The Man of My Dreams
Mainstream Fiction
Word Count- 3,645 (edited)
“I had that dream again.” There I said it.
“The one with the man?” My therapist sat legs crossed, a yellow legal pad in his lap, watching me over his glasses. He fit into every tv shows or movies idea on what a therapist should look like.
“Is there a different dream?” I leaned my head back on the couch and staired up at the ceiling. The vents were dirty. I wondered how many other people sat in this exact spot, ignoring their true problems and thinking about how dirty the air vents were.
“How did it make you feel?”
God, what a stupid question. If it made me feel normal, I wouldn’t be sitting in this hipster office with its exposed brick and vintage AC/DC posters on the ivory painted walls. When did AC/DC become vintage? Did that make me vintage? I felt vintage; the big five-oh was patiently waiting to spring some new ache or medical aliment on me. Forty-eight brought with it anxiety and hip problems.
“Marina?”
“What?” I lifted my head and looked at my therapist. Even his name was such a cliché, Ben Hurt. The first session he joked his parents were huge Charlton Heston fans. I had no idea what he was talking about. I did now. The Ben-Hur poster behind his desk should have been a giveaway.
“The dream. How did it make you feel this time?”
“The same. But this time it felt so real.” Outside it had started to rain. God, this entire session was a cliché. I started seeing Ben Hurt four months ago. My husband thought I needed to see someone about It. It was a reoccurring dream I had been having for years. Once a month, if I was lucky, I dreamt of a man. Sometimes he took the shape of a high school crush, you know, the one who got away. Sometimes a famous actor. This last time he was a former co-worker. But it was the same man. And the feelings the dream left me with were why I was here.
“Did you try to talk to him this time?” Ben Hurt asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.
“No.” That had been Ben’s big idea to fix me. I should try to talk to this man. “I tried, but… this one felt different.”
Ben took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if he was dealing with a petulant child that wouldn’t clean her room. “Different? How?”
“I knew he was there this time. In the hotel, one that felt familiar.” I paused, watching the dream play out across Ben’s hipster shag rug. I could see the carpet on the four stairs, it was red with large circles on it. The rail was gold. I raced down a dark paneled hallway lined with potted plants as waiters dressed in white shirts with long white aprons dashed by. I knew the man was there. I could feel him. It was more of a longing. One that brought tears to my eyes. “I sat at a small table by a potted palm. And he was there. I can still feel the warmth of his hand on my shoulder. He filled my water and said something I couldn’t hear. Then he left. My best friend, CJ, was sitting across from me. Then I woke up.”
“And did you feel the same?”
“Yes. I had the same longing. The same feeling of sadness. I wish I could hear his voice. Just once.” The aftereffects of the dream were the real reason Ethan, my husband, wanted me to see someone. Sometimes it took me days to get over the feeling of loss. This last time had been the worst.
My friends had gone from teasing me about the mystery man to agreeing with Ethan. They had all believed I was either depressed or having an episode. An episode of what I don’t know. I think it was just a new buzzword, a code that they didn’t want to deal with It.
So, I found Ben, who had his own ideas. One I could see him getting ready to say. To give the cliché therapist diagnosis. He took off his glasses and rubbed his face before uncrossing and recrossing his legs. I’d gone from a petulant child to a crazy woman crying on his IKEA couch, about a man I couldn’t even describe. “Say it.”
He set his glasses down on the table next to the handmade mug, a string from a tea bag hanging out. “Fine. Have you and Ethan seen that sex therapist yet?”
There it was, the Freudian reason for everything. Sex. And no Ethan and I weren’t having sex. And no, I wasn’t having erotic dreams about a mystery man because I wasn’t having sex with my husband. It wasn’t the lack of sex that fueled this dream. It went deeper than that. A connection that I felt to this dream man. Something that looking back, I don’t think Ethan and I ever had.
We had lived two different lives for too long to now spend our golden years taking couples cruises and going on wine tastings. For years, Ethan had put everything before our marriage. Before me. His job, his friends and hobbies. And now that those things didn’t matter as much to him, he should matter to me. But I didn’t care enough to repair the damage he had done. Maybe that’s why the dream left me feeling so sad. Because some man I didn’t know made me feel important.
“I’ll take your silence as a no.” Ben made a note.
“You want me to believe that if I have sex with my husband that I will stop having dreams about this man. Why do I pay you?” I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest. Nobody got it. They didn’t understand the tremendous feeling of loss that filled me when I woke up. Some days I didn’t even want to get out of bed.
“It’s not what I believe; it’s what you believe.”
My frustration spilled out in tears. No, it wasn’t what I believed. If that were true, I wouldn’t be sitting here justifying my feelings. I knew this dream man. I knew at some point in my life we had been together. And I knew I wanted to go back to that life. “Well, I believe that screwing my husband will not make me forget how much I love a man I can’t even see.”
“Love?” Ben cocked his head.
“Shit,” I breathed. I had always kept that part hidden from everyone. I already sounded like a crazy person. Now I was declaring my love for some faceless man in my dreams. “Maybe love is a strong word.” I checked the time, hoping our session was up and I could leave and cancel all other appointments.
“No, let’s explore that. Do you really believe that you love him? More than Ethan. That figuring out who this man is will bring you happiness. Closure even?”
I looked at the shag rug. I didn’t know what finding the man would do. That thought frightened me. Like he was something forbidden. Something I should never find. Christ, maybe I was having an episode. A bad one. One where the audience is yelling for me to stop. To not go into the room. But I do anyway.
I don’t think that’s what my friends meant. They meant the type of episode that people whisper about at dinner parties and at wine tasting. That would be easier to deal with than whatever this was.
“Marina, are you still with me?”
“Yes.” It was still raining outside. The drops clung to the window in sad tear like drops. “You think he is real?” I grasped onto that string, hoping if I pulled it wouldn’t unravel.
Ben rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “I didn’t say that. You seem to believe that finding this man will answer some question you don’t even understand. That he is the key to your happiness. Why do you believe that?”
Why couldn’t he just answer the question. “I don’t know. That’s why I am here. I don’t understand any of it. I don’t understand the longing I feel for this man. For a man, I can’t tell you what he looks like. What his voice sounds like. I can’t put into words how much I miss him. It's like a part of me is missing and not a part you can see.” The tears were warm as they hit my hand. I looked up at Ben, pleading for him to just make me better. Just end the loneliness I felt. To fix me. To make me happy. To erase my memory. “And the part that scares me is if I ever did find him, I would give up everything for him. My house. My job. My happiness. Everything for just a moment with him.”
“Even Ethan?”
I didn’t want to put words to that. But I would. And that made me sad. Because I did love Ethan. And I believed he loved me too. But not in the same way. “All of this is so stupid. It’s a fucking dream. Why can’t you just fix me? Make this better. Make this go away.”
“Because I can’t. But we can explore ways to--”
Thankfully, the bell rang, signaling our time was about over. Ben stood, handing me a box of tissues before walking to his desk and writing something down. He handed me a bright green post-it note with the saying “Mental Health is Health” on the bottom and a name written across the top.
“This is a colleague of mine. He deals in past life regressions, hypnosis. I’ve sent a few patients to him for and… Well he’s good. I’ll have his office call you.”
I looked down at the name Ryder. “Do you think he will fix me?”
Ben shrugged. “I had a client who was afraid of water. Apparently, she was a witch in a previous life and had been drowned. Anyway, now she can take a bath. So, it might help.”
I tucked the note in my purse. I stood, taking one last look at the room. I wouldn’t be back; there was no reason.
“Good luck Marina.”
“Thanks,” I whispered.
I spent my drive home trying to convince myself the feelings I was having were tied to something else. I had a looming deadline and things with Ethan strained. We had fought this morning about me crying in the shower and then the laundry I had let pile up. He seemed to think that I enjoyed feeling this way. That I reveled in the loss. I wanted this over as much as he did. Didn’t I? Yes of course.
I was beginning to hate the man in my dreams as much as I loved him. I hated how he messed up my life and left me alone in this world. Stop it! I screamed to myself. He is a dream. He is nothing but the residue of my day. That’s all he was. And because of that, I would end this silliness. It was a dream. And I didn’t live in a dream.
So tomorrow I would go to my doctor and get on something to make me numb. I’d rather feel nothing than sorrow. I’d rather see the world in muted colors than in the shades of the sadness I was seeing everything through now. I would still see him; I just wouldn’t mourn him.
And then Ethan and I would be okay. We could plan a trip, go back to Hawaii. We had been happy then. Had sex there. Everything would be better. I would be better. But right now, I didn’t feel better and seeing Ethan’s car in the driveway made me only feel worse. Heavy.
The house was warm and dry like it always was. The smell of meat cooking filled the air. Ethan had taken on the cooking duties. Or maybe I had just stopped cooking. Hopefully laundry was next.
Ethan was in the kitchen cutting up vegetables. “Oh, good, you're home. How was therapy?”
I slipped off my shoes and hung up my jacket. “Fine.”
“What did you talk about?” He put the tomato he was cutting into a bowl.
“It’s therapy Ethan. The first rule of therapy is we don’t talk about therapy.” The reference was not lost on me. Maybe this guy in my dreams was my Tyler Durden. And this would end with me trying to blow up all the financial institutions in Minnesota. Ethan had our brightly painted serving bowls out filled with tomatoes, peppers, avocados, and shredded cheese. “What’s with all the dishes? Are you expecting company?”
He frowned. “Yes. My brother and Tom are coming for dinner tonight. Did you forget?”
I groaned, pinched the bridge of my nose. “That’s tonight? Can we reschedule?”
Ethan looked at the spread he had prepared, then back at me. “No. Sam and Tom are leaving for Europe, and we have to watch Cassey while they’re gone. Mara, how could you forget it’s been on the calendar for a month?” He pointed the knife to the calendar stuck on the fridge. Ethan had suggested it to help keep us on the same page. I rarely looked at it. I didn’t really care if we were even in the same book.
“Cassey is coming too, I thought you were just going to check in on him.” Sam and Tom had an aging pug that wore a diaper.
“No. Dog sitting involves the dog being in the same room as you. Does this have to do with the dream? God, when will this end?”
“This has nothing to do with that. It has to do with you volunteering me to watch your brother’s decrepit dog.” And it had a little to do with the dream, but I wouldn’t give him that. I’d heard enough about it this morning.
“Us.” He motioned to the space between us. “I’ll be here too.”
“No, you go to work every morning and don’t get home until six. I will have to deal with the diaper changes. Tell them plans have changed and to take Cassey to their vet. I have the Weston project due this week. I won’t have time.”
“It’s too late for that. We’ll just have to make do. And you’re the one who decided to work from home.” He went back to the vegetables. The decision had been made.
The reason why I started working from home didn’t seem to matter to him. Just that I had made a decision he didn’t like. “So, if I didn’t work from home, Sam would have to make a different arrangement for his dog?”
“No. I would've work something out.”
I threw up my hands. “Of course, you would’ve.” It was the same fight we always had. A fight I didn’t have the energy to have. The universe must have known because my phone rang, saving me from going down the you-never-think-of-me-first rabbit hole. “Hello?”
“Marina. It’s Lucy. Ben called and said things weren’t good. Ryder has an opening today, if you like to come in.”
“Who?” I racked my brain for the names. Lucy? Ben?
“Sorry it’s me Lucy from Red Feather Spiritual Center. Ben Hurt called me.”
“Oh yes. Sorry, I was distracted.” I stepped away from Ethan. “Ryder Case, right?”
“Yes. He canceled his last appointment so he could see you. How does five sound?”
“He canceled an appointment?” What the hell had Ben said to this guy?
“Of course. Ben said it was important. Can you make it? I know it’s last minute.”
Ethan was loudly chopping something in the kitchen. Fine, if he thought it was easy to deal with Cassey, he could deal with him alone. “Yes, that will be fine. I’ll leave now.”
“Great, see you soon.”
I hung up with Lucy and started putting my shoes on.
“Where are you going?” Ethan called.
“I have an appointment with a Ryder Case.”
“Another one? You think this is going to help this time?” Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this. I find you sobbing in the bathroom this morning, and now it's Ryder. At some point, they need to start helping you. Or...”
“Or what?” I pushed. Say it. I wanted him to. Maybe then, if I wasn’t stuck in this marriage, I could be out searching for the man of my dreams. Maybe then I would feel whole again. Happy.
“Tom and Sam will be here at six. You better be here.”
“Well, start without me if you need to.” I slammed the door in his face. He couldn’t handle this? I couldn’t handle him vacillating between get help, and why are you seeing him. If he wanted to end this marriage, I wouldn’t stop him. Things would probably be better for both of us.
As I drove to Ryder’s office, I went over in my head what I would tell this therapist. My mind drifted back to the dream, searching for a clue I might have missed. In each dream he may take on a different form, but what I wanted from him was always the same. I wanted to stay with him. I wanted him to take me back to where we could be together. And he wanted the same, but it always ended with me alone. Sometimes searching for him.
Ryder’s office was in a bungalow style house. There was something oddly familiar about the name and the ferns that hung on the porch. The old door creaked as I opened it. A sense of déjà vu washed over me. The entry rug was a mess of red circles in different shades. A potted palm was next to the door.
“Marina. Perfect timing. Ryder’s last client just left. How are you feeling?” The receptionist was holding a mug that matched Ben’s with the same brand of tea.
I knew her. Didn’t I? “Lucy? Do I know you?”
She smiled. “Maybe in a different life. You can go back. He’s waiting.”
“Right.” Somehow, I knew where to go. The hall was paneled with dark wood. Photos framed in gold adorned the wall. One was of a waiter in a white shirt and a long white apron. He held a tray over his head. The caption underneath explained this house had once been a speakeasy. At the end of the hall was a door and another palm. Was this the place I dreamed about? Was he here, sitting at a table behind the door? I stepped closer. Heart racing.
The door opened and there he stood. Ryder. The man from my dreams. The tears fell fast, and my knees buckled. His strong arms were around me. They were warm and familiar. I clung to him as he pulled me into his office and shut the door. He held me tight to his chest as I sobbed. It was him. I knew every inch of his body. I knew the scent of leather that clung to his skin. I knew him.
He pressed kisses into my hair as he walked me over to the couch. I pulled away and looked into the face I knew. I knew how he had gotten the scar above his right eye. I knew the fullness of his mouth. The taste of his kisses. My hand shook as I reached to touch his cheek, afraid this was another dream. That he would melt into the leather couch.
His warm hand took mine and brought it to his face. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself? You know the rules.”
Finally, I heard it. His voice. The low gravel that I had wanted to hear. It washed over me, easing the ache from my bones and muscles. “I have missed you so much.”
“I know.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “I have missed you, too. But love, this is not our life to live together.”
I knew he spoke the truth. The reasons why we couldn’t be together were buried deep in a place I couldn’t find. In a life, we had lived long ago. A life that I saw in brief bursts of colors and feelings. Sunsets in far-off places. Oceans so blue they didn’t look real. And him. An ever-constant presence at my side. Until this life.
“You know how this ends.” His green eyes sparkled with sadness.
I did. I knew the pain and the feeling of not being with him. I knew it and yet I still came. “Let me stay. I promise I won’t do this again. Please.” It was the same lie I spoke every month.
Then Ryder, the man whose name and face may change through the years, but his smile never did, kissed me. Long and slow. A kiss that made this all worth it. A kiss I would give up everything to taste.
“Just for a moment.” His breath was ragged on my cheek.
I closed my eyes, and this time I made a mental note of everything. The way his body felt. The way his voice sounded. The way he smelled. This time I would remember everything about him, so I wouldn’t be back.
Because he was right, I couldn’t keep doing this, but it was so hard to stay away from him. He was the man of my dreams. The person I would sacrifice my happiness for.
“Did you have the dream again, Marina?”
I tore my gaze from the dirty vent on the ceiling. How many other people, in trying to ignore their problems, thought about the dirty vent? “Yes.”
“The one with the man?” Ben Hurt sipped his tea from a hipster mug. “How did that make you feel?”
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