Beginning…

2008

I sense it every night; before I doze into the heavenly state of sleep, I feel a presence; a calming, protective presence. Throughout the night, a feeling of complete safety and peacefulness surrounds me like a warm blanket. Then I dream. I dream of a world where I can be myself, express myself, be at peace.

This presence: I don't know how to explain it to others. Is it normal, to feel someone looking over you at night, in your room, in the dark? Dad is absolutely no help. He won't even talk about sleep, or dreams, or anything. Not since mom died five years ago. I'm not sure whether to be completely freaked out, or if I should just go with it, relinquish myself to the state of soothing reassurance I have grown accustomed to.

My thoughts drift toward the last few nights, which I couldn't get my mind off of. I've been having nightmares. It'd seemed like such a long time since I'd had a truly terrifying nightmare. But every night, it's the same thing--- Knock, knock, knock.

I was brought out of my thoughts by a quick rap on the door.

"Come in," I yelled from my bed. I looked up from my spot, lying down; to see my father, Darren Montgomery, enter my room with a plate of pancakes and a glass of orange juice.

"Here you go, Anna Bear. Eat 'em while they're hot. Made 'em myself," he said proudly, satisfaction shining in his wise hazel eyes. (He's not real handy in the kitchen.)

"Thanks dad!" I exclaimed, entirely surprised by this small, loving gesture. "What's the occasion?" I looked over the food, making sure it wasn't inedible, but trying not to hurt his feelings.

"Well, I thought, today being the first day of your junior year and all, we'd celebrate a little," he muttered with a shrug, running his hands through his hair, brown, just like mine. "But I do have to get going, the gallery isn't gonna open itself. Have a great day kiddo!" And with a quick hug, he was gone.

We had opened the art gallery, Favored Grace, a few years back. My dad's the owner, but sometimes he lets me help out. He handles the art, with a few contributions from yours truly, and I help out with the café. It pays the bills, and dad gets to spend all day painting.

Once I heard the beat up, old truck pull out of the drive, I resumed my previous position, flopping back on the bed. I still had another thirty five minutes till school, and, since it is right around the corner, I can afford a few minutes to myself. Time to think; to rid my mind of the images I see whenever I close my eyes.

Every night for the past week, I have this terrible nightmare of my mom. She was walking along side me, like always. But then suddenly, her face morphs into mine, it's like looking in a mirror. Next, a dark shadow pulls her away from me, ripping our hands apart. I hear a bloodcurdling scream, and then I wake up.

I have no idea what it means; I try to write it off as missing my mom. Or maybe my fears of dying like her: in my sleep. That would be understandable. But what I can't stand is that during those few, horrible moments, I don't feel it. I don't feel calm. I don't feel safe. I feel fear, and terror. I can't help but feel abandoned by whatever it is that keeps me sane at night. Without it, I'm led to thinking of my mom, and how she was so horribly taken from me.

Most people say dying in your sleep is the best way to go. But I disagree. It seems terrifying, going to sleep and never waking up. Not being able to say goodbye. Leaving your body for someone you love to find, in the morning, thinking you're just sleeping, when really, you have left them in the world, almost completely alone; defiantly terrifying…

Not wanting to think about this anymore, I look at the clock on the nightstand, 7:55, might as well head to school. Walking down the stairs, I quickly grab lunch, lock the door, and head out. Another year here at Jefferson High, same classes, same food, same people, not that that's a problem for me. I wouldn't say I'm a "loser", but I don't really have any close friends. It's a small town, which means I've known most of my classmates since pre-school. I guess I just haven't really related to anyone here. And after mom, no one really made an effort at friendship. But I'm fine with that, it gives me time to sit around and think, draw a little.

Mom and dad were both artists. Dad does his thing with the paints and the sculpting, while mom was good at just 'bout everything and anything she set her mind to. My expertise is drawing. I've got a sketchbook full of little doodles…

I get to school with little difficulty. Making my way to English, my first class, I notice everyone is whispering; it reminds me of a wild fire, spreading fast and far. I wonder what's up. They haven't gotten this riled up since Jenny moved here. Of course everyone is fascinated with anything new, where new is a rarity. It's usually the same old here.

I quickly take a seat next to Samantha, who works the night shifts at the café with me.

"What's everyone so excited about?" I ask in a quiet voice, too curious to contain my questions.

"Haven't you heard? There's a new kid. Apparently he's from Oregon. Heard he's a real cutie too. Won't be long before Emily starts the hunt," she chuckles. Emily Samuels, the queen bee here at Jefferson, always looking to be the center of attention, will so predictably go for the new guy.

I let the subject drop. "So, are you working tonight?"

"Mmhmm," she says, looking over my shoulder.

She continues to stare past me, so I continue. "I was thinking of changing the specials to kick off the new school year. What do you think?" I sit patiently, but she still doesn't answer, like she's waiting for me to notice something.

Suddenly, I'm overcome with a feeling, the feeling, what I feel every time I go to sleep, but so much better. My body is overcome with a feeling of tranquility. I close my eyes, trying to savor the sensations running through my body. But I'm quickly interrupted by a voice behind me.

"Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here? I'm Daniel."