“Have you ever woken yourself from your own dream?”

The grass is thick and green with a hint of yellow.  It is warm and comfortable, sitting under the sun as he asks questions for the sake of conversation.  I pull my eyes from the grass between my spread fingers to look at him.  His face is tilted and open with a hint of a smile.  

There is something deep and settled and lasting about this moment.

“On purpose?” I think I’ll remember today forever.  Something to pull out of a photo album to make myself feel a fraction of this again.  The breeze is cool, and with it I realize how warm my skin has grown from the sun. “No.  I don’t recall ever wanting to.”

A hawk is gliding in the air, almost floating in place, sharp eyes watching the field below.  If I could fly like that . . . how it would feel to be suspended between earth and sky, the pull of gravity and the pull of the wind holding me in place.

“Not even from nightmares?”

The ground solid beneath me is just as well, I suppose, but oh to feel nothing around me and yet to be held. “I can’t remember nightmares when I’m under the sunlight.”

He tears away a tall blade of grass and picks at its edges.  His eyes glow like a cool morning autumn mist. “I know you can’t,” he says, “but clouds are coming.”

“Not today,” I say, looking back up at the deep blue sky.  Not today, and that’s what matters for now.  A second hawk glides into view, farther away but with brilliant red feathers.  If I were to paint something, I would paint this.

“You’ve done it before.”

I frown in confusion, looking back at him.  He’s watching me, like he’s about to say something but he wants to make sure I’m following.  I’m not. “Done what?”

“Wake yourself up.”

I shrug, looking down as I thread my fingers through the grass again. “I don’t want to leave.”

“You never do.  That’s why I’m here.”

I know.  I remember.  He’s always here, to make sure I don’t stay too long.  Too long, and my dreams go sour.  Too long, and I get lost in them.  All good things come to an end.  That’s how there’s beginnings.

I look back up, and sure enough, there’s a wispy cloud on the horizon.  I remember now, what waits for me when I wake up.  A messy room, messy homework, messy life.  I have to make a phone call that I’d been putting off.  I have to . . .

“I have time.” I dig my hands deeper into the grass, pushing into the dirt beneath. “I don’t want to forget this.”

He glances over his shoulder at the hawks.  I watch them too.  There’s three of them now.  The first one swoops down at something in the grass.  It pulls back up holding a snake.

I close my eyes, feeling the sunlight against my face.  It’s peaceful here.  It’s warm.  When I open my eyes, a tear slips out.

He stands up, worry on his face as he holds out a hand to me. “If you really want to stay, we need to get out of here.”

The wind picks up, with a sliver of a sharp, cold edge to it.  This is the turning point.  This is where I can get lost.  This is where the dream shifts to a nightmare.  I take his hand and we run.

I have to retake a test in the morning.  I’m not surprised, because not a word of it made sense.  It’s not going to make any more sense the second time around.  We run past the sound of a rattlesnake’s warning.  A hawk dives close to my face, talons suddenly far too large and sharp to be so near me.

I need to do my laundry.

We run into the woods, branches snapping as we pass by.  Roots emerge from the ground to snatch at my ankles.  It’s getting darker here.  I can’t remember how to get to the safehouse.  Hyena laughter rises up around us.

“Come on.” he pulls me sharply to the left.  We have to hurry.  We can’t be out here much longer.  I don’t know where I am.

Everything is far too real.

A root trips me, and I cling to the hand I hold as I go down.  If he hadn’t held on, I would’ve fallen forever; this I know for certain.  I don’t want to know how.  As it is, he pulls me back up, and we’re running through the door to the safehouse before I recognize it.  I bolt the door, just as something slams against it.  A dim light flickers on.

“You need to get out.” he’s looking at me with urgency, and I know he isn’t talking about going outside.  I need to go, I need to go, I need . . . 

“I don’t remember how.” I whisper.  And I don’t.  My feet are heavy on the floor, my heart is fighting with my chest.  I’m too awake to be asleep.

I didn’t realize I was leaning against the door until a second thud hits it, clattering all the way to my teeth.  He joins me, and we hold the door closed.  I’ve been here before.  I don’t remember leaving.

“That’s why I’m here to guide you.  You just have to let me.”

It takes me a moment to see that he’s holding out a hand to me again.  My guide, no matter what I choose.  He knows every dream inside and out.  He knows that fire will break out next.  We both do.

I take his hand.

The smell of pine wood wafts by. I take a deep breath and I hold it.  Somehow, I still don’t want to go.  I don’t want to wake up to everything.  The clammer demanding my attention.  The scattered thoughts.  The time that slips away and then holds so very still.

There’s a hint of smoke mixed in with the pine.  Orange flickers in the edges of my vision.  I have to go.  Maybe after everything, I’ll paint the tail feathers from that red hawk. I let go of the breath I’m holding.

I would like that.

“Okay.” I say, and I close my eyes. “I’m ready to go.” 

There’s a distant pop of wood burning, but it only makes me think of cozy winter nights and marshmallows.  The walls around us sigh and shift, and I listen as he whispers to me, soft as down feathers.

“Wake up.”