

"Thanks for covering for me, even though I didn't get to escape this hell-hole after all." Jamie continued.

Melissa took a couple deep breaths and then turned and looked at her friend. "You mean you weren't sick after all?"

Jamie laughed. "Well, I wasn't in any shape to come in this morning. Bill got paid last night, and we went out drinking, on account of it was also his brother's birthday. Oh boy, I was feeling every minute of it this morning. I threw up like three times. Uggh. That was no fun. But last night sure was." She smiled conspiratorially. "We did it in his car, behind the bar. But that wasn't all - we were frisky all the way home, and then did it again when we got there. Three times in one night, can you believe it? Ha ha. We haven't done it that many times in . . . months."

Melissa couldn't believe it. It had been a lot longer than a few months since she and Tim had done it, let alone done it three times in one night. She tried hard to think if they had ever done it that many times in a single evening, and she couldn't come up with an instance. Tim was considerably older than she, and so even when times had been good, their sex life had been nothing to write to Penthouse about. But lately, with all of his drinking and depression - she didn't think he could even get it up. And if, by some quirk of fate he were able to have an erection, she wouldn't want to get close enough to him to do anything about it. The stench of stale beer and urine were always about him, a palpable miasma of decay and desperation.

Things were easier with Jamie there, but they were no less hectic. At one point, all of the booths were filled, and since people were on their lunch breaks, they were in even greater hurries and less understanding of mistakes. On top of that, there were a bunch of truckers at the front counter, and they were giving Jamie and Melissa a hard time. Big guys with bellies that hung over their belts, they reeked of old sweat and cigarette smoke. One of them would tell a joke or make a pass at the girls as they walked back to get an order, and all of the others would laugh uproariously. Melissa was carrying a stack of dirty dishes that she had bussed from a table, and the guy who was sitting on the end reached out and grabbed her ass as she walked by. Melissa's mind had been wandering, and the assault startled her, and she dropped the stack of dishes. They clashed to the ground and broke and all of the truckers let out with their big, dumb laughter: Hu-huh hu-huh hu-huh.

Melissa knelt down to pick up the broken shards, and Mike came out from the kitchen, bellowing, "What the hell was that? You dumb, clumsy girl. Look what you did. Just look at this mess!" Melissa's wall of composure cracked as the plates and cups had cracked, and she began to cry as she knelt there, picking up the broken porcelain. When she had it all cleaned up, she carried it to the back and dumped it in the trash bag, then picked the trash bag up and said through her tears, "I'm taking my break now."

Mike said, "You can't take your break. We have a room full of customers."

"Look, you asshole." She growled, her embarrassment and sadness giving way to anger, "I've dealt with a room full of customers all day. Jamie can fucking handle it!" And then she slung the bag over her shoulder and stormed out of the kitchen.

Mike watched her go, then shouted, "You've got ten minutes!"

"Fine!" Melissa yelled as she slammed the door shut after her.

Melissa carried the bag out to the dumpster behind the diner and crammed it in there with all of her strength, then she slammed the heavy lid shut a couple times, and let out an angry, frustrated, humiliated scream. When it ended, she slumped down beside the dumpster and buried her head between her knees and cried, rocking back and forth. She hated her boss, hated her job, hated her husband, hated her life. It all came out as water through a broken dam, and she cried until she had no more tears to shed. Then she sat there, shaking but not sobbing, feeling like a baby bird that has fallen out of its nest, a broken, twisted creature struggling futilely for the safety of the nest, even as every breath it takes brings it closer to death.

Melissa felt a warm breath upon her back, like steam rising from the earth's core, and somehow her soul's raw wound was soothed. The presence behind her was strong and wise and ancient beyond human reckoning, and she drew strength and comfort from it. A heavy, scaled claw was placed upon her shoulder, and though the might contained in that one paw was enough to tear an hoary oak from its roots, it was gently, almost delicately placed there, a father's reassuring gesture though she had never felt that in her life. A faint smile came to her lips, and Melissa turned to look behind her. There was nothing there.

She scrambled to her feet and looked about her frantically to catch a glimpse of the dragon, but she found herself alone in the alley behind the diner.

"Come on, Melissa, what are you doing? We've got a full house here." Jamie said, poking her head through the back door.

Melissa cast one last longing glance into the sky, and then followed the urgent waitress into the diner.

The rest of the day passed in a blur for Melissa. All that she could think of was the warm breath on her neck, and the feel of the dragon's paw as it was placed upon her shoulder. She signed out and gathered her stuff in a daze, absently waving good-bye to Melissa and the new shift waitress. She got into her car, and drove home on automatic pilot, wondering at the whole thing. Had it happened, or was it really just a dream? There weren't dragons. They were just figures in children's dreams and characters in fantasy books. This was the real world, where there was no magic. Just pain, and emptiness, and Tim waiting for her at home. She had almost convinced herself of that by the time she reached her house.

She sat in the car for a few minutes, readying herself for the inevitable fight that would occur. How easy it would be, to just turn the car back on and drive away. Where would she go? She had no idea - as far as half a tank of gas would get her.

The porch light turned on, and Tim opened the door. He stood there and she watched him watching her for several long moments. Then he asked, "You coming?" and Melissa took the keys out of the ignition, and got out of the car. He stepped out of the way, and let her in, closing the door behind her.

Overhead, a sleek black shape flew across the face of the moon. It wasn't an airplane, and it was too large to be a bird.

* * * Melissa set out the dishes for dinner, and called to Tim, who was sitting in the other room, where he had remained all day, watching television. She received no answer that time, nor when she called again after dishing out their food. So she quietly ate by herself, and then cleared away her dishes, leaving his plate on the table for when - or if - he roused himself.

She went into the living room and turned off the porno which was blaring on the TV. She paused to look at her husband, passed out in his chair. There was a big wet spot spreading out from his crotch, and he held a can of beer precariously, about to dump it out onto the floor. She took the beer from his sleeping hand, and pulled a cover up over him. Then she turned out all of the lights and went to bed.

The dragon stretched out it's wings, and glided down towards the waiting earth. It passed over businesses and parks and houses and empty streets, making its way through the slumbering town with determination. Dogs in yards barked at the dragon as it passed, but it gave them no attention. An old wino on a park bench saw the elder beast pass by and his heart was so gripped with fear that he died. The dragon did not notice; it cared for nothing in the world but the one for whom it had come . . .