One Hundred Sleepless Nights

When I woke up the next morning, my head was killing me. I don’t really know if it was relevant, but my dreams were plagued with hazel eyes. It’s all I saw. It was one of those vague and pointless dreams that you forget the second you open your eyes. Yet, the eyes stood out the most. I would be damned if I would spend another day sulking inside. Today, I would be proactive, I told myself. So I went to walk around town.

I thought maybe I’d take in the scenery, feel out for anything familiar, but it didn’t pan out that way. It was too hot for comfort. My morning ended up being me dramatically fanning myself for coolness and stopping for ice cream. Half way back to my building, I found a little neighborhood playground. There hadn’t been any kids since school was in session so I found it acceptable for me to hang around there. I sat on a swing and smoked a cigarette as I hoped something would trigger a memory. When that didn’t work, I left. At least at home I could waste my time painting. Outside, I was going to melt into a sweaty puddle of myself. None of my high-waist shorts or baggy tees could save me from the heat.

When I finally get close to my building, I spot the sexiest car I have ever laid eyes on. It was a matte grey, two door sports car. It was exactly as I always envisioned my ideal car to be. The external layout was simple but I could only imagine the complex and sexy internal of the car. Maybe aluminium accents, some leathers seats…

For a moment, I got a flashback of my father. Not so much a flashback but a scent. It was a mix of cologne and leather. I could remember the color of his car and his laughter… I step away from the car and shake away those thoughts.

I make my way up the stairs, empty and quiet mostly. I try planning out what to paint next and what colors to use. Nothing really comes to mind but if I plan out a color scheme, pictures just flow from my paint brush. When I hit my floor, I spot a folded paper on the floor. I don’t care how odd or unsanitary it may be, I wasn’t against picking up random items. You wouldn’t believe the things people threw out. Once I found a lottery ticket that won me about $40. Another time, I found the sweetest letter from someone to an uncle.

Once I’m inside, I turn on the air conditioner and plop myself near the vent.

“Let’s see what we have here,” I say as I unfold the thick photo paper.

Almost as quickly as I open it, I drop it and slide away from the photograph. That’s… impossible. I run into my closet and look for one of Baba’s old photo albums. I run back to the photograph on the floor and place the album next to it.

“No, no, no. This is too weird. It can’t be.” I try to convince myself that it isn’t. Yet, the more I compare baba’s pictures of my parents to the picture of the adults in the background, the more real it becomes.

It doesn’t make sense! This little girl looks just like me. The adult in the background are my parent. This boy… He was in my dreams! How does any of this make sense? I close the album and think about this for a second.

“Okay,” I tell myself calmly. “How does a picture of your family and friend appear in your hall? Coincidence! I don’t know how, but it is.”

I just breathe and take this as a strange sign. For what, exactly, I’m not sure. I grab the picture again and I look at it. It looks like a party of some sort… I was wearing a dress, something I stopped doing a long time ago. I examine the boy and it is exactly how I remembered him to be. My dreams had been flooded with him for years. After a while, I stopped believing that those dreams had really happened. Now, I could barely recall if he had actually existed. But he did! I had proof in my hands that he did!

I remember those olive green eyes. I remember his short, chestnut-colored hair that I always played with. Suddenly, every dream I ever had of him inundates my every thought. This was a boy I had known for years. This was a boy I told over and over that I would marry him just to annoy him. I hold the picture and see me holding his hands and kissing his cheek. The boy’s face had a forced grimace and you could tell he didn’t mean it.

I held the photograph to my chest. Just knowing that this boy actually existed made me so happy. My mind hadn’t blocked out everything. It just had a strange way of remembering. All those comforting dreams were memories that got me through the night. I didn’t care about his name. I just cared that he was real. Thoughts of him made me smile when therapy drove me to tears. Of course, back then I just thought he was a dream. I thought it was just a world I made up that I wanted to escape to. Those memories meant a lot to me.

My flood of emotion drove me to turn on some music and pick up a paint brush. I attacked the canvas with color. While Seether blares in my stereo, my hand guides the brush through an adventure.

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I step out a few hours later to sit on the cement wall outside of my building and smoke. The painting was coming out lovely. It was of a boy (specifically, the boy in the picture) holding a big bouquet of lilacs. Even though he was facing towards the right, I made it a point to stand out those green eyes. The lilacs, I assumed, had come to me because of the pattern on the dress.

While I caught a bit of fresh air (and tainted it with cigarette smoke), I observed those around me. It was a habit. Anywhere I’d go, I’d scope out potential strangers I’d like to talk to. I wasn’t one to just introduce myself to just anyone.

A few girls had passed by and whispered small hellos in my direction. Most were a bit too preppy for me. Two guys across the street tried cat-calling me but I just gave them the finger. They proceeded to whistle after some girls on the corner. I laughed a little to myself. One quite gay male came down the steps and introduced himself to me while he waited for his boyfriend to pick him up. He wore black skinny jeans, an oversized tank top and white converses. The band logo on his tank was definitely up my alley.

“Oliver,” he said in an English accent as he shook my hand. “You must be the new tenant.”

“Yeah, is it that obvious?” I giggle.

“Well, I’ve never seen a punk rock diva here before. And I know everyone,” he replied.

I laugh and we make some quick small talk before his boyfriend honks the horn.

“For fucks sakes, Liam! Any later and I would have gone back upstairs,” he yells towards the red Coup. “Bye, Svetlana. We will see each other again.”

I shake my head at his sassy attitude. If it wasn’t for that (and the fact that he mentioned his boyfriend), I don’t think I would have known he was gay. He was tall and had slim, athletic build with tattoos down his arms.

As I watch them drive away, I feel a stare behind me. I turn slightly to spot a guy looking towards me. I turn back to the street to ignore him. He walks down and stands by the wall left of the steps. Just opposite of me on the right. He was about 6’4. He could have been the guy I bumped into yesterday but I couldn’t make out his face without looking like a staring freak. You could make out the outline of his muscular arms through the fabric of his shirt. As I took a finally drag from my cigarette, I contemplated introducing myself. I didn’t, though. Two guys come up and greet him. They appeared to be longtime friends because they were way too happy to see each other. It made me chuckle a bit under my breath. Moments later, he gets on a motorcycle and rides away with them.

Maybe it was just me but, as he put on his helmet, I could feel him eyeing me. I can’t really tell if it was just wishful thinking or not. When he leaves, I decide to call up Yulia and take her up on her offer to go to that concert at the pool hall.