In Your Dreams

Stage 3: REAL, Chapter 9: Creek

Stage 3
Difficult to be awakened

Chapter 9

The wind howls as we exchange the refuge of the gym for the blistery outdoors. Groups of students huddle under the awning, preparing to dash across campus fast enough to beat the threat of oncoming rain. The sound of their chatter fades as we head past the gym, where the grass grows taller and trees crowd together.

I tug my cardigan closer, rubbing my arms to keep warm.

"You okay?" Chris asks. "I didn't think September would be so cold."

Chris is wearing a grey T-shirt and workout shorts. "You're wearing even less than I am," I realize. "Are you okay?"

Chris peels the top of his shirt off his chest and lets it fall back. "My sweat will keep me warm for another five minutes."

I laugh. It already feels so normal to be walking and talking with him, like we've done this before. How is this possible?

A fierce gust of wind pushes against our backs, jutting us forward. We really didn't think this through. But then, how were we supposed to know we've been dreaming about each other for years?

Actually, how long have we been dreaming about each other? Do our dreams go back even further than grade five? And do we always have the exact same dreams, the same way people share moments in real life? What is real life?

The grass is now up to my knees, but we've reached an area that is so populated with trees, we're finally protected from the wind. I release my hunched up posture, craning my neck to see ahead of us.

"So, how did you figure it out?" Chris gives me a curious look. "I knew I knew you, but I couldn't figure out how."

I think back to the Bull's Horn and how he said my name first. I sidestep a fallen tree. "Actually, it was a memory of a dream in a forest kind of like this one. We were running from someone."

Chris stops walking, his eyebrows furrowing as something dawns on him. "And you hurt your knee."

Something itches at the back of my mind. "Wait." I point in the direction we came in. "When we bumped into each other by the pool, you actually said something about my knee. You must have remembered our dream!"

He looks down at my knee, now covered in dark blue denim instead of blood. "And that red plastic chair popped out of nowhere."

"Yes, the red chair!"

"I was trying to remove something—"

"—someone was chasing us—"

"—and then we ran off."

I have to force myself to take full breaths, like we ran now instead of however many nights ago it was. We've now pieced together two dreams from more than twenty-four hours ago.

This is crazy.

Chris keeps walking. "So that means the night before we got the swim team results is when we were in the forest..."

The sound of rushing water reaches my ears, and then I see it. A few feet ahead the land flattens and stops at the edge of a wide creek, which stretches as far as I can see in either direction. Water gurgles as it slides over rocks, sloshing against the bank on either side. And while the creek is an unfortunate shade of brown—this is Ontario, after all—the sight of natural water stirs its usual reaction in me.

"It's beautiful." I take a giant leap forward but Chris gives my arm a tug, gently pulling me back. I notice that even that closeness feels normal. And then the fact that it feels normal makes me feel not normal.