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She rustled the cotton sheets as she rose and tiptoed quietly across the
room. The moonlight formed a silhouette, exaggerating the curve of her
hip and demanding his attention.
“
This is all wrong.”
“
It always is.” He placed his hands on her waist and then enclosed her with
his arms.
She jumped at his touch, but didn’t stop him. She felt his chin knead her
shoulder and heard his voice whispering. “They never get the order right,
Syd.”
She laughed, looking over the half-eaten cartons of Chinese food on the
table. She picked a cashew from one, sucked the sauce off of it, then crunched
the nut. “Never? Beef broccoli and kung pao chicken are apples and oranges.
How do they confuse them?”
Loosening his hold while still grasping her hips, he steadied her as she
reached for a carton. “You really can’t remember.”
He let go, allowing her to turn and walk back into the living room. She
sat on the pile of sheets that he had thrown down on the living room floor,
legs crossed and carton in hand.
He brought a carton of his own and took a seat opposite her.
Anxious, she began to explain mid-bite, but halted, chewing her food self-consciously.
She tried again. “I know….” She glanced around the near empty room. No
photos hung on the wall and no furniture gave dimension to the room. She
set her food aside and moved his as well. Shoving him to the ground, she
straddled him and recalled how much she liked the smell of his skin. “I
remember you.”
The shadow was obscuring her face, but he could detect from her voice the
blush that was spreading across her cheeks. “But the details are the worst
of it–these trivial reminders that I have no idea who I am.”
* * *
She dreamt often of him and the apartment.
She couldn’t place the man, but the dream felt so familiar that she had
trouble distinguishing fantasy from reality. When she entered the dream,
it was as though she had awakened from another. The tactile and viscous
quality of the dream gave it away, for the feel of the sheets, the taste
of the food, and the smell of his sweat were better than any she had experienced.
Only once did she experience the dream from his perspective, seeing what
he saw and feeling what he felt all at once. That time, she awoke startled
by the insight that he wanted her to remember these details even more than
she did. She wondered again who he was.
* * *
A movie played on a small television set in front of her.
“
She’s gone. She gave me a pen. I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen.”
She sat curled up on the couch, him wrapped around her. She wasn’t certain
when the couch had arrived, but it was soft and he was warm. She turned
to him. “I once gave you a pen. My hair was red and my mouth hurt like
hell.” A smile began to curve her lips, as she was proud that, for once,
she could remember.
He rubbed nose against hers. “I gave you two pens in exchange for the empty
one you gave me and the name of a good dentist.”
Her eyes flashed with another recollection. “Two pens and your heart.”
He nodded wistfully.
* * *
She dreamt of weddings stained mostly gray, as though she had photographed
them in black and white, filtering out the bright light.
Sometimes she was the bride, painted white, eyes shining at her groom.
The groom would change – accents, clothes, haircuts, and smiles. There
were never any bride’s maids; just the same dour, gray-haired man walking
her down the aisle.
More often than not, she watched the green-eyed man get married. His brides
were faceless, though all the other guests seemed not to mind. Once, she
jumped out of her seat and tried to yell at an inappropriate moment only
to find that she had no mouth. No one even noticed that she had stood up.
Once she dreamt in color, less a dream and more a snapshot. Their eyes
were held shut, their arms enclosing each other, their lips the only thing
moving. She wondered how she knew it was he – eyes closed and all – but
decided that he smelled like the green-eyed man and that was proof enough
for her.
She later wondered whether her inability to speak at his wedding was connected
to the details she was perpetually forgetting in the other dream. She drew
no conclusions.
* * *
One night, she ordered in Chinese. It came exactly as she ordered it and
tasted like oily cardboard, not at all like the sweet cashews in her dreams.
She turned on the television, looking for companionship, but found nothing.
She looked at the framed photos on the bookshelf – her mother, recently
deceased, whose hair was once all ringlets, and her father, whose face
was always shadowed by stubble – but decided that they could not tell her
why she dreamt of this green-eyed man.
She decided to confront him. She crawled into bed, convinced that she could
summon him through sheer will. She recalled her dreams and replayed them
in her head, but practiced new words. She would find out who he was and
why he called her Syd.
She fell asleep at last and awoke at a wedding in the apartment. In her
efforts to find him, she had tangled her dreams. The half-eaten Chinese
food was still there and she was naked, but there were guests filing through
the living room. She looked for his green eyes, and found them in the center
of the room, legs crossed on the floor.
As she walked toward him, he rose and straightened his bow tie. He yanked
her by the arm and led her into the bedroom. It was much larger than she
had imagined, for it held a hundred guests.
He spoke under his breath. “In my dreams, you never marry me.” They marched
down the aisle. The dour, gray-haired man was nowhere to be seen.
She mimicked his hushed tone. “But I gave you a pen.”
“
I didn’t want a pen, Syd.”
“
Who is Syd?” She felt the lacey edge of her cuffs and looked down at her
dress.
They reached the altar. He gathered her hair, rubbing it between his fingers. “Whether
you remember or forget – it’s your decision.”
* * *
She woke from her dream, annoyed that it had led her to a confusing place.
She grabbed her pillow, squeezed it into the space between her neck and
the bed, and resolved to try again.
* * *
She opened her eyes. She lay on the apartment floor, wrapped in the sheet,
his arm across her chest. She carefully moved his arm to the side, then
rose and crept anxiously across the room. He watched her figure awash in
moonlight, the curve of her hip as it swayed.
“
This is all wrong.” She anticipated his arms embracing and chin resting.
She breathed in his scent.
“
It always is.”
She relished his touch and turned to face him. “They never get the order
right.”
A smile curved his lips. “They never do.”
* * *
A siren blazed and shook her from her sleep. She felt the cool pavement
against her cheek. Pushed herself up from the ground, she brushed off the
dirt that adhered to her cheek. She looked up at the neon sign that flashed
above her.
She searched for a phone booth and dialed anxiously.
“
Dispatch.”
“
This is officer 2300844, calling for connection. Confirmation looking glass.”
-fin-
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