Page 4 of Was I Ever Here

My fingers drag down my face, my thumb finding my mouth, gnawing at a loose thumbnail. I can taste the cheap black nail polish chipping off on my tongue.

My heart is still beating too fast, my eyes shifty and erratic, struggling to focus. I’m desperate to mend the broken pieces of the dream I just flailed out of.

Was I alone?

The vision is quickly evaporating like mist in my hand the more I dig. But what I still remember perfectly is the ocean whispering my name. A melodic murmur with every crashing wave.

Why did it all feel so familiar?

If I allow the feeling I’m suppressing to rise to the surface it felt more like a memory than just a dream. A déjà vu from long, long ago. The near desperate squeeze behind my rib cage seems to agree with me. As if a piece of myself was stitched back up and given back to me.

I glance at the time on my phone. It’s still early morning. I pull the covers back over my shoulders and roll onto my side, staring at the wall in an unfocused gaze. I continue to scratch at the edge of my memories, needing to recollect every detail.

But why? Why does it feel urgent to do so? I must be delirious if I think I’ll discover this magical, life-changing answer to why my life feels so fucked up. Yeah…that will be the day.

Suddenly, I suck in a breath, my heart dropping into my stomach.

There was someone else there.

Or more like the sensation of someone. An off-focused presence near me. My body chose that precise moment to convulse back to life. My skin is still pulsing with the image of it, my anxiety sitting heavy in my stomach like wet cement.

Finally, I pull myself out of bed and tug my still damp shirt over my head. The air from the open window near the bed cools my burning skin. It’s the only window in this place but at least it’s large and airy.

I live in a ground floor studio apartment—the only thing I can afford on my bartending wage. It faces Grand Boulevard and I often find myself sitting on the large window ledge, smoking the occasional joint, lost in thought. I’m not allowed to paint over the off-white walls so I’ve covered most of the surfaces with tapestries or colorful pictures ripped out of magazines. It’s small but cozy.

I stagger down the short hall to the bathroom. My shoulder bouncing off the wall, trying to find my balance. Maybe a shower will help. The dream has left my senses with a feeling close to a hangover.

In the bathroom, I lean over the small sink to stare at my reflection. I peer at my own face like I’m studying a stranger. Long auburn hair, freckles spattered across my upturned nose, my skin white but sun-kissed, hazel almond eyes, my cheeks a little hollow.

I know something isn’t right with me. And I hate it. But I can’t seem to control it. I’m untethered. This recurring dream always seems to worsen the feeling. Every time, it rockets me back into consciousness, making me land in my body at an awkward angle.

Breaking out of my self-induced trance I turn on the shower, letting the steam rise before getting in. I sit down in the tub, too weak to stand any longer and close my eyes, the mist of the water washing over my face as I lean back and let out a heavy sigh.

It’s not the first time I’ve felt this disconnected. Won’t be the last. Even my life feels foreign to me sometimes. Like this too is all but a dream. A sick joke on repeat. And I wonder if I’ll ever feel at home here—whereverhereis.

For the past year it’s been Noxport, California, specifically chosen for its proximity to the ocean. It’s also conveniently far away from my hometown back in Vermont. It’s a bustling metropolis with the beaches well-kept and beautiful—and where I spend most of my time.

But even Noxport will eventually run its course. I’ll grow bored and move on. A hopeless attempt to distract myself from the widening hole in my chest for just a little while longer.

I sink even deeper into the tub, letting the water trickle down my skin, a heavy groan trapped in my lungs.

It’s times like these I miss River the most. She’d know what to do. How to pull me out of the depth that I can’t ever seem to escape.

In a final attempt to recenter myself, I focus on how the spray feels on my body, like raindrops on the skin. It’s not helping much but at least it’s preventing me from slipping further into the nothingness of not feeling.

Even now, I’m an outsider looking in, often feeling like I’m locked outside of my own body. A sob ripples through me as salty tears mix with the water trailing down my face.

Fuck.I feel…homesick?

Maybe.

But ironically, I haven’t had a home worth the feeling in a long time. If ever. Still, I feel lost. Like a ghost haunting the walls of my own body.

Unwilling to look at my confusing emotions for even a second longer, I force myself to snap out of it and stand up, turning off the shower.

I need a fucking distraction.

And by the time I wrap a towel around my body I know exactly where to find it.

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