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by Rojodi Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Short Story · Contest · #2347952

Longfellow has a dream

He sat on the lakeshore beach, the midday sun cooking the sand and his skin. He removed his glasses and closed his eyes. He let the heat flow over the body, from his toes to his bare legs and chest, up to his face. He ignored the sounds of the screaming babies, the yelling of moms, and the giggling of teenagers off to this right. Longfellow needed to recharge his batteries, his soul, and those sounds, though ignored, assisted in that process. Longfellow Fortunatus-Vadeboncoeur Andrzej-Toussaint Darke, named to honor two maternal great-uncles and one pirate ancestor, suffered from frightful nightmares, ever since the crash.

The crash. Twelve-year-old Longfellow, called Shay by family and friends, was riding in the backseat of a cousin’s car when they were rear-ended by a drunk driver’s pick-up truck. He was sent flying through the windshield. He was unconscious when help arrived and stayed that way for the next three days. When he awoke, he felt like he had lived five lives, but reality was that he was out for three days.

“I need paper,” he whispered to the nurses. They quickly found some, and he furiously wrote what he could remember. Later, he discovered that he could recall more if he closed his eyes, listened to music, and opened the eyes as he wrote quickly. That was three years earlier, and now he was beginning to have nightmares about those lives.

He was sweating, not perspiring as the women in his life love to say, but full sweat. He opened his eyes and reached for his bag. It was heavy, even after removing the blanket, the towel, and the thick anthology of horror novellas. He reached down and removed a can of Dr. Pepper, cold from laying on top of ice sealed in plastic containers. He popped the can and watched as a group of teen girls sauntered past. He paused and was caught staring.

“I hoped I’d run into you,” the short redhead said, excitement in her blue/green eyes. Her smile showed him that she was happy to see him, and Shay’s heartbeat rapidly, taking away his breath. He could only nod. She waved her friends away and sat next to him.

“Hi, I’m Melissa Thayer,” she told him.


He awoke and fell out of bed, onto the carpet. It took Shay a few moments to realize where he was, still in the master bedroom. I moved and sat against the bed. He reached up onto the nightstand and pulled the clock towards him. Like the last three nights, it was 3:43 AM. He shook his head and gently, this time, returned the clock.

3:43 AM. The time when he received the call from Florida. The call, from a deputy sheriff, his voice old and cracking. From Florida, where his wife Vanessa was supposed to be, attending a conference of BIPOC attorneys and judges. His bride of four years was invited to attend, to interact with other women of color, to exchange ideas and share some of the obstacles they had as they rose through the ranks of law.

3:43 AM. Ten years ago, to this exact minute, he received that call. He wiped the tears from his eyes and stood. He grabbed his glasses and left the bedroom. He didn’t want to return to sleep.

“Hm.” He gasped when he remembered who he dreamed of before awaking. Melissa, his first love, and the first woman to break his heart. He hadn’t thought of her in years, and as he descended the brownstone’s wooden stairs, he questioned why she was in his dreams this night. He grabbed a diet Dr. Pepper from the large refrigerator and climbed back up, going into the library.

“Might as well get some writing done,” he whispered as he turned on the light.

“Oh Jesus!” he screamed when he saw Vanessa’s picture. He swore that he saw her facial expression change to a smile. He sighed, nodded to her, and sat at the old banker’s desk, and removed some paper.



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