XXI: Oh, darling, I can do anything

《 BIRDY AXTON 》

Entering a dreamscape was like breaking a water surface. If you did it too fast, it marred the skin like a whiplash. If you did it right, it was like dipping your head underwater and resurfacing with a deep inhale. Not to fill your starving lungs, but to remind your body that it was still alive.

“Hi, sweetheart.” I stooped down to meet the girl's wide, quizzical eyes. They were brown, not burnt umber like Najwa's, but warmer and lighter, like burnt sienna. The girl glanced around, at a loss of what to do next. I had seen it so many times before, that moment they blinked and realized they were all just running in circles.

It was a blessing at first, to be able to paint without my back aching or my shoulders growing stiff. Every detail from the half-finished paintings and sketches scattered around my studio to the sweet, unmistakable scent of linseed oil that always lingered in the air, was like I remembered it.

For days I wandered around the house, finding it homely but void of something. I filled the quietude with music. I danced along the blue notes of Billie Holiday, and sang along the wear and tear of Janis Joplin's rasp. I stroked burnt umber on a white canvas, and when it made my heart twist with longing, I added ultramarine blue into the mix.

“I don't want to play anymore.” The girl whispered, her lower lip trembling. She wasn't as young as I had mistaken her to be at first glance, but her words held a childish demand: “I want my mom. I want to go home.”

When I painted, my hand moved on its own initiative, piecing together a picture my mind couldn't yet see. The burnt umber met coal black, then warmer shades of brown. Until one day I blinked, and the picture was there. My girl, my mind filled in as the memories flooded back to me.

Remembering her was like the first breath after you've struggled to reach the surface. The fog in my brain cleared, and I set down the brush.

Can an empty house ever truly be a home? If there's no love, no shared laughter, no deep conversations, what is a house but four walls and a roof?

“Well, come on, then.” I held out my hand and the girl took it, without hesitation like a pet that has never learned the cruelty of people. That kind of trust was dangerous, and someone should warn her about it, so that she would never have to learn it the hard way. Fortunately for her, I was here to look after her. “Let's go find your mom, sweetheart.”

Once I remembered Najwa, I began to pay attention to my surroundings. Countless times I had walked past the pictures on the walls, never paying them attention. But the more I looked, the more sense they started to make.

In one of the pictures, Najwa was with three friends. Her one arm was around a brown-haired guy, who had a splatter of freckles around his nose. Her other arm was draped around someone with long white hair and a bashful smile. Behind them stood a guy, who was so tall he could rest his chin on the top of Najwa's head, and whose bleached hair was showing a fair amount of darker roots.

“My sister..” The girl hesitated, craning her neck to look around again.

“She’s here somewhere?” I suggested, and the girl bobbed her head with a relieved smile. We searched for the sister, walking hand in hand around the playground. “Don't worry, we won't leave anyone behind.”

I picked up the picture and slipped out the photo, checking if there were any names written behind it. I distantly remembered it was something my mother and her mother before her used to do. But there were no names, just the words: a mother doesn't always give birth to her children.

The words were enough for me to remember that, yes, they're all mine to look after. My family.

“Her name is Elyse.” The girl offered, and I cupped my hands around my mouth to call after her sister. I didn't have the heart to tell her that not everyone wanted to be awakened, that some rather kept running in circles and playing hide and seek with reality.

I began to look for clues behind the pictures and from my paintings, until eventually I remembered the names of all my children: Rain, Rio and Phoenix. Unlike Phoenix, I never forgot their names or existence after that day. All my memories were mine to keep, like the dreamside had no control over me.

“Elyse!” The girl shrieked with joy, letting go of my hand as she dashed to her sister. The girls were mirror images of each other, they even wore matching clothes.

One day I walked out the front door with nothing but a lighter in my pocket. I realized I could see through the blurred lines and enter other dreamscapes. But I was a ghost in all of them; no one could hear or see me. Theb I saw Phoenix sitting on a bench in that amusement park of his. I knew instantly that he didn't belong to this side, that a part of him was still alive.

“There's a place your mom could be.” I told the girls, holding one's hand with my left one and the other’s with my right. I didn't tell them their mom could only be found from there if she was both infected and awake. At times it was an act of kindness to keep the harsh facts to yourself.

I couldn't get Phoenix's attention, and in a moment of frustration, I set the carousel on fire. Mind you, I'm not one to lose my temper. Najwa got hers from her father, and she has always been the fiery one of us. I didn't think Phoenix would see more than the fire, but for some reason, in the shimmer of the purple flames I was no longer invisible. It angered him to see his amusement park on fire, but anger was good. It meant he was awake.

“Hold your breath.” I whispered to the girls, before guiding them through the transparent entrance. Their hands squeezed mine tighter as the sense of being underwater washed over us. It was soundless for a heartbeat, then murmur and laughter filled the air.

It's been almost a week of Phoenix's dreamscape repelling me. I should have seen it coming, as his dreamscape has never cared for me. Since the beginning, it's dulled my omnipotence, like it is a place with a mind of its own. I worry about Phoenix every day, but I can't just stand by the edge of his prison and wait for it to open its cage.

“There's so many..” Elyse's voice trailed off as she marveled at the crowded mess hall.

There were mothers and fathers with their children, teenagers, elderly, business men and women, people from each and every culture. You could hear Urdu, Japanese, Spanish, German and English all flowing together in harmony.

“Mom!” The other girl cried out just as a woman scooped up both of the girls like they weighed nothing and swirled them around with tears in her eyes.

“Oh, thank God, you're alright.” The woman sobbed, kissing the tops of the girls’ heads. “You're alright.” She whispered again, in a broken voice, and I took it as my cue to leave.

They would come to me later with their gratitude, and I would tell them then that I didn't do this for thank yous, like I had told everyone else before them. Under this high roof and inside these planked walls, I was treated like a savior, but I was no different from anyone else.

I passed one of the long tables, taking a moment to chat with a group of teenagers playing Yatzy, and then moving on to the next group of awakened, a French speaking family I was able to bring together a few days before. I smiled at the girl, who was finger-combing her long red hair.

“Did you find him?” I turned around to face the young man with mussed black curls, which kept falling over his black rimmed glasses. His dark eyes stared down at me with intensity and I couldn't remember if they had been so bleak on the real side. Maybe it was just a side effect of knowing the cold, harsh facts: general unhappiness.

“I didn't realize I had lost him.” I hummed. To which, he rolled his eyes in a ha-ha-very-funny way and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. Not a fan of my humor then. “I'm afraid I still can't get in, but I promise you'll be the first one to know when I do.”

“But what if something’s happened to him?” The worried edge in his tone made a woman glance up at us, and she wasn't the only one looking.

“How about we go for a walk?” I didn't wait for his answer, but pivoted on my heels and headed to the main door. When we were safely out of the earshot of the other awakened, I studied his concerned face and placed a hand on his arm. “You will get to see him again, Levi, I know you will.”

“But..” His voice trailed off as he stared to the horizon. He swallowed and let his breath out in a sigh, turning to look at me with flushed cheeks. “Elian hates me, doesn't he?”

What I had gathered from Phoenix, it had been his mistake, not Levi's. But it had done its damage to Phoenix as well, and caused a crack in his self-esteem. So, even though Levi being back brought its own challenges, they needed to talk things through.

“Phoenix doesn't hate you. In fact, I think he believes it to be the other way around.” When Levi's only answer was a pair of furrowed brows, I patted his arm. “You can talk it out once I find a way to bring him here.”

“Are you sure you c—” Levi began to say, but I cut him short.

“Oh, darling, I can do anything.” I wasn't just saying it. I knew it in my bones that the dreamside had no chance against me. Every day I could do more, gather more people together and make them hear and see me. I was no longer a ghost, and soon enough, we would all be alive and not just awoken. But first, I needed to find a way to get back to Phoenix.