differences

1. fading away

harry

Some things have faded away since I woke up. I can't remember everything. I can remember the nightmares more so than the things my imagination conceived as a dream.
I wish I could say that even within the trauma realm that I didn't remember the children that seemed so real to me, and I wish I could also say I didn't long for them. Doctors say, I may forget them, and that is bittersweet. Do I want to forget William, Cathy, Jolene and Juliet? On one hand, this depressing feeling and longing for them would be gone, but if I hold on to them in my imagination, it's as close as it will ever get to being real.
Everything was more perfect in my dreams, and for all of it to be fake? Is hard to cope with, even harder to talk about. I'm trying my best though, I'm going to be in therapy weekly to learn how to cope with the loss. My therapist, Brenda says I'm allowed to call it that, a loss.
I lost out on a lot when I was asleep, high school graduation, college, dating, losing my virginity, a career, I lost 7 years of my life.
Why didn't my mom just let me go? Who am I kidding? If I were a parent...if I was actually a parent...if my kids were to-
I don't know, I'm still confused about who I am now, if my children who were in my coma dream had a tremendous accident which left them comatose and impaired for many years, I probably would do the same thing.
I don't blame her for keeping me alive, and I don't blame anybody for wanting me to be that way, yet moving on with their lives. Time doesn't stop, it's moving forward and I'm getting tossed in the deep end feeling like I have to swim but I don't know how.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm even in reality, what if this is the coma dream. I don't know.
Would I use it as an opportunity to do life differently? Would I change anything? Is this a do over?
I'm just waiting for everyone to break character, and say that this was some huge joke.
"Ready to be discharged?" My mother asks, packing a few things.
"Ready as I'll ever be I suppose, feels like I've been here for years," I joke to her and she laughs.
"It's really good to hear your voice, and seeing you standing, being yourself," she says, hugging me.
"Thank you," I say back to her.
"So! Where do you want to go to eat at? You must be starving!"
"I could go for breakfast, maybe pancakes at George's?" I ask.
"Absolutely."
As my mom and I eat pancakes, she tried to catch me up on what I've missed throughout the years, it's 2024 and so far I've missed a word wild pandemic that hit in 2020, tensions in America when fascists didn't get their way and countless other things.
"When we get home, Thomas is ready to cook anything and everything you could possibly want to eat for dinner and your friend Louis is more than welcome to join us," my mother tells me.

Ah yes, Louis.

Louis....

Who is he if not the person my mind perceived? If he's not the model, not my husband, or the father of my children, who is he? Surely he's not the popular high school jock who I was flirting with?
Could it be possible he never felt anything after I became comatose?

"THOMAS!" I shout, running to hug him as me and my mother enter our house.
I notice it's just the way I remember it, same smell, furniture and decor.
"Talk about sleeping in, huh?" He jokes.
"Is there anything you want to do? Anything you need?" My mother asks.
"I just want to take a shower, feel a bit like myself," I say to her.
"Sure thing, we'll be cooking dinner, Gemma is on her way home," she tells me.
"Can't wait!" I lie.
I'm happy to be home, alive and conscious for sure, but I'm not excited to see Louis after all of this time. I try to jog my memory in the shower, the last thing I remember is his football game, where he invited me to his party. Everything else is just black. It's dark.
I try to dress nice, but have to resort to clothes that kind of fit, so I settle for a light blue button down and black jeans with matching black boots.
I try to tame my hair when I hear, "Louis, thanks so much for coming!"
My heart races and my hands feel shaky. He's not my husband, he's not my boyfriend, he's, well, a friend I suppose.
"Harry, come downstairs!" My mother shouts.
I walk downstairs, timidly and shy. He looks, older for sure, same hair, same style, but more rugged and ripped, more tattoos.
I snap at myself for already being weak in the knees and mesmerized. He smiles at me, warm and kindly.
"It's good to see you," I say, "you look good."
"As do you, so glad to see you well," he tells me, making me smile.
We stare at each other for a second in awkwardness. It's awkward. I'm scared.
"Uh..um...my mom says that ugh... d-dinner will be done in a few, her and Thomas are cooking a bunch," I stutter.
"Don't be so nervous Harry, I'm so happy to see you," he replies.
All my mind can think of are a million questions that I want to ask, but I can't bring myself to ask them. My false perception of this man in front of me is that he's my husband, a father, my soulmate, my everything, but I feel like I don't have that territory to feel that way. Is he someone else's husband? Someone else's father? What does he do? Does he still hate hummus and does he enjoy the beach? Is he the type to be so comforting and understanding? Or is that just what I needed to hear to stay alive?
"We can go outside and talk if you need to," he says. "I remember you always saying, the smartest people ask the most questions and know the most answers," he says.
"I was always a fan of that mantra," I tell him, as we walk outside and sit on the steps.
"Ask anything," he says.
"I guess let's start off with what exactly happened at your party?"
"Well, everyone was drinking, dancing, you took a few shots, but you didn't look so good, you were shaking, panicking, so you insisted a few more would calm you down. Next thing I knew, you were seizing, shaking, throwing up. I made the decision to call the ambulance, knowing if it was just what I thought was mild alcohol poisoning, you'd be mad since you'd be in trouble. They wouldn't let me ride with you, so I drove as fast as possible in that god awful mini van I had. But when I got there, you were basically dead, doctors were saying you nearly drank yourself to death, but I said you only had a few shots, and even I had more than you. But the doctors realized, you're having an extremely complicated reaction to the alcohol, next thing I knew, days in the hospital turned into weeks, the weeks turned into months, and months into years. I'm really sorry, if I had known, I wouldn't have let you drink, I feel so guilty of robbing the last 7 years from you."
"Louis, you didn't. You didn't force me to do anything I didn't want to do, it was an accident. Nobody knew that would happen until it did."
"Do you have any long term symptoms from this happening to you?" He ask. Which is obviously a loaded question.
"Well, my head hurts sometimes, but mostly, they're psychological," I tell him, trying to be as honest as possible.
"What do you mean? Like trauma?" He asks.
"Yeah, I suppose I would call it that, can I be honest with you?" I ask.
"Yes of course!"
"I feel like I don't know you at all. When I was in a coma, you were the main center of all my visions and hallucinations. We had kids, we were married, we were together and then not together and then together again. I know a fake version of you, but I don't know you now. My only real perceptions of you are before that party, and now," I admit.
"Seems like we had quite the life together in a dream. But Harry, you do know me. I'm still Louis, I'm just older now, with a career instead of being a student, with more facial hair, and a few tattoos. I may be different since I've grown up since we last were in this reality, but I'm still Louis.
I think we both were expecting for something big to happen that night, it was written on our faces that night before the party even started. We had a connection, and I feel like we could still have that connection, better yet, it may give us the opportunity to be better than dreams," he tells me.
"Thank you for saying that, I needed to hear it, truly. Because I did feel our chemistry before my accident, it was something that scared me, deeply, but when it was good, it felt so good."
"It did, it felt like we were in our own world when we hung out together, I wish I could go back in time."
"I feel like I'm back in time, you know?"
"Who were you in your slumber?" He asks.
"Well...I was a father, a nurse, a husband, a healer, a victim, I was a lot of things, so to wake up after all of it, is almost like going back in time. I feel the hurt from the things I made up, and then I remember I made them up, and it almost feels like my own betrayal. But who are you? Are you seeing anyone, are you still friends with Niall and Liam, what's your life like now?" I ask.
"You know Niall and Liam?" He asks.

Oh yeah, he never got to introduce me to his friends.

"Well, yes and no, I knew of them, I knew they were your friends, but I don't know them either."
"Well, yes I'm still friends with them. Niall is a coach at Cheshire University, and Liam is a speech pathologist. I currently live with Niall, but Liam is actually married with a few kids, they call me "Uncle Lou" and Niall is recently divorced. But as for me? I'm a professor at Cheshire, I teach English, and I wrote a book, but I'm too afraid to let anyone read it. But other than that, life is pretty simple, routine."
"That's amazing, how far you've come. Are you also divorced or-"
"I've never been married, I've been in two long term relationships, but they never really worked out," he says. "Nothing bad, just lifestyle differences, and closing chapters," he tells me. "But now I'm curious, what was my life like in your dream?" He asks, and I start blushing.
"Well...y-you were a model, um, for ADIDAS, and we lived in this huge house, and we juggled kids, loss, a bunch of things were different," I confess.
"A model huh? Seems a bit far fetched, but I do love ADIDAS. As for the house and kids, I have a flat with Niall, who to be fair, is pretty childish."
"It was never about money that made the dream bearable," I tell him.
"Then what was it?" He asks.
"The kids, and you. But they're not real kids, which I struggle with to be honest. I'm definitely sad that they never existed if that makes sense? I feel like a part of me is missing, and that I don't know...I shouldn't be here sitting outside with you having a chat while my mom, who I still live with, is inside cooking with my childhood butler. I should be tucking them in to go to bed, and packing William's lunch for school in the morning."
"I know I'm not a therapist but if I can say, I think it's perfectly valid for you to miss them. They were intricate parts of you in which helped your brain continue going until you could wake up. It's okay to mourn them, even if they weren't real," he says.
"Thank you for saying that. There was a lot that happened to us in that dream realm, and to our children, but I do miss the good days."
"And that's okay. So...in this comatose dream, we had a son named William?"
"Yes, he was born prematurely, and had a lot of health issues, but luckily he grew up healthy. Then we had a daughter named, Catharina, but she didn't make it, and it was hard for us to move past it. Lastly we had a set of twins, Juliet and Jolene, and then, I woke up, and now I have nothing of them."
"That's a lot of kids," Louis chuckles. "We must of had the adoption agency busy," he laughs.
"That's the thing. They weren't exactly adopted, they biologically were ours," I explain.
"You mean? Like using our spermcells for your your sister's egg or something?" He asks.
"No...um not quite, more like, along with being allergic to alcohol, I had some other health defects."
"You mean like..pregnancy?" He asks, confused.
"Yes, it was weird, shocking even, but it seemed to make sense but saying it out loud now is kind of ridiculous," I joke.
"I'll say, but it's what your mind did to make sense of it all, and that's okay. Even if something like that were real, I'd still like you all the same," he jokes. "I know it may not be the same as your dream, but I'd like to for you to get to know the real me, I may not be a model, a husband or a dad, but I'm still Louis, and you're still Harry, that has to count for something right?" He asks.
"Yes, absolutely it does. And I don't need you to be a model, a husband or a dad, you can start but just being my friend over for dinner," I tell him, making him laugh.
Everyone tries to catch me up on everything that's happened, and what's been going on. Gemma swears to kick my ass if I don't get my GED, so it seems I have a lot set out to do after all this rest.