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Chapter 2: Dreaming Men are Haunted Men
Sam poured the hot water into the teapot that Stacey had given him just over a year ago. They had decided to celebrate Christmas early, after being given the news that the treatment was no longer proving effective. Stacey somehow managed to secretly order presents. The teapot square in shape with its marbled sea blue pattern, was accompanied by a set of similarly designed cups and a black velvet sketchbook.
Sam allowed the tea leaves to steep in the water, as he remembered her words that day by the beach.
"I know a stupid teapot and sketchbook isn't much, but I gave it to you to take time you know…to smell the roses…you know- you don't have to be the big responsible older brother all the time- and when I'm gone… I want you to find a way to be you. I'm proud of you and grateful for all the sacrifices you made. I love you Sammy... now enough of this gushy stuff".
He felt so proud of her, and yet so guilty – that he could let Stacey worry about him.
She died a week later.
When all was said and done, after the funeral and all the extended family and friends returned to their lives and the silence entered into his home like an unwelcome visitor, he brewed his first pot of tea in Stacey's teapot. There were no roses to smell, but there were wilting white lilies and a deep hollow space in his chest. He was surprised at how easy it was to pick up her sketchbooks and the pencils that had been forgotten beneath old files of blue prints and medical insurance papers and draw again.
He drew freely, in a way that he hadn't in a long time- long before college, long before internships and promotions and long before death and illness seemed to hang over his life. The images weren't of anything in particular; some were doodles, sketches, one of Stacey as he remembered her as a child and Stevie and his parents watching over him. As he continued to draw they grew more fantastical, stars and planets and made up faraway places. He drew until his lids were heavy and the night carried him off to sleep at his desk.
That was the first night he dreamt of her.
Sam poured his oolong tea into the matching cup as he remembered how surprised he was by how vivid and real it all seemed- it always seemed so real.
The first time he dreamt of her, he thought about it for the rest of the morning. He wondered about how strange the dream was. He even Googled "Mercedes Jones" wondering if he had seen her before somewhere, but apart from pictures of people with their Mercedes Benz he didn't really find much else. So he got on with the rest of his day, walked Munchies, Stacey's glossy chocolate Labrador- well now his glossy chocolate Labrador, and didn't think about it much more after that. But then he was awoken again by the same dream the next night, and the night after that, and after that.
Then, one night, it stopped suddenly. The dreams weren't exactly disturbing, but they were still troubling. He should have been relieved, but it was just that he strangely missed them too. For a whole week, he woke up disappointed that he hadn't seen her, feeling like he had lost a part of himself, like in some strange absurd way, he had abandoned this woman by no longer being able to conjure her up in his dreams.
The night it came back, he woke up laughing and crying. He concluded that he must indeed be going insane.
So he decided to see a therapist about what was happening. The softly spoken red head, suggested that it was probably stress related and maybe something to do with his bereavement. Maybe he was creating a fantasy to disappear to; and maybe when they stopped suddenly it represented all the things he'd lost or yearned for. She suggested working through his grief first, then when he was ready, to start to live again – to find the things he really wanted to do.
Sam sighed at himself now. It wasn't that he didn't try to take on the wise words of Dr Pillsbury, but these things were always easier said than done and even if he was trying heed them, he wondered if it really was making any difference. Over a year later he was still having the same visions at least a couple of times a week. Whilst had become used to them, it did start a new obsession.
Sam took his teacup to his desk, and switched his work lamp on. He flipped through his sketchbook, looking at the drawings of her from different angles- they were good, but still weren't quite right. It started out as a way of trying to work through what the dreams meant, like trying to expel his demons, but the more he did it, the more he found himself compelled to capture her exact likeness.
He began to work at a new image, and sketched and drew until an hour had passed. He tried to shade her large doe eyes and include the twinkle he often saw, it just always looked so dull whenever he drew them- just not the same as how they really are. Really are?
"Argh!" Sam slammed shut his sketchbook. Munchies eyes lifted momentarily before she curled herself back on the window seat, where she liked to sleep amidst a pile of cushions and woolly blankets, indifferent to her master's strange nocturnal activities "I'm crazy Munchies"
Sam threw himself onto his bed and closed his eyes. Before long he was there again, trying to run after her, trying to find her, hoping to see her and save her again.
