Requiem for a Soldier (Requiem #1)

Chapter 27: Wild Ride

July 2

Ana

I pull the last stubborn weed out of the tomato patch and toss it on the heap for Ryan's compost pile.

"I have another offering to the compost gods," I call to him.

Casper scrambles to his feet at the sound of my voice and watches me warily from the other side of the electric fence. Ryan installed the fence soon after the little garden was planted to keep critters out. Casper found himself included in the list of animals repelled by the sharp sting of the current running through the fence only a few hours later. I'd like to say Casper learned his lesson, but it wasn't until two more zaps that he finally developed a respect for the barrier.

Ryan emerges from the shed and wordlessly gathers up the biomatter I've set aside for him. He spares me a slight glare for my teasing comment. I laugh at his annoyance, which I'm pretty certain is mostly a farce. He ducks his head, but I catch what might be a small quirk at the corner of his mouth. After depositing the material by his precious compost pile, he stands there in silent contemplation. He's probably mulling over the perfect ratio of "greens to browns" or whatever the names for compost ingredients are. He explained to me once how the whole process works, but I just couldn't comprehend why he cares about it so much.

"You know, if you'd devoted half the time you spend on that trash heap to playing the cello, you could have been the next Yo-Yo Ma," I shout to him across the yard.

I'd hoped calling it a trash heap would get a verbal response out of him, but all I get is a shake of the head. A little disappointed, I finish up in the garden and sit in the shade on the porch. Sipping a glass of ice water, I do some pondering of my own.

Ryan's been extra quiet for the past week and a half, ever since the day we went camping. At first I thought he was mad at me for pushing him too far about his clothes. Then I thought maybe it was his ex's birthday or some other day of significance that's bothering him. But now, an entirely different idea has dawned on me.

Why can't I get you out of my head?

The words from my dream that night in the tent replay in my mind. I'd been having a dream that I was dead. It was a recurring nightmare I'd been experiencing since that terrible night last November. While disturbing, I preferred dreaming that I was a corpse to dreams of being hunted down by my family's murderer. At least the becoming-dead part was over. But in this iteration of the dream, something had changed. I was Juliet Capulet from the oh-so-famous Shakespearean tragedy, lying in a death-like slumber in the Capulet family tomb. While unusual, this wasn't the part of the dream that had me so perplexed.

Romeo was with me in the dream. He hovered over my - Juliet's - body, half his face hidden by the shadows of the dim tomb. But instead of quoting Romeo's dialogue, kissing me, and drinking a vial of poison, he just watched me for what seemed an eternity. Then he disappeared into the depths of the tomb. After a moment, the words "Why can't I get you out of my head?" were spoken from somewhere in those depths.

I woke up after that, confused to return to myself and in a strange environment. Though I knew the words must have just been a dream, I looked around for Romeo anyway. I was alone in the tent, aside from Casper curled up next to me.

Up until just now, I'd been convinced it was nothing more than an odd dream. But suddenly, I'm not so sure. Though the corner of the cabin blocks my view of him, I glance over in the direction of Ryan's compost pile. What if it wasn't a dream? What if he said those words? What if that's why he's started acting weird?

If the words from my dream were actually a secret confession from Ryan, what does it mean? Does he mean I'm insanely annoying? I'm always in his head because I never give him any space to think? These seem unlikely, but the obvious interpretation seems even more ridiculous. He can't get me out of his head because he's falling in love with me. I shake my head, trying to break loose from that absurd thought. This is ludicrous, imagining that Ryan is secretly pining over me. He's given no indication whatsoever that he's interested.