In Your Dreams

Chapter 7: Philosophy

           

It's not until Friday morning that I figure out how Chris and I know each other.

As I sit up in bed, a wave of dread rolls across my abdomen. Is it the aftermath of whatever dreams I had last night, or does it have something to do with the first day of school? I think of classes, lectures and homework, and my stomach settles somewhere between nervousness and excitement.

I wave good-bye to Casey and cross campus, feeling a new kind of nervous butterfly as I get closer and closer to my first class. I'm admiring the halls leading to the philosophy area, which are covered with brightly coloured murals with messages like "What came first, the chicken or the egg?" and "What is real?" A mural on the right catches my attention. Painted across a blue background, it reads, "Is there life after death?"

When Dad died, I was only three years old. The cancer news came fast and less than a year later, he was gone. I got to know him through home videos and his social media accounts—and Aunt Lindsey's stories, of course. She told me that after Dad died of cancer, I asked Mom if he was in heaven.

According to Aunt Lindsey, Mom sunk into a squatting position, took my hand and gave me a sad smile. "Yes, that's what I believe. I think your father's spirit lives on."

"Like an angel?" I'd asked.

"Something like that. I believe the mind and body are two separate entities. So when the body no longer works, it sets the spirit free."

"So Daddy's spirit is alive, but we can't see it because it doesn't have a body?"

Aunt Lindsey says my mom got emotional when I said that. "Exactly. You have to use a different sense to feel Daddy now. You have to use this."

I actually remember tracing Mom's gaze to her hand over my heart, like she was trying to hold onto me, onto Dad, onto us.

"I love you so much, sweetheart. You mean so much to me." Mom hugged me tightly and we stayed like that for a long time. I wish I could remember that hug. It was our last.

Then Mom pulled back and said she had to go to work.

"Why do you need to work?"

Mom and Aunt Lindsey had laughed. "You ask a lot of questions," my mom said with a chuckle.

"Reminds me of someone I know," Aunt Lindsey replied with a wink.

Mom's answer stuck with me: "Mommy's work is very important because you and your father are very important. Hopefully you'll understand that one day."

But I didn't. I didn't understand what chemistry had to do with me and my dad.

Why she had to work that weekend.

Why she had to die.

After the accident, Aunt Lindsey gave me some of Mom's things to hold onto. One of those bins was full of philosophy textbooks, pages creased and spines cracked, signs that their owner had read them over and over again. Only a board book called Philosophy for Kids was still in perfect condition, with the words "Dearest Jessie, live wisely. Love, Mom" scrawled inside the cover.

And that is why, fourteen years later, I find myself stepping inside the last room in the philosophy hall. There are endless rows of desks and a skylight that enables a ribbon of sunlight to cascade to the floor. The wind beats angrily against the glass, as if threatening to burst into the room and upset the rows upon rows of desks.

I take a seat behind a desk in the middle of the room just as a young female professor walks in. She has sparkling eyes and vibrant brown curls that bounce as her purple heels click across the floor. "Good afternoon, everyone! I'm Professor Hailey. Welcome to what will be the most confusing class you will ever take."