Chapter Three
Even before he could really see he felt the weightless freedom of being underwater. The sensation was so close to what he imagined flying might be like that he had spent long hours in the nearby pool, swimming and drifting through the water without destination that eventually the rough cement lining ripped the bottom of his feet to shreds.
But he wasn't in a pool now. Around him were floating other teenagers his age, swimming around in a small grotto filled with water. All of them seemed to ignore him as they darted about through the water, zigzagging through strange underwater trees. He dove down through the pristine water to one of the trees, making out a distinct human face, its eyes closed as if it were sleeping contently, sealed within the wood. He looked around, noticing that as time went the others seemed to age, their skin suddenly taking on the wooden look of the trees that were firmly rooted on the floor.
All of them sunk to the bottom without a fight, content to grow into trees themselves and thrive peacefully off the bottom. Suddenly Dan felt himself become heavy as well, and his limbs suddenly begin to lock in place, making it harder and harder to move. In panic he thrashed about in desperation, looking up towards the surface as he sank deeper and deeper, desperate not to be trapped, rooted into the ground unable to escape like the others.
He sat up quickly, his long hair flying in front of his face and sticking to the sweat. His breathing was rapid as he pushed the hair out of his face and glanced over at the alarm clock in the dark. 5:59. He moaned, pressing his hands against his face when the next minute passed and the alarm was set off at 6:00. He slammed the snooze button and put his face in hands, rubbing it to try and wake himself up. His mind drifted back to his dreams, which seemed so vivid he wasn't sure if they had been dreams at all. The dream where the starship had crashed was especially vivid, but he convinced himself that it was impossible for it to be true. "There was a guy with a lightsaber for crying out loud. What are you thinking?" He said to himself as he lay back down for a moment and winced as his torn arms, wrapped clumsily in bandages, were racked in pain.
He was suddenly breathless, remembering how the shrapnel from the crash had torn his arms, how his blood had mixed with the Sith's. He sat up again, jumping out of bed and run upstairs to wake his mother up to go to school. As he came back down to his room to change his clothes his mind kept running over the events, trying to make sense out of them.
How was it possible that there could be a Sith here? How would George Lucas of all people know about that? Maybe it was some kind of subconscious thing, something from the collective subconscious. Maybe George Lucas was a Jedi… No that was idiotic. "Of course, I could just have lost my mind. Maybe I went into a fit and attacked myself and the rest was just my imagination." He glanced down at his bandages, which would probably need changing soon, as blood was already staining the upper layers. He went to his closet, looking for something with long enough sleeves. The only thing he had that probably still fit him was a black turtleneck that his mom had bought him for Christmas but he didn't wear because he thought it made him look like one of those 'artistic' types at coffee shops writing poetry and smoking their cigarettes.
He sighed, realizing that there was no other option; otherwise everyone would think he'd tried to commit suicide over the weekend. He slipped the sweater over his head, and immediately felt like he was on fire. It was going to be a long couple of weeks until his arms finally healed.
The sound of frantic stomping above him distracted him from his misery and he opened the door, walking upstairs from his basement room to the kitchen. His mother was throwing clothes around, letting out desperate cries as if she had lost her wedding ring. "Mom what's wrong?" He said more out of obligation than real concern.
"I can't find anything to wear!" She screamed out as if someone were dying, and he struggled not to roll his eyes. "I don't have any clean clothes and we're going to be late because I have nothing to wear!"
"Mom, you have several closets full of clothes and none of those are good enough?"
She gave him a flabbergasted look as she fumbled for a good explanation. He couldn't help but notice the dark circles of her eyes caused by yesterdays smeared makeup. That combined with her hair, sticking out in all directions, made her seem like a mental patient. "Well none of those match!" She said, waving her arms over her head like a frustrated chimp.
"I'm just going to walk to school." He said, because he knew he would go crazy himself if he had to deal with her overdramatics for the rest of the morning. He turned around, hoping he would get out the door before she had the chance to-
"No, you can't leave me!" She said, as if he were her husband and had just declared that he was divorcing her. "I need you to HELP me!"
He paused, feeling the heat of anger flashing over him. "Mom, what do you want me to do, dress you?"
"I don't know." She said going back to her pile of clothes and throwing them across the room.
"Mom, will you calm down, its not that big of a deal."
"Fine, leave then." She said dismissively with a primal kind of growl in her voice.
He let out an exasperated sigh and walked out the door. As he walked through the cool morning air, he tried to let what little comfort nature could give calm him. But he felt himself ever boiling over with anger and frustration. Every morning was like this, and each day was filled with his mother's 'crises' which were in fact just daily trials that most people resolved in minutes. Every single mishap was suddenly made into an earth-shattering disaster, and it made him so sick and angry that it took him hours to calm down afterwards.
When at last his anger subsided, he was suddenly stricken by a desperate feeling of loneliness that made him want to lie down in the street he was walking along. He took a moment to stop by a tree and sit with his back against the trunk. He planted his face in his hands as he let loose a shaking sigh. There had been a time when his mother had been his best friend, and now that she had lost her mind he felt incredibly alone. Worse yet, there was no one to talk to. His stepfather, who he suspected was mildly retarded, didn't have the attention span to carry on a conversation and would literally walk away in the middle of one. At school, most of his friends were more like acquaintances, he had a very large spectrum of people he was friends with, but none of them had a strong connection with him. So his anger, frustration, and sadness was left to simmer within him with no where to go. He'd once been such a happy person, proud because of his ability to show kindness to almost anyone. But isolation had caused his soul to become stained, and no matter what he tried he couldn't strip the thick grime from his heart.
All of this had seemed such a small thing at first, but when he was forced to deal with it every day several times a day, combined with the responsibility of caring for his mother as if she were a child, it quickly build up to something entirely unbearable. As he planted his face in his hands, he wanted so terribly to cry and let out all the pressure that was building in him, but found that no tears would come.
A flash of lightning lit the dark morning, and the thunder that rolled over his skin made him feel somewhat relieved, as if nature's roar somehow were an expression of his own frustration. He sighed, feeling somewhat relieved, and stood up to begin walking to school again, walking along the street and looking at the houses. The quiet gave him a chance to once again reflect on what had happened two nights ago. It still seemed too much to grasp, and he wondered if his own desperation to escape the confines of his reality had pushed him over the edge.
He sighed, glancing down a driveway where a few scattered leaves left over from autumn swirled in a whirlwind, a plastic back dancing amongst the leaves in graceful silence. Dan watched as it made its silent, sad dance through the air, and waved his finger around as if conducting it, fancying that somehow he could control it. Suddenly, his finger froze, and he felt his heart skip a beat before returning to beat with the same intensity it had two nights ago.
As his finger drifted about, the bag followed without fault, dancing just as he commanded it to. He let his hand drop, and the bag fell lifeless to the ground. His mind was racing, before he laughed and shook his head, walking down the street again. "No, that's crazy."