The Dream (Fiction)

I'm officially a terrible person. Everyone has their motives, and mine were pure enough to start, I suppose, but there's a line where wrong and right are divided, and I have firmly crossed into the wrong.

The trouble stemmed from two distinct problems. The first being that my mother has always had migraines- intense migraines. The type that for all purposes paralyze her with pain and nausea. The second is my intense hatred of the beach. These two made me the obvious choice to go and purchase medication from one of the boardwalk shops.

Now, despite my hatred of the beach, I adore boardwalk shops. Being unfamiliar with this beach gave me the excuse of heading into a variety of places in search of some Advil- Advil specifically. "Don't bring me that ibuprofen crap. I want real Advil." she had thrown at me as I walked up the sand.

Dollar stores have always been one of my favorites. This one was dingy, with bad, beach lighting and racks too close together. The floor was grimy, and cases of soda with store-brand knockoff names like "Fantasia" and "Mr. Pep" were stacked underneath cat clocks and bottles of sand. A quick scan told me that there was no medicine section- I hadn't had much hope, but the flickering "Dollar D nes" sign out front had drawn me in. It's 'n' seemed to have been long blacked out with the beer bottle still nestled into the space, but the other letters clung to life. As I joined the queue to pay for my can of Coo-coo Cola, the man in front of me realized he'd lost his wallet. The baby in his arms gurgled and smiled as he juggled her to find his billfold. Finally he turned to me. "Can you watch her for a few minutes? I'd take her with me, but I'll go much faster on my own..." For whatever reason, I nodded, holding out my arms to receive her. Her soft red hair reminded me of peaches, and she smelled sweet. As we stood, she pointed at objects, making nonsense words that came close to the names. "Ca!" "San!" "Fana!" Time passed, and I was wondering if the man would ever return. When he finally did, my mission returned to me. Advil.

My phone began to buzz against my thigh. The screen read 'Jessica'. My ex. What could she want? The message itself seemed nonsense- "A lotus grows in mud. The deeper the mud, the more beautiful the flower. You are standing in mud- though you look nothing like a lotus." I brushed it off- her nastiness was commonplace. I began to walk with a nasty squelch. Mud had seeped into my sandals. I turned around, and saw her. She was beautiful as ever, with her long brown hair loose to the wind. I'd never seen her in a bikini before, but it suited her, her pale flat stomach accented by the harsh black. "Hey there, stranger." she said coolly, whipping around with sunglasses in hand. "Have the squirrels been treating you well?" On the subject of my ex- she is unusual. Most would say insane. She always dresses in black, always talks about strange and random things, always gets angry at the slightest comment. Like a fire- that's Jessica, or as she always insisted I call her, Z. "Yeah." I mumbled. "I gotta get some Advil. Mom's head, you know?" I walked away, and she skipped to catch up. "Look, I know them. You gotta meet. College friends!" She pointed ahead to a dark haired boy and a bleached blonde with abnormally pointed breasts. She pulled me over. "Garrett, this is my ex. This is... Do I know you?" she said nastily to the blonde, flipping her hair back. "I'm-" the girl started, but Zara was too quick. "Fabulous. Well, we've got to be going now. Bye!" she said, dragging me into a CVS. "Find your medicine." She barked. It was just like old times, really. She gave the orders, and I followed them without question. I wandered about, finding only a 500 count bottle- which with beach prices, was twenty-six seventy five. I turned it over in my hands. With the soda money, Mom had given me twenty- not nearly enough. My phone began ringing- this time a call. "I just stabbed the girl in aisle twelve. Lets go." Flip flops pounding on the tile, she came hurtling towards me. I turned to leave with her. A glance over my shoulder showed Z being grabbed by a pimply cashier wearing a smock and an aged pharmacist with blue hair. She didn't seem upset- she laughed, anyway, and didn't fight as they held her against a display of cough syrup.

As I fell into the sand by my mother, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd done the wrong thing. There were many ways I could have changed the situation. I could have walked away from her on the boardwalk. I could have refused to follow her orders. I could have probably saved the girl in the drugstore. I could have fought for Z. I could have done a lot of things different.

I didn't pay for the Advil. I walked out of the store- sirens blaring and lights flashing as the cop cars pulled up to take her into custody. I wonder if it says something about my ethics that I didn't flinch. I only wondered if Mom could see the flashing lights on the water the way I could- their beautiful reflections reminding me of the pictures they showed us in school of the Aurora Borealis- and if she could, would she recognize that I'd been feet away from a murder.

More importantly- would she realize that it had been my ex that had committed it?

Its sad that in the case of being an accessory to murder, my biggest worry was that my mother would find out I am a lesbian.