Chapter 11
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I HAD THAT SAME DREAM AGAIN.
The short chirp of my alarm clock. The trickle of light forcing its way around the edges of the curtain. The silky sheets. The fluffy pillow. The white ceiling.
That was the first thing I thought upon waking: I had that same dream again.
I blinked the sleep from my eyes, moving to shut off the alarm. I felt a modest weight atop my stomach, and lifted the freeloader who always prevented me from turning over in bed, placing her down on the floor. She was such a sleepyhead that she might not wake up even if the house was on fire, so it was okay to be a little rough with her.
I climbed out of bed and stood up, opening the curtains and letting sunlight flood in. Yep, clear skies again today. Perfect weather.
Might as well wash my face, I thought, when the cellphone sitting on the table beside my bed began to vibrate. I already knew who the text was from.
As I read the message, my back straightened. I had plans for today, so I would have to get ready and go out a little earlier than usual.
I went to the sink to wash my face. My long hair kept my bedhead to a minimum, but also kept me in the bathroom longer than most. Plus, I’d had that dream today. On those days, I always ended up staring at my own face in the mirror for a while.
Once I’d fixed my hair and wrapped up my time as a temporary narcissist, I went to the kitchen and took out some orange juice and the financiers I had bought yesterday. Two of my favorite things.
It was always around this time, when I sat on the sofa to eat my breakfast, that my resident freeloader decided to wake up. She wrapped herself languidly around my legs and began licking my feet. She was probably hungry. I would be doomed if she nibbled my feet off, so I brought her personal saucer and some milk for her breakfast. I had found this saucer for her especially, one with her name written on the rim. I don’t know what she was thinking as we ate breakfast, but I was thinking about dreams.
I often dreamt about my childhood, always my elementary school days. I had plenty of other important memories, but I only seemed to dream about then.
It was as if my heart was asking: Did you do it? Did you figure out how to be happy?
I was not suited to morning coffee, so I sipped another glass of orange juice and flicked on the TV, flipping through the channels, wondering what was on. But all I found was some old cartoons, some sad news story, and some kind of talk show comprised entirely of elementary schoolers. The important-looking college professors on one channel were saying the exact same sorts of things they were saying fifteen years ago.
I turned off the TV, leaving the little one by my feet as I moved to my office. I had lived in this two-bedroom apartment for three years now. When I searched for a home and told the real estate agent my number one requirement, they gave me a curious look. But they searched hard, and I was quite taken with the home they found on my behalf.
I had not a single unnecessary item in my workspace. I had a rolling chair beside a large desk, a notebook and pencil, an alarm clock, and a small computer. There were books on the bookshelf. And there was a blanket, upon which my tiny freeloader could sleep.
I sat down in my chair and opened up the notebook, reviewing yesterday’s work. Then I took up my pencil and set to work. This job required no commute. There were no set hours, nor overtime, no coming in late or calling out early. There were no other materials I needed. My notebook, my pencil, and my mind were the only things necessary in this world.
I set the clock. Once I got into my work, I quickly lost track of time. Sure enough, the hands flew swiftly today and, as usual, I was startled back into the world by my alarm. I marked a small circle in the notebook and stood from my chair. Normally, I would just disregard lunch entirely and keep on working, but not today. Today, I had something important to do.
I fixed my hair in the bathroom, side-eyeing my freeloader, who had gone back to sleep. I dabbed on a casual looking coat of makeup, changing into a skirt that was a little more stylish and whimsical than usual. I put on my favorite backpack, and I was ready to leave.
“Meow.”
The freeloader seemed to have woken. She sat by my feet, crinkling her brow and looking at me.
“What? Are you saying I shouldn’t wear a backpack to a date? Listen, life is like a backpack, after all.”
“Meow.”
“You stand a little taller when you’ve got something on your back. Plus, it reminds me of a school bag. I love it.”
She did not seem to understand my joke. She seemed more interested in hurrying outside, and began scratching at the door. Although she mooched off me, she always spent her days outdoors. I don’t know where she went. Perhaps she was climbing hills with some little girl somewhere.
Urged on by my freeloader, I decided to leave the house at once, although it was a bit early. I had a half-read book in my backpack, a pen, and a notebook. All the preparations necessary for a wonderful time. My hair and skirt swayed in such a way that it felt like I was dancing. It would be summer soon.
“Oh, March!” I called after my cold-hearted freeloader as she left, not even waiting for me to lock the door.
She turned back with a flirty glance. I wondered what memories lay behind those alluring eyes, the eyes of someone who lived half her life like a stray. As curious as I was, it was a question she would never answer.
“I’ll be back before midnight. Find somewhere to amuse yourself.”
“Meow.”
There was no need to worry about her, she seemed to say, bounding off on light feet, her long tail swaying back and forth. Although she looked a bit different, her behavior reminded me very much of a wicked girl I once knew.
Now then, time for me to go.
“Happiness won’t cooome, wandering my way, sooo thaaat’s why I set ooout to find it todaaay!”
I stretched, taking in the scenery, and took my first step out into the day.