Dreaming God Page 5

CHAPTER TWO

  I

  NOT JUST A BAD DREAM

  Tuesday Moxley sat straight up in her bed and released a guttural scream that would put a banshee to shame. Although she was being held down, she was shrieking, and far from awake, still existing in her mind where the thought of the nightmare she having had plagued her. After another few seconds, Tuesday’s eyes opened and her mother was there, looking at her with impatient eyes, as if she were being disturbed from another activity she might have been involved in. Her mother was hoping to a quick resolution to this situation so she could return to her own life.

  Megan Moxley was clearly not the candidate for mother of the year. In her mid-thirties, it was obvious that she had been through some difficult experiences, the result of which had made her a self-serving person with a child. Her slightly scarred face and baggy eyes demonstrated her impatience and frustration with her daughter, trying desperately to calm her, possibly to avoid any embarrassment. Megan never wanted this child, and she had made every effort in the last fifteen years to teach her the importance of self-reliance by never being present in Tuesday’s life. She never wanted to make giant leaps and bounds of effort with her daughter; in fact, Tuesday’s existence was something that she had hoped to cover up with alcohol and heroin abuse. Her emotions were buried deep under mountains of pain and suffering that would rival the highest peaks of the Cascades, dangerous volcanic activity lying deep beneath threatening to erupt under the correct set of circumstances. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about her daughter; she cared just enough, and no more. She made sure Tuesday had been taught to clean herself, feed herself, cloth herself, and provided a house for her to live in so Tuesday could look after herself. If she didn’t have food for her, she would give her the money for food so she could buy herself something to eat, but mostly Tuesday would buy foods she could prepare for herself, so the little bit of money she was offered would last.

  Tuesday spent many lonely nights at home alone, with the door locked and dead bolted. Meanwhile, Megan worked her job at Tuck’s Diner, and would make income on the side engaging in a variety of questionable activities, including, but not limited to selling illegal substances and entertaining men well into the night. Sometimes the lines between those categories would blur across each other, but a woman’s got to do what a woman’s got to do to make ends meet, right? It was especially difficult because Megan had child to care for; a child who in her eyes was often an inconvenience to her and her way of life. This was one of those times.

  Megan stood above Tuesday’s bed staring at her for about ten seconds before casually sitting down, plopping carelessly onto the bed with a near dead weight, the scent of liquor emanating from her pores. She pulled her best concerned expression out and placed it on her face for Tuesday to see, trying to calm her so she could go back to her bedroom and what she was doing. She reaches out to hold her daughter and suddenly Tuesday was kicking and flailing frantically, trying to escape her mother. It intensified when Megan fully put her arms around her to restrain and it became clear that Tuesday wasn’t fully awake or in control of her body quite yet. Tuesday’s powerful thrusts force the two of them from the bed and onto the floor, where she breaks free from her mother’s grip momentarily. Megan has had enough of her actions at this point and dove into her, using her weight to pin Tuesday to the floor, attempting to use some words of discouragement to ease the situation.

  “Shhh, baby.” Megan began, trying to hide her edginess with the situation, speaking softly to calm her daughter. “Shhh, you’re having another nightmare. C’mon, get over it already, would you?”

  Megan’s words clearly weren’t reaching Tuesday, as the thrashing about began to worsen, a knee catching her in the side shooting pain through her kidney, and briefly knocking the wind from her. Realizing that her teenage daughter had just bested her, Megan regained her focus and launched her counterattack on Tuesday, diving back into the fray on her knees, but Tuesday’s foot impacted her jaw with enough force that sent her uncontrollably flying back onto her back. The child was now sitting straight up, staring blankly into the face of her mother, screaming, her hands slamming the floor hard with each exhaling shriek.

  Her patience exhausted, Megan got to her feet and rubbed her jaw, hoping that it wouldn’t bruise too badly and walked a semi-circle around where Tuesday was having her tantrum on the floor. Megan then grabbed her daughter from behind and bear hugged her with both arms. Again, Tuesday began thrusting her head backward, trying to hit her mother with it, pushing off the floor with her feet as she did so. Megan tried again to talk her down.

  “C’mon baby, calm down.” Megan attempted as her consolation turned to frustration. “Knock it off, RIGHT NOW!”

  The thrashing had ceased somewhat, due either in part of Tuesday coming to her senses, or because she had depleted her energy for this fight, or perhaps it was a combination of both. Megan had realized that Tuesday’s thrusts had backed them all the way up to the corner of the wall in her bedroom, and they were both breathing very hard, out of breath. Tuesday, gave a weak and fearful response to her mother’s attempt at calming her.

  “Everything is not going to be fine.” Tuesday replied in an exceptionally raspy voice. “Someone is going to die.”

  Upon hearing her own words Tuesday’s energy became renewed as she returned to her previous violent actions. It was as if she were trying to escape, trying to get wherever it was where these people were going to be harmed and somehow prevent it from happening. But she couldn’t. After another few seconds, she fully awakened and the change was instant in her. She completely relaxed, and her mother loosened her grip on her, barely holding on to her, but attempting to with compassion and gentility, neither of which felt genuine. Tuesday continued relaying her concern to her mother.

  “It’s just like every other time, momma.” Tuesday said, while still breathing very hard. “People are going to get hurt and are going to die.”

  Tuesday turned around and hugged her mother, holding on tightly as if she were trying not to be blown away by a tornado. Megan made a half-hearted attempt at hugging Tuesday back and tried to offer more words to talk her off the ledge, knowing they will be of little use.

  II

  A CRISIS OF FAITH

  “I”, Megan paused. “I don’t know what to say.” She could see the tears streaming down Tuesday’s face in the moonlight that was dancing into the room through the window. “I wish I had a magic pill to take away all this pain from you, but I don’t.”

  Whenever Tuesday had these nightmares, it made her feel like an outcast, like a freak, something that was a joke to everyone around her. It had already caused many problems in her life up to this point. All she wanted were three things. The first was to be normal, the second to have friends, and maybe even a boyfriend one day, and the third for her mother to clean up her life. That were the things she wanted most in her life, though she knew that a fourteen-year-old girl should greater goals than these. She should want to have her first kiss soon, but the nightmares deprived her of any ideas she had about that. She should want to go to slumber parties with other girls and tell secrets that would only last a few days before somebody let the cat out of the bag, but her disorder made that out of the question without any embarrassment. She had tried it once, with disastrous results and had become an outcast among the other girls her age. She wanted to have dreams and plans like any other kid, but between her problems and her mother’s problems, it all had to be put on hold. Tuesday stared into her mother’s eyes for an instant and asked the same rhetorical question she had always asked.

  “Why Mommy?” Tuesday sobbed, trying to wipe the tears from her eyes. “Why do I have this problem?”

  Megan looked up to the ceiling in the room, hoping to magically pull an answer out of the air for her. Her eyes flicked between the ceiling and her daughter, trying to find the right thing to say, but her mind wasn’t working too clearly with as much alcohol sw
ishing around in it as she had consumed previously that evening. Finally, she gave up and told her the plain truth, as she had always done.

  “I don’t know.” Megan began, fighting her natural proclivity toward impatience. “Maybe somebody knows, but I don’t have those answers.”

  “Do you think anyone knows?” Tuesday asked despondently, looking for a glimmer of hope.

  Megan said the first thing that came to her mind, she was anxious for a quick resolution for the night’s problems.

  “Well, I’m sure somebody knows.” Megan hesitated and then replied in a bit of a rush, “We just haven’t found that person yet.”

  Tuesday wasn’t sure she liked the emphasis her mother placed upon the word “Somebody”, but didn’t feel like challenging her at that very moment. She just wanted her answers, and then to try to get some sleep. With any luck, her mother would let her stay home from school in the morning, but it wouldn’t help, she was going to witness this accident whether she went to school tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that. The fact that she had seen herself on the school bus was living proof that it would happen and she would be there to witness it, and that thought gnawed at her mind with a persistent bite. Megan then fully released her grip on Tuesday, and picked her up putting her back into bed, handing her Winston as she tucked her in.

  “What if we never find somebody who knows?” Tuesday asked between sobs, almost giving up the belief that there would be somebody in the world who could help her with her problems.

  Megan squeezed her eyes closed momentarily, trying to be patient with her unrelenting daughter. She then spoke some words, though the next day she wouldn’t remember those words, but what Megan said was something that stuck with Tuesday and gave her peace.

  “There are just some things you have to take on faith.” Megan said. “This is one of those things.”

  Hearing these words brought Tuesday back down to Earth in a way that she never thought possible, and even Megan herself was surprised what she had said and the effect it had on her little girl. Tuesday had read plenty of books on religion, and knew what a powerful thing faith could be.

  Just then there was a voice sounding out, coming across the hall from Megan’s room. It was a man’s voice, and the voice sounded irritated and impatient.

  III

  FROM ONE BAD DREAM TO ANOTHER

  “Hurry up an’ get in here!” The voice yelled, cranky, old and impatient. “I’m paying for your time here.” Tuesday’s eyes went wide and she got an irate look on her face.

  “Don’t worry!” Megan cried out, trying to quell the impatience the man in the next room was feeling. “You’ll get what you’re paying for!” “Dirtbag.” She whispered under her breath, putting her disdain for her client on display. Megan didn’t mind sleeping with men for money, but hated their attitude toward the whole thing. She felt as if she were treated less than human when she had clients such as this one, who only cared about themselves, and not about anything else. The voice in the other room changed Tuesday’s demeanor, as she felt the anger rise inside of her.

  “You had better go, something’s obviously more important than I am.” Tuesday spat the words from her mouth as she turned away, facing the wall.

  Megan reluctantly stood up and turned away, rather dejectedly and walked slowly toward the door, with her face turned to the floor. As she reached the door, Tuesday spoke, but didn’t turn toward her.

  “It isn’t just a bad dream.” Tuesday spoke softly, with regret in her voice. “It will happen.”

  Her mother stopped and turned toward her. “Whether it’s going to happen or not, try to relax and get some sleep.” She returned. “I’m going to get this done, and then I have to work a double in the morning.”

  Megan began to close the door when she heard her daughter speak again.

  “I love you, Mommy.” Tuesday said in a panic, wishing her mom was the kind of mom that would be happy to stay and take care of her.

  “I love you too, baby.” Megan answered in a tone that sounded overly rehearsed as she closed the door for the night.

  Tuesday and her teddy bear Winston were left alone in the dark bedroom, with only Tuesday’s thoughts and the sounds of her mother and her guest filling her head. Try and relax and get some sleep. That’s what her mother said. Yeah, right. Maybe when they get done.

  Tuesday had heard enough about sex from the other kids at school to know what was going on, although she had never experienced it herself. She knew other girls her age that had, one had even gotten pregnant, and another had gotten some disease that she couldn’t pronounce, or so she had heard in the halls. But she hadn’t even kissed a boy. She wondered, and not for the first time, if she ever would.

  She wasn’t exactly the kind of girl that boys were attracted to anyway. Her kinky, shoulder length hair style wasn’t the current thing, and her variety of mismatched thrift store clothes or hand me downs weren’t exactly on the cutting edge of style. And then there was the matter of Winston, she couldn’t just abandon him so that she could attract some boy. She wasn’t ready to imagine a world without Winston.

  Winston came into Tuesday’s life when she was only four years old, but she could remember it as if it were only moments ago. Her mother had taken a job which required her to drive to another town in another state, and couldn’t get a sitter, so she had to bring her along for the ride. It seemed like it was very far away, but such are the perceptions of young children forced to sit in a car for a few very hot days when she would much rather be outside playing. She was whining about being bored, being thirsty, and being generally irritable about pretty much the whole situation. For some reason, her mother stopped at a truck stop on the side of the Interstate, a kind of a run-down joint. Upon bringing the car to a complete stop, Megan told Tuesday to use the potty if she had to while she picked up a few things in the convenience store. What seemed like a great amount of time to Tuesday, Megan returned to the car and found Tuesday there, with the windows rolled down, and she was fastened back in her seat. She had learned to do many things such as this at a very young age, as her mother wasn’t too consistent. Consistency was something that fit Tuesday’s personality profile even at a very young age. Her mother would do things for her from time to time that pleased her greatly, and then would slack off on them after only a few times, thus, she learned to take mental notes of everything her mother would do and learn to do them for herself. This would often frustrate Megan throughout the years, but Tuesday had come to expect disappointment from her mother often, and learned to deal with that adversity in a creative way.

  When Tuesday had finally gotten herself settled back into the car seat, Megan gave her a bottle of crème soda, and a teddy bear that she had found as well. Upon receiving the bear, Tuesday squealed with delight and she revealed a smile that slowly grew from ear to ear. Deciding immediately that she needed a name for the bear, she asked her mother what she had gotten from the store. She told her that she had gotten a Coke and a pack of Winstons. It was then and there she decided that the bear’s name would be Winston, because she wanted to always remember that one incredibly perfect moment she had with her mother. Over the years, it was the bright spot in her memory, the one that never faded with time.

  Tuesday and Winston had been pals through thick and thin. When there was nobody else to turn to, Winston was always there, unwavering in his loyalty and love for her, not her teachers, not her mother, and especially not friends. Winston was the cool center in Tuesday’s chaotic world, the star that she found herself steering by. Besides, what boy could every possibly live up to Winston? He was literally, her everything.

  When at last it occurred to her that the sounds her mother and guest would never cease, Tuesday pulled her spare pillow over her and Winston’s heads and soon found herself falling into a restless sleep, where she slept uneasy until her alarm woke her in the morning.