Stereos

It had all been a dream, she concluded after she bolted upright in bed. Her skin was warm and sticky, and she wiped a hand across the part of her chest that her tank top left exposed. All a weird dream.

The room was dark, yet eerily familiar. Although she couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was so familiar, she knew there was something comforting about the space. The large square of gauze bandage on her left forearm itched, but she knew due to the stitches underneath that scratching would be a bad idea.

Across her left temple were more stitches, but these ones weren’t as fresh as the ones that held the flesh of her arm closed. They had almost dissolved, in fact, and the scar that would remain would be almost unnoticeable. Speaking of stitches, she felt the left side of her head, towards the back.

There was significant damage to your temporal lobe, the Doctor had told her when she had woken up three days ago in the Hospital. Her temporal lobe, she had been informed, was the part of the brain that controlled memory formation and retention.

Luckily for her, she could still retain information. Unfortunately, she had no recollection of her past. It made her sound like a trauma victim, but that’s exactly what she was. After being in a car accident a month ago, she slipped into a coma until she woke up three days ago.

There had been serious complications, Nancy (her mother) had told her. The Doctors couldn’t stop the bleeding and her stitches kept getting infected, which is why three weeks later she still had stitches.

Nevertheless, although everything was new and a little scary to her, the sun shining through her window meant it was time to get up. Out of curiosity she glanced at the alarm clock as she went to search for a sweatshirt to put on over her tank.

Two forty-five in the afternoon, which meant she’d been asleep for almost twenty hours. In her closet, she stared at the vast assortment of clothes, which once again peaked her curiosity. Had she been somewhat of a clothes fiend before the accident? Because, assuming all these clothes were hers, she had a lot of them. Which sweatshirt did she want to wear, though? Her eyes roamed over sweatshirts of different colours, none of them catching her eye, when she saw a black hoodie that looked larger than all the others. To make a grab for it was instinctual, and she didn’t second-guess herself as her fingers closed around the cotton fabric.

A sense of overwhelming comfort overtook her, so she slipped it over her head. It smelled so warm and like something else she couldn’t put her finger on. But it smelled nice. A maple leaf logo was smack dab in the center of the chest, and the embroidery 02 Schenn 02 was on the right arm.

She had no idea what it meant, but it meant something if it was in her closet. Even though it was the middle of the afternoon and chances are everyone else would be awake, she still tried to tread quietly. There was no use announcing her presence by stomping down the stairs like an elephant.

The volume level of the voices in the house were somewhat hushed, but were not whispers. “Sorry Luke, she’s still out of it. She has been since about seven last night.” The voice, she recognized, belonged to Nancy (or mom as she had repeatedly been told to call her), and she sounded sympathetic.

A male voice spoke up next, with a very notable Canadian twang to his voice. “And how was she last night?” She didn’t have a face to the voice, but the twang of his accent was familiar.

“Don’t worry, Peyton, there’s only one way this could end, and it isn’t badly.”

A kind, gentle smile danced across his face and lit up his eyes. He had dimples, which she admittedly found quite cute on him. His hands were held open to her, inviting her to hold them.

She looked skeptically at the giant contraption before her, then at Luke, and then at his hands. It was a huge risk, doing this, especially since she was so afraid of heights.

“Actually, Lucas, this could end quite badly. A bolt could come loose and we could plummet to our deaths.”

Pushing his sunglasses up so they were on top of his head, he watched her. His smile had become faint, but she could tell he was still amused by the way his dimples taunted her. “Since when have you become pessimistic?”

“Ever since you told me I was going to ride the Behemoth and like it,” she informed him politely.

His hand grabbed hers as the ride attendant ushered them towards the ride. “I’ll cushion your fall and die first.”

Peyton looked at him thoughtfully and let the attendant check the safety harness that went over her head and shoulders. “I wouldn’t want to watch you die, Luke.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to watch you die either, so we’ve got a bit of a problem.”

The ride operator came over the speakers and informed the riders of the safety measures that would have to be taken. “We’ll die together, then.”

He sent a smile her way. “Or we don’t die at all.”

She was just starting to settle down when the ride lurched forward, and her heart jumped up into her throat. Roller Coasters are safe… she repeated like a mantra in her head. And if she were going to survive the ride, she’d just have to accept that.

Since Peyton had completely spaced out, she nearly missed a step as she moved towards the stairs. She was startled back into her reality as she thumped down the first three stairs. It freaked her out, the thought of being hurt again, so it took her a couple of minutes to regain her composure before she could go down the rest of the stairs.

The guy from her weird dream was exactly like the guy she just thought about. Luke was his name, but that just could’ve been a coincidence. Since she was thinking about the dream, it made sense that her brain would randomly insert things into a daydream… right?

Well, it would have to be right because it was the only thing that made sense to her. And if something didn’t make sense to her, the side of her head would hurt until something satiated her lack of knowledge.

The voices downstairs suddenly ceased, and Peyton knew it was because they were listening for her. Great. There would be no way to be inconspicuous now.

A figure then appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He was young, probably somewhere around her age, with soft features and nice blue eyes. A tentative smile crossed his lips as he looked at her carefully. “Hi Peyton, I’m Luke.”

Her insides froze, and she hoped her shocked expression didn’t register on her face. Luke. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she took a slow step towards him. His gaze briefly darted to the sweatshirt she was wearing, but it was almost unnoticeable and he was quickly looking back at her face.

“Hi Luke,” she croaked. He was real, which meant those weren’t just dreams.