Dear dream

It was one of those days that had wrung Dorothy out. A mid-term paper, and that too math, a hospital run, an hour of babysitting her twin nieces, and then a friend’s engagement party. She had ticked them all off and was now ready drop.  

The last ounce of energy out, Dorothy dragged herself into her studio apartment, flopped on the bed, patches of makeup on, clothes on, even the tired sneakers on. The wine from the party had provoked a headache and she wanted a gulp of water. But the sipper on the kitchen counter felt too much of an effort. Under the hum of the ceiling fan, her eyelids grew heavier than falling bricks.

As her closing thoughts rippled out, Dorothy pulled up her duvet of dreams and melted into a far-off frame. It was a night flooded in moonlight and she was seated in a convertible, her arms stretched out, a mellow breeze blowing her curls. The car was snaking through an unpaved road in the midst of a ripe maize field. Dorothy could feel the warmth of intimacy as her fingers grazed against the hand on the gears, strong and rugged. The scent was familiar, the music among her favorite. But who was this person at the wheel?

Silly banters, peals of laughter and yet there was no face reveal. As Dorothy turned sides, the dream began to dissolve. Oh no! She was desperate to latch onto it. But the alarm had gone off, yanking her back to reality. Eclipsed by a sense of longing, she made a last-ditch attempt to again get drawn in by sleep. But that was not to be.

Dorothy sat up, her head still pounding. Who was this person at the wheel? The dream had concealed more than it revealed. She felt hollow. As the day stretched out from morning to noon and beyond, all she wished for was a sequel to it. May be on another day filled to the gills, when sleep would take her over to complete the picture of her dreams.      

(This post is part of the A to Z Challenge)