The DReAMers Pt. 01

"Hey, Buster," she smiled, "Back to bed. School tomorrow, remember."

I sighed and closed my notepad before returning to bed and slipping back under the thick blankets which kept out the Winter chill.

"Night, hon." she smiled as she came over and tucked me in before switching off the light.

"Night, mom," I yawned as I watched her close the door before rolling over and tucking the covers under my chin to keep in the warmth, "May the Force be with You."

I lay there with all sorts of thoughts running through my twelve-year-old head. I yawned wider as the dream world returned and I slipped sleepily back into it wondering if I would dream the same dreams again and if she would be there in them.

***

The copper kettle whistled as it stood rattling on the kitchen bench as I stumbled down the stairs to find my mother already sat at the table eating a bowl of cereal and reading the gossip section of the local newspaper.

"Hey, hon," she said as I headed for the fridge.

"Uh huh," I muttered as I took out my carton of orange juice and sleepily poured myself a glass before sitting opposite her. I glanced up at the paper she was reading: The Newton Gazzette. December 17th, 1977. "WHITEOUT - WEATHER WARNINGS FOR STATE!" said the headline. I looked out the window where the world was already hidden under a foot of freshly dunked snowfall.

Mom was already in her daily routine. Mom was divorced single Mom of five years who worked at a local packing company doing some sort of typewriter thingy stuff that put food on the table, bought me the odd Star Wars figure and paid the bills.

Mom was your typical Mom, I guess. Thirty-three. About five-seven in her slippers. Sort of pretty. Not so thin anymore. Lots of momsy girlfriends who'd help babysit - much to my embarrassment. We lived just outside of town off the interstate in a nice two bedroomed bungalow with a decent sized garden for Chewie to run around in. Chewie is my dog. I can talk to Chewie because Chewie just sits there and listens. Unlike Mom. Mom just pretended to listen most of the time.

"Mom?"

"Hmmmm?" she said from behind her newspaper.

"Do you have dreams?"

"Everyone has dreams, hon."

I know that. "No, what I mean is. Do people have dreams that are special?"

The paper dropped slightly and she peered at me over the top. "You have a bad one?"

I shook my head. "No. I just had one that was a bit weird," I wondered how much I should tell her before she thought I was imagining things or going wacko, "There was someone in it who was different. Someone who I know I've never met before."

Mom looked at me for a second and stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray.

"Was it a girl?" she asked.

I blushed and nodded. What had her being a girl got anything to do with it? Okay, I know all about girls. Well, sort of. I'm only twelve and three quarters after all. Most of my buddies thought girls should be left in the garbage chute.

I was warming to my topic. "Who are those people in my dreams that I've never met before?" I wondered out loud, "All those strangers with strange faces. Where do they come from?"

Mom put the paper down. "Who knows?" she said as she looked at me with a smile, "Maybe," she said as she leaned forward to whisper to me, "Maybe they're the people who are long gone and they sometimes come back when we dream. Remember when you saw Grandma, Grandad and Uncle Jake on the Death Star? Maybe this is the way they remind us of who they were so we don't forget them. And, maybe, all those strangers with strange faces are the people they've made friends with and brought with them to say hello from wherever it is they all went."

I stared wide-eyed at her. "That sounds kind of spooky."

Mom laughed at the look on my face as she got up to do the dishes. "Or you could just have an over-active imagination like your deadbeat Dad used to have."

Yeah. Good old, deadbeat Dad and his over-active imagination who turned out to be a nineteen-year-old shelf stacker named Shelly who had a ridiculous pair of, what my buddy Steve called, funbags on her.

But I was sure this dream had been different. There was just something about the girl that I knew was important.

"I remember the girl." I said firmly as Mom stopped at the door to the sitting-room, "I can see her face and hear the things she said to me," I looked up at her, "She said I would never be alone and that she would see me again one day. Maybe," I wondered as my mind raced away from me, "It's not only people from the past who are in our dreams but people from the future too!"

Mom stared at me for a moment before she came and kissed me on the head. "Well, if that girl comes back ask her what this weekends lottery numbers are, hon."

She ruffled my hair and laughed as I squirmed at the lovey-dovey stuff, " Anyway, I thought everything happened a long time ago in a galaxy far far away," she teased, "C'mon, tiger. Get ready for school. Last week before Christmas!"

"Mom," I sighed as I got up from the table and went and did as I was told. It was no use. Mom was just being sensible Mom. It's just Harry with his head in the clouds as usual. As I walked past the fridge, I glanced up and saw a familiar six-inch plastic figure on the top watching me.

"Who is she, Obi-Wan?" I asked him in a whisper, "She's beautiful."

Another six years would pass before I got the chance to ask that question again.

***

End of part 1.

Continues in The Dreamers: Part 2.

*