perfectworry | [nonfiction: memoir?] waking dreams

title: Waking Dreams
rating: PG
word count: 697
community:

writerverse
prompt: Phase #09: Challenge #03: Prompt Table: #10: Waking Dreams (caveat: second person)
summary: You wake up from a dream you woke up from a dream.
notes: This is creative nonfiction, down to the detail about my father eating his eggs with catsup.

You blink awake. You yawn, stretch. You rub the sleep from your eyes and run your hands through your sticking-up hair. You roll your shoulders, touch your toes and climb out of bed to face another day.

*

You blink awake. You yawn, stretch. You rub the sleep from your eyes and run your hands through your sticking-up hair. You roll your shoulders, touch your toes and climb out of bed to face a new day, but you can’t find your slippers.

Hanging over the edge of the bed, you fish around in the dark space beneath the bed for the errant slipper. When you find it, you slide out from under the blankets and shuffle across the room, but this isn’t your room. You haven’t lived in this house for years.

*

You blink awake. You yawn, stretch. You rub the sleep from your eyes and run your hands through your sticking-up hair. You roll your shoulders, touch your toes and climb out of bed to face a new day, but you can’t find your slippers.

Hanging over the edge of the bed, you fish around in the dark space beneath the bed for the errant slipper. When you find it, you slide out from under the blankets and shuffle across the room and out the door. You trace your hands over the familiar designs papering the halls of your mother’s house. In the kitchen, your father is frying eggs for breakfast.

He liked to eat eggs with catsup. Your father died ten years ago.

*

You blink awake. You yawn, stretch. You rub the sleep from your eyes and run your hands through your sticking-up hair. You roll your shoulders, touch your toes and climb out of bed to face a new day, but you can’t find your slippers.

Hanging over the edge of the bed, you fish around in the dark space beneath the bed for the errant slipper. When you find it, you slide out from under the blankets and shuffle across the room and out the door. You trace your hands over the familiar designs papering the halls of your mothers house. In the kitchen, the cat is drinking milk from the bowl in the sink.

You scratch him where his tail meets his body and he purrs. You pull open the fridge and find the milk is almost empty, so you reach for the pad of paper your mom keeps on the counter, but this is a dream and you can never read or write in dreams. That’s how you know you’re dreaming.

*

You blink awake. You yawn, stretch. You rub the sleep from your eyes and run your hands through your sticking-up hair. You roll your shoulders, touch your toes and climb out of bed to face a new day, but you can’t find your slippers.

Hanging over the edge of the bed, you fish around in the dark space beneath the bed for the errant slipper. When you find it, you slide out from under the blankets and shuffle across the room and out the door. You trace your hands over the familiar designs papering the halls of your mothers house. In the kitchen, the cat is drinking milk from the bowl in the sink.

You scratch him where his tail meets his body and he purrs. You pull open the fridge and find the milk, pour yourself some in your favorite childhood mug and take a grateful swig. It’s been such a long time since you’ve had a nice cold glass of milk, because you live in Japan and the milk there tastes funny.

*

You blink awake. You yawn, stretch. You rub the sleep from your eyes and run your hands through your sticking-up hair. You roll your shoulders, touch your toes and climb out of bed to face a new day, but you can’t find your slippers because you don’t wear slippers, and you can’t have lost them under the bed because you sleep on a futon rolled out on the floor.

*

Your alarm goes off.

You blink awake.