In Dreams

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
I have been disabled for several years now. But once in a while I have a dream where I am still able to do the things I used to... like run.

Submitted: July 09, 2015

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Submitted: July 09, 2015

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I let my toes sink into the sand, and take a deep breath.

The salty sea breeze gently caresses my face, and small waves calmly splash against my ankles.

I open my eyes when I feel him take my hand in his. And I smile. The weather is perfect, and I rest my head on his shoulder.

“You sleepy?” he asks.

“Getting there. Kinda just want to go home now and wash off all this sand,” I say. Still smiling.

“Yeah, it is getting kind of late. Been here all day. Come on. I’ll race you to the car.”

With that, he lets go of my hand and starts running. No way am I going to let him beat me, so I follow. I run fast, jumping over a washed up log, attempting to catch up... when it hits me.

I stop dead in my tracks.

Noticing that I am no longer running, the young man I am madly in love with stops running, with a questioning look on his face.

“What is it Cristina?”

His brown eyes are filled with concern.

It is at this moment I realize I have no idea what his name is.

“This isn’t real.”

He gives me a confused look.

“What do you mean this isn’t real?” he says with a bit of a chuckle in his voice, realizing how ridiculous I sound.

“I can’t run.”

His face goes serious again.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m okay. It’s just that I’m unable to run.”

He lifts his eyebrows and looks puzzled.

“What do you mean you can’t run? You were just doing it.” He’s becoming annoyed, because in his opinion I’m not making any sense.

I look down at my feet. There are no scars. No bumps.

More proof that none of this is real. I burst out crying.

My significant other, who’s name I don’t know, comes running to me.

He takes me in his arms.

“Oh come on Cristina. Don’t cry. Are you in pain baby? Did you step on something?”

“ No.” I say through sobs. “I just can’t run.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re just tired. Here, I’ll carry you back to the car,”

He lifts me up with little effort.

I wrap my arms tightly around him, never wanting to let go. I’m not ready to let go. I wipe my tears on his shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay Cristina. You’re just tired. We’ll get you home soon.”

 

 

With that I open my eyes only to realize I am already home, and I am no longer being carried by him anymore. I am lying in bed, and my face is soaked with my own tears.

I am completely alone.

I lie in bed for a long time, replaying the dream in my mind.

Who was the young man? I know I loved him. He was gorgeous.

But as time ticks by, the image of his face begins to fade.

What colour were his eyes? Brown was it?

 

 

The crying is out of my system, and I sigh, deciding to make my way to the washroom, and wash my tear stained face, before anyone sees me and asks questions.

I very slowly sit up, and my back cracks.

 

It is bearable.

 

I take a deep breath and stand up. The pain shoots through my left leg and I try not to yelp.

 

This is normal.

 

Okay... It’ll take 7 steps for me to make my way out of the corner of the kitchen where my bed stands, and into the bathroom.

I count every step.

This should have been sand not tears I’m washing off. I wash my face and look into the mirror.

 

Good enough.

 

I think about running on the beach, and laugh a little to myself.

I am physically unable to walk on sand, let alone run on it.

 

7 steps back to the bed where I will spend my day. My left ankle cracks. But only a few times.

I look out the window, and unto the road below. People are walking, and cars are passing by.

Maybe today someone will take me outside.

Wait... no. Everyone is busy today.

Maybe tomorrow? I haven’t been outside in weeks.

Maybe tomorrow.

I position myself in bed as comfortably as I can, to avoid the pain.

What a silly dream.

 

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