A Peculiar String of Bizarre Dreams

Chapter 9: Trill and Tambourine

The sun is streaming in through the windows.

I squint and allow my eyes to adjust to the brightness in my room. I must've forgotten to draw the curtains close last night. I get out of bed and suddenly paralyze when I hear,

"Morning, dearest."

Her singsong voice drifts out of a corner in my room. I turn around and find my mother sitting on my couch.

Camira Stone is wearing her dark hair wrapped in a bun, and is dressed in a Victorian-esque navy blue dress, which looks like it belonged to a Jane Austen movie. As though Elizabeth Bennet pulled it out of her wardrobe and gave it to my mother because she looked more suitable in it. And quite certainly, my mother looks beautiful.

She is alive and breathing, and is smiling her wonderful gracious smile at me. A gray hardback book lays open in her lap.

"Mamma?" I almost gasp in disbelief.

"Who else would it be? Don't be scared. Did you have a nightmare again? Come here, sit by me."

I walk over to her in a daze, and scoot in beside her on the couch.

And then, it clearly hits me. I'm small. And not small like an adult who is considered petite. I stare at my hands, and then at my feet.

"Mamma, I am small!" I cry out.

She laughs, and I pick a harmony in the air. Her laughter is a song in the wind.

"Of course, you're small! Just a few more months, you'll be big and four soon!"

Hearing her say this, I begin to feel woozy. Is this what she meant when she used the word 'misimagined' in the scroll? Is this my imagination? Am I dreaming?

"Jemma, are you feeling okay? You're warming up."

I swallow and try to calm down.

I consider my options and narrow down to one: this is a dream, and I can take a dream where I want. I refuse to believe anything but the fact that I am lucid dreaming.

"I got your message in a scroll. I found it under my pillow. But I'm not sure if I understood. I know it was you. I fell asleep and now I'm dreaming."

After this crazy soliloquy, I scoot in closer towards her. She smells like green grass freshly sprinkled with water. I almost forgot how comforting it was to have her next to me. Her arm wraps around my shoulders and she holds me firmly.

I look up and search her brown eyes for answers. She looks back at me intently, and then slowly, I notice something in her eyes sliding back in place like clockwork. A moment passes before she smiles at me knowingly.

"How old were you when you read that message, Jemmalyn?" She asks me in a guarded manner.

"Eighteen. I read it a few minutes ago, before I fell asleep." I tell her without hesitation.

She laughs, looking relieved and states confidently, "You're not asleep."

"What then? I've traveled back in time?" I murmur and then consciously enunciate, "Why does it appear and feel like my eighteen year old self metamorphosed into the physical form of my three old self?"

She chuckles at this and it sounds like trill and tambourine.

"If you put it like that, then yes, that's precisely what has happened. But essentially, you've traveled back in time. You were born into a family of voyageurs de temps."

I briefly admire her immaculate pronunciation of that word and think how I could never attain such finesse. But I still find myself having a hard time believing all this talk about my...ability.

"You're starting to look a bit pale, Jemma. Do you want some water?" She asks, worry clouding over face.

"No, I'm okay," I try to assure her. "But honestly, I still feel like I'm dreaming. I don't think I can drink water if I'm dreaming."

She laughs again. And without even trying, I have to admit that it amazes me to see her like this. I've missed my mother.

"You aren't dreaming, I promise you. Come along now, let's get you a glass of water."