I awoke suddenly and with a jolt that cold December morning, the second day of Christmas break and the kind of dawn that makes you want to bury yourself under the covers for a thousand years. I was about to do just that when memories of what had caused my sudden awakening jarred me, and I groaned inwardly.
Abigail, I reprimanded my subconscious silently. These dreams have got to stop. It’s just weird.
I rolled over, sighing and feeling quite foolish for thinking, even for a moment, that I could control the vivid Technicolor epics that played in my head without my permission by simply willing them away.
I would have continued my dream analyzation, had my mother not stuck her head in the door just then. “Oh, good,” she said, in a tone much too cheery for- I checked the clock- eight-thirty-three in the morning. “You’re awake. I was thinking, maybe we should go and freshen up the house before Di and everybody else gets home, don’t you think?”
I bit my lip skeptically, not thrilled to the greatest extent possible at the idea of being in the home of the source of the peculiar dreams that had been plaguing me of late.
“Ummmm...” I saw no way out. I couldn’t very well explain to Mom about The Dreams. Sighing defeatedly, I agreed. “Yeah, okay. Lemme get showered, first, though.”
As I stood under the spray (which was not as hot as I would have liked- my sister Clara had gotten to the shower first that morning) something occurred to me. Mom had said, “Before Di and everybody else gets home”. And everybody else gets home. Everybody else. Meaning, among numerous others, Taylor.
Jordan Taylor Hanson and I have been best friends since...forever. Only two months apart in age, me being the elder, our mothers were college roommates. The tie bound, and we’ve been close our entire lives.
He and his brothers...wow, this sounds strange. He and his brothers are in a band. They had hit it big the previous summer, and had basically been gone since then, flying here and there, promoting their album and sending braless, screaming, tank top-wearing twelve year old girls everywhere into convulsions.
This little excursion had not been a shock, as the band has always been a huge part of Taylor’s life. Still, the reality of my best bud not being around the corner every day, and the reality of seeing him on TV and hearing his familiar voice on the radio, had thrown me a bit.
That was the source of The Dreams, I told myself now, blow drying my hair, which I realized with a scowl I had over-conditioned. The Dreams were simply manifestations of how I missed Taylor in a slightly warped fashion in my sleeping mind. Nothing more. I sighed. No more psychology books for you, Abigail.
My mother knocked on the door for the second time that morning. “Almost done?” she questioned.
“Yeah,” I told her, turning off the dryer. “Is Janie coming?” I hoped the answer would be negative. My seven year old sister was not the most patient of people, and on the occasions we had brought her around the corner to the Hanson household to water the plants and whatnot, she had not been the best of company.
Mom shook her head. “Nope. Just you and me today, Babe. Jason said he’d stay with her.” I nodded, making a mental note to thank my older brother later.
The two of us set out, our feet crunching in the snow, a result of the latest in a series of snowstorms Tulsa had been having. I looked over at my mother, noticing sadly, as I had many times before, that I was not nearly as blessed as she in the looks department. While Mom’s hair is curly and blond, mine isn’t sure whether it wants to coil or not, and is the curious shade of the Indian Red crayon in Jane’s Crayola box. Her eyes are green, and they sparkle when she gets excited. Mine are brown, and...don’t.
Mom unlocked the door, and as we walked in, it occurred to me that after almost seven months of near-vacancy, the Hanson home still smelled exactly the same. Like a combination of macaroni and cheese and fabric softener and an indescribable scent that’s just...Taylor’s house.
