Chapter 1

July, 1990             

She opens her eyes and sees a darkened world rush past her as she falls downward at an exponentially fast rate. Only darkness surrounds her as she falls farther and farther. She has no idea what she will land on or if she will ever land at all. Fear quickly takes over as the primary emotion running her decisions and the terror she’s feeling through every part of her body causes her to act in the only way she can.

                I want to slow down! Irene thinks frantically. Almost immediately, the world’s pace around her starts to decrease but the fact that she’s falling continues to frighten her and inexplicitly Irene thinks of the leaves that she always helps her father rake up after they fall all around their yard. As she recalls the piles she loves to jump happily jump into, a stack of them appears below her. She lands softly on them, disoriented about how it happened. The blackness that was rushing by before has stopped moving but still surrounds her. She looks around again, trying to make sense of her new environment. She shudders and reaches forward tentatively and makes a silent wish to get out of her fear alive. She reaches down tentatively toward the red items below her.

                The second her fingers graze a bright red one, her body jerks quickly and then she’s alone on her twin bed. Unfazed by what just happened, seven-year-old Irene Gabbard turns over and quickly falls asleep again. Years later, she barely remembers what happened that night at all. Years pass before she even dreams again and it’s only then that she begins to wonder why certain things happened them.

August 1996

                Irene is walking through a shopping center. Hey, I think I know this place, mom and I went here days ago to buy my ‘new junior high outfit.’ She passes by the clothing stores that are closed. She checks her watch and notices that it’s hours before anything is supposed to be open. She suddenly sees crowds of girls her age run by to a stage at the opposite end of the building.  That wasn’t there before. Irene muses as she follows the crowd. As she gets closer, she hears the girls’ screams for the person in front of the stage.

                “Oh JTT I love you so much!” “JTT I want to be your girlfriend!” The girls yell.

                Well, that’s neat that he’s making an appearance here. Man I wish I had my autograph notebook so I could get him to sign it. Irene thinks as she puts her hands in her pockets before walking away again. As her fingers go deeper into the denim, she feels the spiral rings and paper of a notebook. She pulls it out and discovers that it’s the pocket sized book she keeps in her nightstand. This is too good to be true, she thinks as she sprints back to the teenage crowd and pushes her way to the front of it.

                “Hey JTT over here, sign my book please!” She says in a loud, excited voice.

                Jonathon Taylor Thomas carefully holds her notepad and scribbles his name for her. Irene beams as she walks away in a daze. I’m keeping this forever; this notebook is never leaving my nightstand again. Now how do I get out of here? I just want to leave. Irene thinks as she searches for an open door. I have to meet my mom, I think I hear her calling for me. Before she can search for too long, her body jerks and she’s in her bedroom and sees her mom’s hand knocking on her door.

“Irene honey, it’s time for school. You don’t want to be late for your first day of junior high.” Ruth Gabbard says happily yet softly as she opens her daughter’s bedroom door.

                “Ugh, mom could we tone down the chipper chipmunk attitude today? The first day isn’t as important as you think.” Irene sighs as throws her quilt off her bed.

                “Oh but it is. I met my best friend in junior high, it can be the best time of your life if you want it to be. I know you’ll have fun sweetie, you’re just such a good person to be around.” Ruth says as she opens her daughter’s curtains and leaves to start breakfast.

                Irene turns away and rolls her eyes at her mom’s praise. With it and her dad’s steadfast approval of how she stays productive, she sometimes gets overwhelmed by the positivity. Remembering the last thing she saw before waking up, her mind and eyes wander to her nightstand. She opens the top drawer and digs through the keepsakes and mementos of years past to find a small notebook. Most of the pages are blank until she comes across one page with three names written in blue ink on it.

                “Whoa. How did that happen? I know I’m not still asleep, I saw mom wake me up,” Irene whispers.  “Unless, am I’m still dreaming in some way?” She looks around for a few minutes longer and eventually she walks to her closet. Irene grabs one of the new outfits her mom bought her for this “special year” for the day and walks slowly to her bathroom next door. Everything appears normal and not really dream-like, at least to her at this point. Not wanting to risk hearing her mother yell again about how special today is, Irene quickens her pace and finishes her pre-breakfast shower routine in record time.

                She arrives at the kitchen table just as her mom is placing a plate of French toast at Irene’s place setting. Without a word, Irene pushes the toast slightly to the left of her plate and proceeds to pour a pool of syrup beside it. She cuts bites out of her two toast slices, dips them wordlessly into the syrup one at a time and eats in a polite silence. Also quiet, her dad shuffles the newspaper in front of him as he moves from the business section to the sports.

                “Any news you think this section of the world would like to know too dear?” Ruth asks her husband.

                “Nah, it’s really just the same old thing as yesterday,” Andrew responds with only his voice breaking the paper barrier between himself and the breakfast table’s occupants.

“I think though that today’s big news won’t be found in this paper. Isn’t today someone’s first day of eighth grade?”

“Daaad, today is not a big deal at all.” Irene sighs and emphasizes her last two words. “Millions of kids are starting eighth grade today.”

“Yes but those millions of kids are not my special girl.” He smiles as he folds his news and places it beside his plate. “I’m so proud of you honey, this is a big day for you.”

“Yes sweetie, I’m sure you’ll do great this year in all that you do, just like you always do.” Her mom’s eyes grow moist as she gives Irene a huge grin.

Irene smiles back and forces her eyes to not roll back in annoyance this, her parents’ latest set of the constant praise. Whether she’s starting a new year of school or getting an ‘A’ on a test like her classmates they always give her more verbal accolades and occasional physical expressions of admiration than Irene felt she ever deserved. The family soon resumes their breakfasts and Irene finishes first. She excuses herself and leaves to go back upstairs to finish getting ready for school before the bus gets to their street. As she walks back through the kitchen and to the stairs, she can’t help but hear her parents’ soft conversation.

“I just hope this is a successful year for her friends-wise at least. She’s never seems particularly close with any of the kids she’s met over the years.” She hears her mom say with the tears Irene saw before are now affecting her speech.

“Ruth, I’ve told you before, she’s just cautious when it comes to interacting people. It is a very rare occurrence when you only have to tell your child not to talk to strangers once and she immediately takes it to heart.” Her father replies curtly. Irene knows without seeing anything that even though her dad sounded harsh, he tried to soften the severity of his comment with a pat on her mom’s arm. The gesture is probably the only one of concern and love she has ever seen her dad exhibit for her.

Thanks dad, ‘cautious’ is such a great euphemism for my behavior. You ever pause to think that it may be something I’ve learned from you two, this lack of a need for closeness? Irene thinks as she sprints up to her bathroom.

Within minutes she’s finished drying her hair and applying a big of powdery make-up to her face. Irene smiles at her reflection and feels lucky that she hasn’t had to do a lot of scrubbing in any way to keep her face clear thus far. Please let me be one of those lucky ones who makes it through puberty relatively untouched she thinks. She grabs her backpack from her bedroom and through the window behind her nightstand she sees a faint yellow vehicle’s outline moving slowly toward the end of the street where her house sits.

She rushes down the stairs almost as fast as she fled up them moments before. Her parents have since left the kitchen and now one of them stands on either side of the front door. She hugs and kisses each of them on the cheek before speed walking to the curb. The bus is still a few doors away but she learned last year in her first months riding it that the driver was not one to wait more than a few milliseconds.

Once at school, Irene walks slowly to her locker; the speed she used to get ready in time for today is already depleted. Having been going to the Day School since kindergarten, she finds a strange comfort in already knowing how the first and successive 190 days will go. She had received her schedule weeks ago in the mail and retrieves it from her backpack now.

Students in second grade and above were mailed their schedules of class rotations weeks ago. They were to report to homeroom by or before the third and last bell at 8a.m for a brief role call before leaving as a group to their first of five classes, each lasting 50 minutes. There’s a ten minute interlude between each class including homeroom to give students time to reach their next class as well as to do anything else they need to (i.e. locker or bathroom trips). Lunch periods occur between 11:15a.m and 12:50p.m in twenty-five minute increments with pairs of grades such as kindergarten and first, second and third, fourth and fifth, and sixth through eighth eating together. 

After the fifth class period, students are given an optional twenty-minute free study period to use for homework preparation or completion. The higher grade teachers also stay during this time for meetings and questions their students may have. This twenty-minute period is also used for the occasional detention that is rarely given out for various offenses conducted throughout the day. Those choosing to go to the period or who have the misfortune of a detention sentence are afforded the luxury of being able to ride the bus back home before the driver takes the vehicle around for the county schools once more. Irene has only in the last two years started staying for the study period in an effort to stay on top of her ever pressuring schoolwork and to catch the bus home as well.

She puts the lock back on her locker before getting her schedule out of her backpack for the first time in the weeks since she got it. She has her math class, her semester of physical science and foreign language all before lunch. Well it’s good that I’m getting my favorites out of the way, Irene thinks sarcastically. She looks at the watch keychain on her bag and sees she has about seven minutes before the bell rings. Might as well go on to homeroom I guess.

 She walks down the hallway opposite her locker and soon reaches the classroom. It is fairly empty; most students wait until the two or three minutes to go mark before entering homeroom. She sees a guy her age with dirty blonde hair sitting in the front row. He hears her footsteps approach and looks up. He smiles at her with all of his face and the smile crinkles area around his hazel eyes. She smiles back out of politeness and sits beside him. She hopes he doesn’t talk to her right away or even assume that just because he smiled she decided to sit beside him. The front row is my preferred area to sit buddy boy. Irene thinks.

Minutes pass by quickly and soon the rest of the class shuffles in followed by their teacher, Mrs. Whitworth. Irene tries to remember what she’s heard about Mrs. Whitworth since she’ll be back here in about an hour for physical science. Is she the one who grades rough and cares most about pushing students to their best as a result? Or is she the burned out one who grades easily and doesn’t really care one way or another? She’s still trying to remember when Mrs. Whitworth calls out her name.

Irene raises her hand to acknowledge that she is indeed there. After finishing the roster, Mrs. Whitworth pauses a minute before dismissing everyone.

“Class, before you go, I want to introduce you to a transfer student we have joining us this year. He comes to us from Shelbyburg Prep in our state neighbor to the west. Everyone, please meet Geoff Raleigh.” She tells the students as she mispronounces Geoff as two syllables: Gee-off.

“I also sometimes go by Geoff. It’s short for Geoffrey,” he says, and pronounces his name Jeff. “It’s a stupid spelling of my name but what can you do with parents who fell in love thanks to Canterbury Tales as well as other classic literature huh?”

The class including Mrs. Whitworth laughs. So she’s not the one who doesn’t care, Irene thinks. “Boy your parents must have wanted to confuse you when learning phonetically how to spell.” She says before she can even think to stop herself. The bell rings before Geoff can reply but he follows close behind her as the class leaves.

“You think others names are so difficult since you have one that in and of itself means peace?” He says as she reaches her locker.

She whips her head around, not realizing that he had actually followed her based on a remark she spontaneously let out of her head into conversation.

“No, no,” Irene stutters. “Look, I didn’t mean anything by that joke. I usually think very thoroughly before I make any comments, good or bad and I usually never talk to someone who doesn’t address me first.”

“Well what made me so special and different as to warrant an unsolicited comment?” Geoff replies as they begin walking back to the hall of classrooms to make it back in time for their math period.

“Different being the appropriate word there,” Irene smirks but deep down she feels a large cramp of apprehension. What did make him so different? Why am I even still talking to him? Hopefully I can just ignore this guy for the rest of the year before high school, I mean it’s not like we’ll ever see each other again after next June.

The rest of the day passes by just about as Irene suspected with a few changes that weren’t present during the same day last year. Geoff asked her a few times about how to get to a certain classroom to which she replied with short, succinct answers that usually only meant a point of her hand. Their classmates travelled almost in a lump from subject to subject so unless Geoff had to make any personal stops (he only made one) she would need only to direct him the same way the teenage traffic was headed. In the rare instance when she did say words to him, they were usually sarcastic in nature and quiet in volume about his new scholastic environment.

She feels surprised when he laughed at her remarks and feels taken aback at herself. Since when do I have more than sprinkles of conversation with someone, let alone a boy. What she later identifies as the most the most jarring was that he responded with his own biting comments, sometimes continuing the jokes she makes. He even adds his own personal interpretation of what could be done to make their first day of eighth grade more exciting. He barks a laugh at her suggestion of introducing science class with a galaxy themed song from Monty Python. She smiles despite herself, stifling giggles when he starts to hum the song she references.

By the time the last bell rings to signal to all students that the twenty-minute afterschool period is completed, Irene is more than ready to go home and Geoff acts like a student who has been attending Darrington Day for years instead of just hours. He waves goodbye to her as he walks over to his mother’s VW Van and she walks to her bus. She moves her hand up to return the gesture and does so quickly before her brain processes that she has completed the friendly action.

Irene makes her way to an empty seat and positions herself back into her window viewing from the morning earlier. The cars outside move in an organized format as their drivers follow the directions of a local police officer motioning when a set can go forward and others have to wait. Irene sighs at the familiarity and goes over the day in her head. I guess my teachers think that eighth grade is the one where we deserve to learn about deadlines huh? She thinks as her mind considers how many projects she has to make sure to complete before Halloween. Irene is still thinking about her projects when a conversation girls across the aisle are having breaks her out of her reverie.

“He’s sooo cute isn’t he? You know I heard he did the voice of the younger Simba in The Lion King.” The redhead tells her friend. 

“Really? That’s sooo awesome! I loved that movie as a kid. I wish I could see him in more stuff.” The brunette responds. 

“Well did you ever see Tom and Huck? He’s Tom Sawyer in that.”  

“Ugh, a movie based on that crappy book we had to read last year?! Why would I want to see that?” 

“Well it wasn’t that bad, plus isn’t any excuse to see JTT worth it? I think so.” The first girl sighs. 

Her friend sighs too, “That’s true, you can’t go wrong with a movie if it’s got Jonathan Taylor Thomas in it.” 

Irene suddenly remembers her weird dream from that morning. She wonders if that notebook had in her hand when she woke up is still in her nightstand drawer. Even more so, she wonders if the signature is still on it. How in the world did I manage to do that? Irene thinks. This requires serious research. 

 The bus jerks forward as it stops at the end of her street. She gathers her backpack quickly and runs out to her house, making note of her mom’s car already in the driveway. Good, she can drive me to the library. Irene thinks. 

“Mom! I’m home but I need to go straight to the library for a few hours. I’ve already got projects to research and these won’t wait!” She yells as she runs up the stairs to check her nightstand. 

Her mom is standing by the sink, slicing a pink lady apple. “Sure dear, would you like a snack first?” Ruth says as she finishes slicing the fruit.  

“Not today mom, I’m not really that hungry. Lunch was surprisingly good in comparison to first day meals of the past.” Irene shouts as a hint of a smile starts to pull at her lips. The notebook with its newly written on page is still in the drawer. She shoves it in her backpack quickly and then goes back downstairs. 

Her mom eats her apple and walks to the counter for her keys. “So what projects have been assigned to your brilliant mind this year? I’m sure you’ve got great plans for them already.” 

Irene meets her mother in the hallway and freezes before she answers; she wasn’t expecting to have to provide actual details for her alibi to get to the library. “Oh you know, um, in French, we’re studying more of the history of the country first this year so I have to research and profile a well known French leader. We have to present the entire report in French.” 

Her mom smiles at her as they walk back to the front door. “I’m sure you’ll do great dear, you always get things done so well.” 

Irene blushes as they walk out to the Explorer. The rest of their trip passes by in a comfortable silence. When they reach the library, she tells her mom to come back in about two hours. 

“I’ll be finished with this preliminary research in time for dinner, mom I promise.” Irene says as she gets out of the automobile.  

Her mom nods. “That’s fine dear, I’ll be back here by 5:30. Love you.” 

“Love you too.” Irene replies and walks through the library doors. 

Once inside her mind starts spinning. Where do I start? I know Freud was really into dreams, the nutbar that he was, but he’s more psychology than dreams in general. Well I guess starting out with broad terms couldn’t hurt right? 

The librarian at the front desk takes note of Irene’s hesitation. “Can I help you dearie?” 

Irene nearly jumps at the woman’s voice. “What? Yes sorry. I’m doing a school project on dreams and I didn’t know where exactly I should start.” 

The librarian asks her if she is researching anything in particular about dreams. Irene shakes her head no and she is directed over to the card catalog drawers. The librarian pulls out the one labeled 100. 

“Here you’ll find our books on psychology, I think they should have a good start. You look like a bright girl and can probably find your way after that.” She tells Irene with a sweet smile. “I’ll be at the desk if you need me though.” 

Irene thanks her and when she sees the woman is out of earshot she sighs. What is it with people and the over-abundant praise? Jeez. Irene pulls out a school notebook and begins writing down book numbers to look up.  She sees that these are directly about dreams and other paranormal topics. Bingo!  Irene mentally screams. She checks the watch in the top pocket of her backpack and discovers she still has ninety minutes until her mom is due back to pick her up and immediately goes upstairs so she can find the books and write down as many notes as possible.  

An hour later, she’s barely written anything down from the psychology books. Freud was a freak and thus, no help but these books on dreams are great. Irene pours over them quickly and learns that in order to better remember one’s dreams; one should keep a journal of them. She makes a mental note to buy an extra notebook the next time she goes to CostCo with her mom. She reads on and makes more notes about there have been some people in history who learned how to control their own dreams. Irene closes her notebook satisfied that she has a good beginning in her understanding. As she gets her stuff ready again to meet her mom downstairs, she silently vows to loyally update her dream journal and she also makes plans to research more into what the books meant by lucid dreaming. 

January 2001 

Irene’s breath comes out in short, erratic bursts as she turns a corner and speeds up her running pace again. I’ve never ran before in my waking life, why on earth would my dreams want me to do it? Sheesh. Her mental words are running through her brain as fast as her legs are taking her through the woods. As she keeps running, a lump of fear starts its way through her tiring body as she can't find an exit. I’ve been working on my dreams for years now, carefully documenting them in specific details both in content and my own control of them.  I know me running through anything outdoors is a sign that I am definitely not awake. I just need to know who or what is chasing me and I can act from there.  

Irene turns her head quickly to scan the horizon behind her. A shadowy figure that up until now has been more than a yard or two behind her steps into her line of sight. Irene’s researched enough to know that dreams, while they seem long and involved as they happen and once the person wakes up only really last a few brief moments. As exhausted she feels and as constant as it's felt to have this maniac trailing her, the chase has only really been going on for maybe a few minutes. 

Okay buddy; show your face, I want to know who or what you are. The sooner I am able to confront you for whatever you symbolize the better. She silently commands the pursuer and stops by a tall magnolia tree, catching her breath and evening out its erratic tone. 

The figure slows her pace down accordingly and walks up to Irene so that their face to face. The mid-afternoon light comes through the trees and shines on her chaser. Irene moves forward, almost not believing who is looking at her at first. The teenager looking forward is her exact double, except in more modern fashions and an age appropriate haircut for a seventeen year old. 

“Are you really who I think you are?” Irene asks the doppelganger.  

“I’m whoever you think I am.” The doppleganger answers.  

“You’re me I think, albeit a much nicer dressed me but still…” 

“Then there you go. Any other questions? We’ve only got a few more seconds before you’ll make yourself wake up for school.” 

“How do you know that I can wake myself at will?” Irene asks with an almost frightened look. 

“I’m a part of your subconscious, who else would know you better?” Her trendy twin answers with a smirk. 

“Okay fine, why are you chasing me?” 

The other Irene explains quickly that she needs to take slightly more of an interest in her appearance and social life. It won’t take much, maybe changing her outfits a bit and increase the talking to her classmates. Irene bows her head, she's knows that this version of herself is right but saying how to change and actually doing it are two very different things. I'm such an introverted mess, besides what are the odds that if I get my nerves up my take on the world that will be appreciated? 

“You can wake up now and write down what you have just been through, the feelings it stirred up and all. What you do with what you told yourself, well that’s up to you. I won't promise you that I won't chase you again though.” Her inner self tells her. 

Without a second thought Irene wills herself awake and finds her surroundings are her bedroom again. I’m out of the woods, maybe literally. She quickly checks her alarm clock on the nightstand to see that she still has ten minutes before she was supposed to wake up. Grabbing the pen and bound journal she keeps beside it, words flow from her pen easily and fluidly in her descriptions of everything she just encountered including the woods and her emotions upon meeting herself.  

She dots the page and ends her last sentence before replacing the notebook and pen and turning off her alarm one minute before it was set to blare into her ear. She then goes over to her closet to find something different to wear for once. Skipping over her usual jeans and casual shirts, she decides to heed her own advice and picks a blouse and khakis. It’s not like anyone other than mom will have anything to say about it but oh well. Irene goes on to complete her morning routine and then joins her parents for breakfast, an event that seems to be getting quieter each week. As she sits down, Irene briefly wonders if the conversations will become fully non-existent when she attends college in the fall.  

“Good morning honey, have a good night’s sleep?” Her mom asks sweetly as she places a plate of eggs, toast and a sausage patty in front of her. 

Irene nods, deciding to continue the themed silence of the table. Her dad is as usual immersed in his newspaper and her mom is staring wistfully out the window in between eating petite bites of her food. The silence is broken surprisingly by her father when he puts down what he’s reading and begins to tell the ladies his excitement about his new job. Months ago, out of boredom and disdain for his cubicle at a local ad firm, he quit and answered an ad placed by a local company recently started to do Web site design for other businesses. 

He had limited experience with the Internet technology that was slowly building up popularity nationwide but something told him (and he now reiterates to the family) that it felt right and he was a good fit for the electronic business world. Now, today he was starting work as a consultant and would be getting on-the-job (and paid) training in site design.  

“They say I’m going to be learning this new language that’s used to create the sites, I think they called it HTML.” Andrew said with a glint in his eye like a kid with a new video game.  

“Well we are very happy for you,” Irene said with a fake smile she had crafted after years of watching her parents celebrate her own actions non-stop. 

Her mom broke her eyes away from the window momentarily to nod quickly too. Irene noticed her silent approval of her husband’s work. It seemed more like a stranger on the street would tell another person “Congratulations” more than a wife being proud of her spouse. Irene immediately feels herself speculate if her parents ever showed positivity with each other's behavior. Now is not the time to go down that road, and in actuality do I even want to do that in the first place? They seem happy in their own melancholic way, Irene thinks as she finishes her juice. It’s not my place to meddle this way. 

“Well, I hate to leave you in your moment of happiness dad, but I better get going to school, those parking lots are a madhouse if you get there too late.” Irene says quickly. 

“Of course honey, get going. This is after all your last semester before college. It always amazes me what all you have accomplished these last twelve years.” He smiles brightly as he looks up at her. 

“Oh yes sweetie, it’s only a matter of days before we start getting those college acceptance letters.” Her mom’s face almost glows with pride as she turns away from the window for good to extol her daughter. 

And there we go, the actual happiness returns when it’s directed toward me, Irene sighs as she grabs her school bag and keys from the hall. She gets to her Jeep quickly and safely drives to the county high school while her favorite Jackson Browne song serenades her throughout her journey there. The school soon appears on her left and she pulls into the upperclassmen parking lot.  

Irene knows she probably could have gone to any private high school in the state with the grades she got at Darrington Day School but she didn't want to continue the structured and disciplined pattern that her earlier years inflicted on her. The county high school’s classes are sometimes overcrowded and seventy-two percent of the teachers would rather be anywhere else but Irene likes the academic breaks she can utilize. She's taken nearly every class she wanted to while also following her guidance counselor’s advice to try for a commonwealth diploma. With five months until she graduates, Irene can almost feel the paper in her hands with those words on it. Thanks to her hard word, Irene was able to make time for electives like darkroom photography she’s been taking this year. Her middle school dream work has also expanded her interest into multiple areas of psychology in general. 

After taking the AP course in it her sophomore year, Irene fell in academic love with it and knew then and there that would be her college career.  Over time the career has been reshaped from an interest initial interests in cognition and memory to her present consideration being more on child developmental work. Of course knowing how vast of a field psychology is, I’ll probably find something else I like at university. Irene smiles as she walks into the building and goes to her morning classes. 

After lunch, she stops by the bathroom. As Irene she washes her hands, she sees a petite girl with jet black hair down to her shoulders who seems familiar. The girl is sitting with her back against the wall opposite the stalls with a sketchbook on her lap. In one of her hands is a brown artist’s pencil sketching lightly across the page in broad strokes. In the other, Irene notices a Winston Light brand cigarette, halfway smoked.  

Before she can even think to comment, the girl looks up at Irene. “I only smoke about two a day. I also make sure to cover the smelly air before I go. Plus I have major connections in this town so it’s not in your best interest to report me.” She says before taking a short drag and adding quick lines to one of the edges of her drawing.  

“Oh,” Irene says and feels a bit taken aback. “I wouldn’t tell anyone what you’re doing even if I wanted to. It’s not my place to rat out your personal destructive habits.”  

The girl smirks as she takes her last puff as she simultaneously finishes her sketch. She stands up and stamps out her cigarette before tossing the butt in the trash. She pulls out a small aerosol can and sprays it around where she had been sitting.  

“I know you don’t I? At least I think we have a class together.” She says as she moves over to the sink beside Irene. 

“Yeah, I think we do, are you in Mr. Duanne’s darkroom photography class next period?” Irene replies. 

“Yeah I am. Hester von Ehrenberg.” The girl says as she turns on the water. 

“Irene Gabbard. Wait. Ehrenberg? As in the Ehrenberg Family Banks?” 

“One in the same, I personally don’t like to show off that aspect of me to get any attention. I want my art to be my noteworthiness.” She shows Irene the drawing she’d been working on before. Irene nods her approval and compliments the great use of perspective. 

Hester’s thanks her and the girls continue to talk as they dry their hands and walk toward their class together. Irene is amazed at how easy it is to talk about photography with Hester. As they continue down the hallway, Hester describes her all encompassing interest in art media from darkroom photo burning to clay sculptures. Just outside their class's door, Geoff catches Irene’s eyes on his way to the opposite end of the hallway. 

“Hey Ira, did we have any homework due in trig today? I want to make sure I have something to do during study hall.” He teases. 

Irene sighs. “First of all, for the most recent time in the 4 years of our relationship it’s Irene. Second of all, you know we had trig home work because you were in class yesterday. And third, you did the work within moments of it being assigned so you’re just going to have to do something else besides twiddle your thumbs for an hour.” 

Geoff laughs. Irene rolls her eyes but she's used to this by now. Geoff rarely uses her real name and when he does it's always important. He laughs at her reactions to his seemingly patented aberrations of it. It's a behavioral pattern he's been doing at least four times a week since they met in eighth grade. Hearing him beg about trigonometry homework makes her sigh, loudly. I know he’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, he just doesn’t like to let on about it.  

“Oh well fine. See ya later Ire.” He gives her an exaggerated look of disappointment. “Save me a seat in our row okay? I’m off to wherever it is I'm scheduled.” He says and winks before rushing down the hall. 

“You’re dating Geoff Raleigh? He’s decent looking and according to the preppy bitches who always warn me about my twice daily habit he’s, like the school’s most sought after guy in school.” Hester asks Irene, her voice developing a Valley Girl accent halfway through her comment. 

Irene laughs at the tone but answers nervously. “No no. He’s just a guy I know from junior high. I apparently made an impression on him by making fun of his name. The teacher called him ‘Gee-off.’ He hasn’t stopped bothering me in some way or another since.” 

“Well you must have made some impression girl. You should totally get with that.” Hester says, nudging Irene’s shoulder. 

“I barely even really talk to him about anything but schoolwork. For all I know he just considers me his schedule organizer in human form.” she responds, her brow furrows in confusion. Hester shrugs as though she’s silently telling Irene that relationships have started from weirder places before. The girls walk into their classroom just as the warning bell rings. 

Later in their AP Trigonometry class, Geoff pesters Irene for the entire period while she tries to finish highlighting her notes from another class. She, like Geoff has already finished the class’s homework assignment left by the teacher. It’s the last class of the day and their teacher, Mrs. Root is unexpectedly out sick. She left only ten problems for the class to complete over the weekend. Geoff and Irene’s classmates have taken full advantage of their substitute’s lenient rule asking them to just stay in their seats and don’t bother him. They talk to their friends, sleep and thoroughly enjoy the absence of their regularly scheduled teacher. 

In contrast to their peers, Geoff and Irene finish the assignment within minutes of it being said. Geoff whispers a boast to Irene about their great preparatory school backgrounds help in augmenting their math skills. Irene moves on to getting her history notes ready so that she can prepare for a quiz the following week. She tries desperately to ignore Geoff's verbal buzzing into her ears about anything that comes to his mind with or without any transitions in between topics.   

“So I think that new movie Super Troupers coming out next month looks really awesome. Have you seen any good movies lately Reeny?”  He asks her head as her eyes stay glued to the notebook pages she’s scanning over. 

“Geoff!” She huffs in a loud whisper. “How many times do I have to tell you?! My name is Irene. That’s two syllables, one of which is just a letter! How hard is that to say?” She glares at him. 

“It’s fun to make your face change colors I guess. You know, I think your name is the only thing you’ve told me about yourself since we met all those years ago in junior high.” He smirks, the dimple in his right cheek becoming prominent. 

“That’s not true, I told you how I never talk to someone who doesn’t address me first, I told you that on the first day we met.” Irene says as she puts her notes away. She realizes she’s not going to get any work done this period. It's just a bad combination of a bored Geoff who is probably counting down the minutes until weekend and an apathetic substitute who is probably doing the same mental countdown just quieter.  

“Ah ha! See I just learned something new about you and it only took five years.” Geoff grins as he looks at his wrist, feigning to check a watch. “You have an excellent memory for details. I’m addicted now though; tell me more about the mysterious psychology that is Irene Gabbard. I’ve told you loads about me through the years and I bet you remember every last scrap of it.” 

Irene opens her mouth to correct the name he just called her but realizes she doesn’t need to for once. She knows he’s right about one thing—she does know a lot about him. From where he got the scars on his knees (rollerblading accident on a neighbor’s driveway when he was eight) to what he thinks of his stepmother (not half as dumb as her hair makes her look but still a very good example of the evil stereotype, at least to him). She knows more about him for sure but given his attitude today, why would she want to give him confirmation of that?

Of course, it’s not like Geoff is the only person she collects details about. All her life, people have told her abundances of factoids about their lives. I know they’ve wanted me to reciprocate in some amount, no matter how small, Irene thinks as she sees Geoff continue to smile encouragingly in her direction. I never have though, why would anyone want to know about me? I’m just a boring too smart for her own good introvert. And you know what? It doesn’t even bother me that usually they grow tired of me not saying much and find someone who actually talks. Or in the cases of Geoff and my parents they’ve just talked enough for both of us.

The bell rings suddenly and it snaps Irene out of her thoughts. She sees Geoff’s grinning face as he questions her silently. She knows he wants her to say anything to him, even if it’s to remark about his correct name usage just moments before.

“I’m impressed, Gee-off it only took you five years to learn how to say my name properly. You’ve given hope to kids learning how to read and speak everywhere.” Irene teases as she grabs her backpack and begins to sprint for the door. The faster I get to my Jeep the faster I can get home and not have to worry about him saying anything else and pestering me for more autobiographical details. I listened to myself before with Hester but Geoff—well he’s a different case and has to be handled accordingly.

“See that just proves you still know more about me than I know about you! You know that’s the way my name was slaughtered on the day we met. Sometimes you don’t play fair!” He yells out as he sees her strawberry blonde hair fly through the door.

Chapter 2

July 2007

                Clouds pass by her line of sight as she glides through the cerulean skyline. Her motions are effortless and serene. Her peaceful mindset helps her to navigate around any birds or other flying creatures she encounters in quick yet tranquil movements. She continues to stay on course, soaring high above the neighborhood below.

                She looks down to notice familiar buildings. Who wouldn’t recognize their own childhood hometown? Irene smiles lightly as she continues traveling farther ease. She recognizes her old high school but doesn’t linger over it for long, instead gliding over to the town library. She slowly descends and walks to the front door. It is here she first researched the tricks and actions that have enhanced her ability manipulate her subconscious life to her own will. It’s a skill that I discovered most people can develop within themselves, mine has always seemed almost innate, an unconscious ability I use subconsciously haha.

                I’ve been giving myself detailed lucid dreams since about sophomore year of high school. Today’s flight was a good break for sure though. My Psy.D  classes were so demanding last term I needed a break in more ways than one. As she opens the door to the building that started everything for her, she decides this is a good time to wake up and start a new day.

                Irene slowly opens her eyes. She smiles as she looks over her bedroom. She’s lived in the same apartment building since her last undergraduate year. It’s one of many comforts that help calm her on stressful days like last week’s finals.

                She grabs her notebook from the bedside table. “Only two more years and I’ll have my doctorate. Wow.” The notebook has changed over the years in style and length as it gets filled and replaced by another. Nevertheless, it’s where she’s kept record of her dreams, how she’s acted in them and any feelings that came about as a result for over ten years now. With each night’s record, Irene makes sure she notes her use of her dreaming ability and if she grows stronger or better in doing so. She quickly writes down a summary of her flight and the accompanying feelings of peace.

                Irene picks out a favorite shirt and jeans to wear as an internal celebration of the fact that she’s on vacation for the next few days. The second summer term of her classes ended so she has two weeks before the fall semester. This leaves a few days to enjoy doing whatever she wants before her job starts back.

                She’s a teacher’s assistant to the cognitive psychology professor on campus—a position she gratefully earned in 2006 after over a year of living on loans and grants as means of funding her very expensive post-graduate degree. Part of her duties next week will be to make sure the professor, Dr. Antoinette Bingham’s textbooks for undergraduate classes have been secured at the campus bookstore as well as proofreading her syllabus for any typos. It’s grunt work at this point. Once classes start however in August, Irene’s excited as she knows she’ll be helping with Dr. Bingham’s research projects and proctoring weekly quizzes. Those duties of course will be in between my own classes, practicum and dissertation work. Phew.

                She lays her outfit out on the chair outside her bathroom door and quickly turns on the shower water. Irene showers quickly—a habit started in high school that was only strengthened in undergrad when more often than not she would be running late for her early morning classes. Later when she is leaving the bathroom, she hears her cell phone chime like a doorbell.

                She sighs with a laugh “What do you want this early Hester? And why are you of all people up before noon?”

                Irene walks into her kitchen and removes the phone from its charger. She taps a few buttons before reading the sender’s message. “Call me when you get this, it’s a psychological matter.”

                Irene rolls her eyes. Meaning you want me to diagnose some guy you met on the sidewalk who seems nice but you feel has some type of personality quirk that may lead to an abduction on your first date if I don’t clear him psychically first right? Irene scrolls through her ten person contact list and hits send.

                “Hey Hes, what was so psychologically important that you of all people sent me a text before 11am? Aren’t you the person who said that an Ehrenberg only recognizes certain times every day and they don’t exist until after noon?” Irene smirks as she emphasizes the psycho syllable.

                Hester responds with the same joking tone. “Wow listen to Mrs. Freud this morning.” Irene smiles hearing Hester’s sarcasm. The familiarity of it comforts Irene and reminds her of how they first met.

                “Seriously though,” Hester says. “I think it’s a psychological emergency that you and I haven’t talked in a few weeks. I mean I know you’re not one for the big emotional reveals on a daily basis, those are more my style, but why the silence?”

                “You know my second summer term ended, literally days ago. I warned you that I go into a sort of academic seclusion when that happens. Is there anything else you need though? I wanted to take the day for some me time before Dr. Bingham needs her doctorate student minion in a few days.” Irene replies.

                Hester’s voice takes on an air of sophistication generally only used toward or by her parents. “Well since you asked, yes, there is something I need. I need you to sacrifice some of that ‘me time’ to come visit for at least lunch and a preview of yours truly’s newest gallery show.”

                Irene smiles. Even though Hester is the daughter of the richest man and CEO of seven banks located in the county, she has made herself known on her own terms through various art shows. One of last year’s included predominantly oil paintings, but it’s always anyone’s guess as to what it which medium Hester would use next.

                “You know you don’t have to have gallery shows for money. You’re a von Ehrenberg, anything you want can be financially accessed via a quick phone call and besides, your trust fund will be released this fall.”

                “I know both of those facts Ms. Analyzer, I know I don’t need the money or name recognition, I just like to have some things that I make for myself, notoriety or disposable income or whatever I choose. And besides, who chooses 28 as the age for a trust to be accessed?”

                “I don’t know, it’s a fairly responsible age for some people. Or it could be the date your parents married years ago, the number of generations the family has lived in Darrington, or…” Irene trails off.

                Hester interrupts her. “Okay okay, I get it. So are we on for lunch later today or not?”

                “Sure, I guess I could make the tiring hour drive to my beloved hometown a bit. You’re buying lunch though right?” Irene grins, a sappy, pleading tone to her voice. “I’m a poor student whose university budget financed job doesn’t start again for another week.”

                Hester laughs at her attempts to play the pitiful card but she agrees and the young women agree to meet at the town’s diner at 1pm.

                Hours later, they are sharing a slice of the diner’s well known and well-loved chocolate layer cake. The local restaurant’s head chef used to work at a fancy New York City bistro. When its owners downsized years before, he threw a dart at a map and drove to the town it landed near, taking his handcrafted recipes with him. His desserts are the most popular since Tuscan inspired tomato soup and vegetable quiche haven’t really caught on with the locals.

                “So do you still hear from the infamous Geoff?” Hester asks with a knowing smile that Irene doesn’t try to analyze the meaning behind.

                “We email each other when we can if that is what you mean. He’s halfway through med school and is already trying to find a place in which to do his residency.” The detail about his residency search surprised Irene weeks. She almost can’t believe that the boy who always wanted her help on assignments is now planning is own future in a responsible way.

                “It’s almost kind of cliché you know? The two co-valedictorians of our high school class both becoming doctors.”

                “Technically I’m only getting a doctorate and seriously of the two of us which would you rather have on hand if you were to have a coronary right here, right now.”

                Hester gives her a leering glance. “Based on looks alone, I’m going to go with Geoff. I mean Irene, no offense but you’re not my type because you have the wrong plumbing structure.”

                “None taken, I’ll still be nearby though in case you wanted to discuss how having the medical episode made you feel and what your mindset is now that you’ve had a major health problem.” Irene jokes back with a faux concerned nod of a therapist.

                “Perfect. Shall we go to the gallery then?”

                Irene nods as they each leave a tip for their server before leaving.

                Hester’s gallery is located in an abandoned sundry store on one of Darrington’s main streets. The store had been closed for decades but she had convinced her parents to let her modernize and remodel it for her own personal use. She agreed to let them take the money out of her trust to finance her efforts. The fund had earned considerable interest over the years thanks to her father’s worldwide connections and his knowledge of banking. The bit taken out of it for the gallery turned insignificant in the long run.

                Hester replaced the drably painted colors of the past with vibrant colors everywhere from the sign outside to every interior wall so that they echoed back to the 1960s and 70s. Some people in town later expressed wonders about if the artist who did the work had used some sort of chemical enhancement first beforehand.

                “That was a polite society way of asking ‘Did she do LSD or something similar before starting to paint?’” Hester had written when she emailed photos and a story about the building to Irene who was away at school when the gallery had opened.

                Since then, Hester has kept the business open on a semi regular basis for various events such as charity fundraisers her parents hold as well as the occasional wedding reception. She holds her own shows there a few times a year in order to display her newest pieces that were always themed in terms of medium she used to do them. She also lets local artists of all ages show their works free of charge in monthly exhibits and lets them take full commission on anything that sells.

                Hester’s newest exhibit she is showing Irene includes a set of ten drawings she sketched and colored with crayons. The subject matters in the sketches were very mature, some even quite graphic and not anything like the doodles a child using the same medium would do. Irene thinks it was very smart though of Hester to use crayons to show that no matter how old we get and no matter how adult our life choices are, we still are kids at heart at times.

                “Actually the crayons were all I had to work with one day since I hadn’t replenished my supplies for the month yet. The first sketch turned out really well though so I thought why not run with the crayons as a theme.” Hester says happily.

                Irene nods, continuing to gaze at each picture. It’s been a good day with peace and relaxation. I just hope it was enough to prepare me for my next term. I’ve heard horror stories about how brutal the last two years of a Psy.D program are.  Irene doesn’t let her mind dwell on these worries, and instead focuses on Hester’s work, listening to her talk about possible ideas for the date and time of her next show.

January 2010       

                As she gets herself situated in her queen sized bed, Irene clears her mind of any thoughts lingering after her long day. She wants desperately for tonight to be one of the nights that she meets Hester at the café she subconsciously created years ago. On the rare occasion she needs a male prospective, she mentally puts Geoff there instead. Hours later, when her body enters that all too familiar REM stage and the first image she sees is a banner with a decoratively floral plate on it, she knows her ability is still strong and she’s succeeded. Huh, dream control is comparable to riding a bike maybe? Once I started I never forget?

                From here, it’s easy to control what’s done and what she says. She sits down at her favorite street-side table covered protectively from the sun by a parasol. Hester is already sitting in the chair opposite her. Part of her control over situations like this is having Hester arrive early. It’s something as rare as meeting a unicorn in conscious days and it gives me time to prepare my conversation topics beforehand.

                It’s here on this night (afternoon?) Irene plans to tell Hester about her nerves that have begun to multiply tenfold. She’s noticed herself becoming increasing anxious since scheduling an interview for the assistant director of the child and family counseling clinic operated at their town’s community college. Irene believes the job was an extremely lucky find and a definite case of right place-right time. It’s sad truth that the former assistant director left suddenly following a combination of family emergencies but it makes Irene very nervous to think about her first interview after successfully defending her dissertation.

                Irene sighs with relief as she walks toward Hester at the table. This is my place for relaxing; she recalls her reasons for the setting’s creation. At Sophia’s Café, she can say anything she wants without fear. Geoff has lightened up on his prodding for life details outside her dreams. She has started to give in as much as her comfort allows. Hester always acknowledges the quietness without too many comments. Irene does have her moments where she worries about if they knew more about her psyche. It’s not that they would judge her for anything she says, they’ve known her long enough that they are comfortable around her. It’s just she really doesn’t feel at all at ease giving out these details until they get approval at Sophia’s.

                Hester smiles broadly at her, mentioning that she already bought them each a strawberry croissant; drinks are Irene’s choice today.

                “Thanks Hes, I appreciate it. Frozen hot chocolate sound good?”

                “Always. Now what did you need my expertly developed advice on today?” Hester asks, making a serious face.

                Irene smiles. That’s another part of these planned meetings. When she meets someone at the table, the person already knows that she needs to talk to them in someway. Like last year when she reviewed her dissertation idea with Geoff. Or last month when she was making the decision to come back home after graduation and Hester assured her a calm transition into working full time was a good thing.

                “Okay. Here’s the thing. I really didn’t think I’d be so lucky to have this happen but I applied for a job with the community college’s psychology clinic about a week after getting back home. They’ve already called for an interview. I want your honest opinion. Do you think I’m a good fit for the job or am I making a mistake in even going in to interview?”

                Hester doesn’t even hesitate. “Irene, dear Irene, you are the smartest woman I know in all things psychology and probably other things too. I’m not sure about the latter since you only really help me in the former subject but still. My point is you’d be amazing at anything you do, this job is no exception. What would you be doing?”

                The young women’s drinks and pastries arrive. After thanking the server, Irene describes the job. Hester nods emphatically until she finishes and then replies with confidence in her friend. Irene then asks an even bigger favor—would she be willing to coach her, sort of give her non-traditional, mock interview questions that have the potential to throw her off if given next week. Hester’s broad smile returns. She enthusiastically agrees and immediately asks one of the questions.

                The question and answer session continues and their voices fade out once Irene begins to slowly wake herself up. Her confidence grows as she walks over to her closet. As looks at her chocies, she remembers how thrilled her parents were when she mentioned coming back home to stay for a while. Irene vowed to them that she would not be a burden and only stay until she found herself at least a part time job.

                Her mom had shushed her, reassuring her that any time that she stayed with them would be a blessing no matter how long or short. Her dad agreed, telling her that he was so proud of her in all she’s done so far professionally and all she was going to do in coming years. Their enthusiasm for her increased even more when she told them about today’s interview.

                Her dad grinned. “Your productivity and ability to never let grass grow under your feet is still most certainly intact little lady.”

                “Now, what to wear, what to wear? It’s good to over dress, I’ve heard that, but I don’t want to do that to any extreme. Hmm.”

                 Irene eventually decides on a pair of dark slacks with a light colored blouse.  After finishing her morning routine except for a light shade of makeup she plans to add after breakfast, she meets her parents in their kitchen. She shakes her head at the common scene that hasn’t changed since she was in middle school. She sees her at the table together but she thinks their body language gives the impression of people who could not be farther apart mentally. For all they think, they could be imagining eating at different houses.

                After eating quick bites of French toast, she goes to apply her makeup and prepare the papers she’s bringing to her interview. In addition to a hard copy of her Curriculum vita, she’s also bringing her doctoral thesis and samples of articles Dr. Bingham let her edit and contribute introductions to during her last year of their work together.

                She placed all of the documents into a leather bound folder the night before. Irene grabs it from her desk on the way downstairs and yells goodbyes and love yous on her way to her Jeep. Penny’s been good to me indeed. Irene pulls out of the driveway, heading south to Darrington Community College.

                An hour later, she’s finished with the interview and now has the official contract for the job in her folder of papers. The hiring committee told her things would be official in two weeks following a background check coming back with no glaring problems. She smiles wistfully as she walks back to her car.

                 It takes her a while to get to it again since Irene parked in the visitor’s lot. The semester’s classes started days before and she didn’t want to chance parking in any campus spots. Cause getting a parking ticket on a day when I’m interviewing to work for the place would provide such a great image, right? Irene laughs as she reaches Penny and puts her folder on the hood so she can get her keys out.

                Geoff’s smooth voice startles her out of her reverie. “Now there’s a sight I have hardly seen yet think is amazing nonetheless.”

                “Gee-off! What in the world are you doing here of all places?” Irene says excitedly and her face goes completely pink.

                “What? A well beloved Darrington son can’t come home to help out the clinic in town he feels desperately needs it?” He smiles, his dimple showing as he walks closer to her.

                “Well first of all, you’re not a native son of this town, you moved here when you were 13. And second, I didn’t mean Darrington, I meant here in the college’s visitor parking lot.” Irene says. She feels her socially driven nerves going slightly haywire. I’ve not seen him since the celebratory dinner we went to when he passed his medical boards. She knows they’ve kept in written contact for work and educational updates in the days between then and now but face to face contact had become quite slim.

                Geoff looks right into her eyes with his sparkling hazel ones. “Well, I heard you might be around here at about this time, give or take fifteen minutes so I thought I’d wait around and scare you senseless. Too bad I didn’t succeed fully on that second part.”

                Irene replies with a glare up at him. He was always taller than her and throughout college. She sees now that the distance in their heights has increased to more than a few inches. “Okay stalker, well you did scare me, I’m just so good at emotional control it’s not really evident.” Her voice almost succeeds at hiding how nervous having him this close to her is making her feel inside.

                “Okay questioner,” Geoff responds with an imitation of her sarcastic tone. “If you want the truth, I’m back in town to work in our fine town’s less than pleasant district. I plan to hopefully find work at their clinic, I want to work there no matter the pay.”

                “Again, that doesn’t explain why since that area of town you’re waxing oh so poetically about is nowhere near here. You are here—in the parking lot where I parked for my job interview.”

                “Oh that’s right. I’m here to see how that went. I wanted to go with you to either a celebratory lunch or a sorrow drowning pity party.” He smirks.

                Irene sputters. “But, how did you know I was even interviewing for a job in town?”

                “Hester von Ehrenberg told me. I called her to check in on town gossip. I do that about once a month since you and I both left town for school. Well, your leaving isn’t fully true as of recently. She told me about your recent move back. For a girl who has such a strong distaste for the society life she comes from, she sure is good at embracing its gossipy conversation style. She also told me you’re meeting her for lunch today and I thought I’d invite myself to it.”

                At the mention of Hester, Irene smiles as she remembers her dream from the night before. The smile quickly fades into uneasiness as it hits her that Geoff isn’t going away. Her nerves feel tighter than before when she first saw Geoff. It’s more intense than before and it makes her feel physically queasy like the toast at breakfast used bread way past its prime. This time though the nausea is coupled with the feeling of a vice slowly being tightened around her heart. She doesn’t know why she’s feeling so strangely at the thought of Geoff and Hester becoming closer friends. It’s not like I mind them talking, it’s good when people I consider herself close to act at least civil to each other, right?

                “Reen? You okay there? You’ve not said anything snarky to me in about two minutes and that’s hitting above your average.”

                “What? Oh yeah well, Hester runs the town gallery of course she gets all the dirt on everyone from the biddies who host fundraisers there.” Irene says as she shakes her previous concerns out of her head. She quickly composes herself before speaking again. “In other news, I got the job I just interviewed for, I’m now assistant director of the child and family clinic at this campus. I guess the meal will be celebratory then.”

                Geoff whoops loudly as he grabs Irene by the waist. He pulls her up into a hug that unexpectedly lifts her off her feet. She finds herself unconsciously reciprocating as her arms go around him but quickly panics at the contact. Realizing her actions, she pulls herself back into a standing position.

                Irene straightens and flattens her blouse. “I’m not meeting Hester until 12:30 at the diner as I’m sure you know already Mr. Follower. You can meet us there if you want.”

                “Well, I was kind of hoping to show you my new place of employment. I fudged the truth earlier; I already have the job at Darrington’s free clinic. I start next month. Who knew being a high school valedictorian and graduating Summa Cum Laude in med school made you a good job candidate?”

                Irene remembers the email signature he had been using for the last few years. “And residency at Johns Hopkins did the final little nudge to help right?”

                 “It may have done harm you never know.” Geoff shrugs as the two of them get into Irene’s Jeep and drive out of the parking lot and head west to the low income housing area of town.

 

Chapter 3

March 2010

                Irene is walking through the hallway of her high school. She knows this means she’s trying to learn something. Tonight, she knows exactly what that thing is as she comes to a door. Okay, let’s see if I can push myself one step further. I want to know what Hester’s dreaming about tonight. Irene pushes down the doorknob and walks through the opening.

                The world she enters into is a tornado of colors. Hester is in the middle, painting crazily on one canvas after another without a second glance. Her actions repeat until suddenly the colors fade to blacks, grays and whites. Hester’s paintbrush drops from her hand and a look of overall terror comes over her face. Her clothes change from a messy artist’s smock to a business suit. She looks around frantically and sees Irene. Her face contorts in confusion about how her friend suddenly got there.

                “Irene?” She questions. “Can you help me? They’re taking away my colors. They don’t want me to live in them.”

                Irene realizes suddenly what’s wrong. As blasé as Hester is when she’s awake when it comes to her the rich background she comes from, she subconsciously worries about losing that freedom. Hester doesn’t want her parents to take it away and make her accept the world she comes from. Not that they ever would, somehow the von Ehrenbergs have come to an agreement with their daughter over her art. Hester never told me what it was outright but it probably has to do with their fundraisers held there. Irene walks to the artist.

                “I’m here Hester. Your colors aren’t going anywhere, this is just a dream.” Her voice is calm and reassuring. “You’ll always be able to do your art and it’s a good thing too since you’re so talented. Now you’re going to want to wake up. Before you do this though, I need to leave okay? I can’t explain anymore, I don’t know why I’m here really.” Irene hates to lie but she knows no other way to explain her presence. Hester nods as Irene goes back through the same door she used before. She created it to be there with her control over her part in the dream.

                After she walks through the door, Irene finds herself in her own queen sized bed. She’s a bit shaken by the experience of seeing the woman who’s normally almost overly confident in such panic. It takes Irene a few minutes to compose herself before she starts writing about this latest experience. She makes a note to herself on the pages to not enter another person’s dream unless something uncontrollable happens in which she needs answers. But even then, I have to be so careful to not disrupt anything I encounter.

                After replacing the notebook, Irene gets out of bed and starts her morning routine. She’s started reading the local paper while eating light breakfasts. She also checks her personal email before driving to her office. Irene also makes sure to get to work a few moments early to enjoy the quiet stillness before any rush of work or stress begins.

                The job keeps her busy for most of her designated hours as well as some when she’s not at the office but Irene sees it as a fulfilling busyness. She loves overseeing the graduate students from the neighboring cities’ colleges in their clinical internship duties. She remembers being their age only years ago and how eager she was to get any type of related experience in the field. Irene is in charge of helping rotate the students’ schedules around so that each of them gets equal experience working with the different counselors at the clinic, some of who are specialists in play therapy and others who work with families affected by substance abuse. Lately, Irene’s gotten to step more into the role of observer and evaluate some of the students’ mock sessions while sitting behind a one-way mirror.

                Late one morning, during a lull between filing observation reports, Irene uses her free time to research the regulations for becoming a licensed psychologist in her state. She realized recently that even though she’s qualified to do her current administrative job, she may need to fulfil other requirements for the clinical license. Based on the information Irene has just read, she is not qualified to serve as a substitute counselor within her own clinic.

                It wouldn’t take much time to get become an official psychologist though. I’ve got the educational requirements; all I really need is the work experience with a certified counselor and to pass the licensing exam. Irene thinks. The work experience isn’t even that long either; it’d take more or less a few years really. Maybe I can talk to Dr. Gerber about sitting in with next semester’s interns to start getting in my hours. I’d make sure my job took priority of my time though, it’ll stretch out how long I’ll be working to get the hours but I think I can manage.

                Irene continues to mull over her plan. She decides it’s not that unusual since the work experience hours and taking the licensing exam are things she would have done after graduating anyway. She instead chose to apply for the job she is very grateful to have now. She continues to makes notes on a pad beside her keyboard about what she wants to say to her boss about her plan. She’s so engrossed in writing and planning that she doesn’t hear a visitor arrive.

                Hester’s voice jokes from outside the door. “Wow, it’s images like that make me glad I don’t have a real job.”

                Irene looks up from her notes, startled at the sudden noise that interrupts her usually silent office. She smiles at Hester. Well this is a surprise, Hester von Ehrenberg on a college campus.

                “You don’t consider owning and operating your own art gallery a job?” Irene says as she replaces the notebook and pen in her top right desk drawer.

                “Irene, you know as well as I do that anything an artiste like me does in the art culture is not a job, it’s a lifestyle.” Hester responds, placing a fake dramatic emphasis on her last word. “Wanna go with me on a little journey?”

                “I was just about to head out for lunch, I don’t really have the time for an unscheduled field trip.” Irene says as she stands up and grabs her purse from the inside a cabinet on her way to the doorframe.

                “Oh trust me, this will be fun.”

                “Fine, where are we going, can you at least tell me that?”

                Hester shakes her head quickly before grabbing her friend’s wrist to literally drag her to her car. She stays silent as they drive to the western edge of town. Irene soon realizes they’re going to where Geoff works. The vice she felt around her heart weeks ago when he first mentioned keeping in contact with Hester has returned. She notices it has appeared quicker and with more pain than the first time. She composes herself enough to ask what they’re doing at the free clinic.

                “Pregnancy advice.” Hester says without missing a beat causing Irene’s eyes to go wide. “Hah I’m kidding Irene. You told me Geoff works here and I want to see Darrington’s own McFlirty in action. From what I hear he’s the best doctor the clinic’s had in years and the best looking one to boot.”

                “He always was really popular in high school. Some people just have that quality about them.” Irene imagines the vice’s grip is so strong now she’s almost bleeding internally as she makes her next comment. She doesn’t know why she says it or even more so, why it’s hurting so much to say it.

“You’ve always commented on Geoff’s looks since you first met him through me, why haven’t you ever done anything about it?”

                “What, you mean like ask him out? I hate flirty guys; I deal with them too much at the gallery when they try to get a deal on art pieces.”  Hester responds as she pulls her car into the parking lot. “Besides he’s not my type.”

                The women walk into the clinic. It’s not crowded for early afternoon. As they enter into the reception area, they see and hear Geoff right away. He’s arguing loudly with a blonde woman in a navy blue pantsuit.

                “I’m sorry Leandra but it’s my life and I have the right to work where ever I choose to. Why can’t you ever understand that?!”

                The woman yells back in response, disdain heavy in her tone. “I think I know what good career moves are Geoffrey Nathaniel! You could be at the best research hospital in the country and instead you’re in this town helping almost poverty level ingrates!”

                “Research is not what I want out of my medical degree! Besides, here I’m actually helping people directly, the smiles I get when I know I’ve helped them feel better in some way is worth months of data I would have had to compile at some big city hospital. Besides, this town hasn’t been too bad for you after all these years.” Geoff spits back.

                “You know I’m here out of loyalty and love for what your father put into his business that he left me. It’s not like there’s another MBA holder around who could run it better.” She sneers.

                “Do not bring dad into this. Just because you were married to the guy before his death does not make you my last remaining parent.”

                Upon hearing the last comment Hester turns Irene with raised eyebrows, “So he doesn’t call his mother her actual name when they argue like this?”

                Irene whispers and feels a surge of internal pride and gloating. “She’s his stepmother. His mom died when he was about fourteen.” I know something Hester doesn’t know about Geoff. She pushes away the thought quickly, not wanting to fixate on it.

                “Now, Leandra, if you’ll excuse me, I need to double check my list of appointments for the afternoon and see if anyone’s cancelled.” Geoff says calmly. “I’m sorry you feel so strongly about my work choices. Maybe we can discuss this some other time, and more quietly then too?”

                The woman nods hastily. She gives her stepson a one-armed hug before seeing herself out. The two younger women walk forward to the receptionist’s desk and greet Geoff.

                “So that’s your stepmonster. She certainly doesn’t look her stereotype.” Irene jokes.

                “Oh you mean the hair. Yeah, don’t let the platinum color fool you, she’s brilliant at all things business and driving me crazy.” Geoff replies after a moment, not getting the reference at first. “What are you two doing here?”

                Irene answers first, wanting to keep Hester from making her same comment from the car. “We’re going to lunch and thought you’d like to come with us.”

                “Sure just let me check the appointment roster. Believe it or not, I sometimes do tell the truth to get rid of you know who.” He answers and smiles at Irene. She returns the grin, nervously.

                “You’re free until 2, doctor.” The receptionist tells him.

                “Thanks Hattie, you’re beautiful when you’re efficient.” He teases before putting his lab coat on the rack and walking out with Hester and Irene.

                The drive to the diner along with the walk into the restaurant is silent. The three patrons don’t really start talking until after they’ve ordered. Geoff orders a spicy chicken strip sandwich plate and root beer to drink; Hester gets a fiesta salad with iced tea and Irene gets a BLT with mayonnaise, a side of cheese fries with ranch and water, no lemon.

                Geoff squirts ketchup on his fries and stabs his first bite of them with his fork. “So I see the colors of spring are finally starting to show and we may be through with winter for another year.”

                “Yeah, it’s great painting weather. Oh! Speaking of painting and colors, I don’t know why those reminded me of this but Irene, you were in a dream I had a few weeks ago.” Hester says excitedly.

                Irene keeps her face and voice calm. “Really? What happened in it?”

                “Well I was painting fast and furious like I was trying to meet a deadline or something but seriously when have I ever set a deadline for myself in anything? Anyway, it pretty normal stuff at first and then all of the sudden the colors I was using swirled around me like some sort of storm. That’s where you came in; you just appeared out of nowhere.” Hester says, pointing to Irene.

                “Wow, cool dream Hes.” Irene interrupts, hoping Hester doesn’t remember anymore of the dream.

                “I’m not done. You were there and all of the sudden, the colors disappear into boring drab black and white shades. I change too, I’m no longer in my fave artist’s smock and instead I’m in a suit. Yuck!” She shudders at the mention of it. “I ask you for help and without hesitation you calm me down and before I can thank you much, well you disappear again. It was odd but cool. It’s like even in my subconscious you’re still the psychologist I can go to help me through my issues.”

Irene looks at both of the people sitting with her. She deliberates how to respond in a way that doesn’t reveal how intentional it was that she was with Hester in her dream. “That is odd, I mean I’m glad I helped. Unfortunately, technically, I’m not a psychologist you can go to, conscious or not.”

                Hester is confused. “What do you mean? I thought after all those years that you went to college, that title is pretty much a gimmie once you get your diploma.”

                “She still has to get in work experience with a trained and licensed psychologist and then take a licensing exam.” Geoff responds before Irene can.

                Irene tries not to blush. “Geoff’s right, it’s like when he had to do residency after passing his medical boards. That’s what I was working on when you came by my office earlier. I was researching what I needed to be a certified psychologist. I would have started work on those hours right out of getting my doctorate but this job came along and I jumped on it. I’ve decided to bring up the idea of slowly earning my hours to my boss though. I want to be prepared for later, in case I want to work on my own or something.”

                “And so you can officially diagnose strangers from far away when we people watch right?” Hester kids her.

                Irene laughs. “Sure, if you want to focus on the fun. It’ll take a lot of time though to clock all those hours, I have to get in about 2500.”

                “2500?! That’s more hours than I think my whole family’s worked in decades.” Hester gasps. “Well, it’s definitely more than I’ll ever work in a lifetime.”

                “That’s the truth if I ever heard it.” Geoff smirks before he bites into his sandwich. The three diners continue eating in mostly silence before Hester drives them to back to work.

                Geoff walks back into his clinic first. “Goodbye doctor number one.” Hester says before driving her 1967 white Mustang back to the community college. She and Irene make occasional jokes about people they observe on their drive back.

“And goodbye doctoral number one, see I remembered this time that your degrees are different.” She tells her friend as she walks into her office building.

                Irene waves happily back. “Good job, let’s see how long you keep it right. See you later.”

                The rest of the afternoon passes by very quickly and Irene stays very busy. The phone also rings a lot but usually when she identifies herself, the callers realize they are looking for Irene’s supervisor and not her. She also answers multiple emails. The semester is a few months away from completion. While a majority of the interns she oversees are right on schedule to having their first set of clinical hours complete, some have procrastinated. As a result, they are now pleading their respective cases to Irene for her help in getting these hours in any way possible.

                She politely responds to the groveling emails by explaining alternatives the students can follow to get these hours. Irene also explains that it’s not her responsibility to approve the methods they choose to use to get the hours. For this approval, the students need to contact their advisors at their own university. The child and family clinic at Darrington Community College is not the only clinic the students can earn their internship hours at but it is the only free one.

                After Irene hits send on the reply to the last new message in her inbox, she starts to work on shrinking the miniature hills of paperwork strewn about her desk. It being a Friday, she’d prefer to get rid of as much work as possible now, so that during the weekend, she isn’t thinking about all that Monday’s tasks will bring to her.

                Irene succeeds in ridding her desk of the paperwork piles completely, surprising herself. Well that’s a definitely good start to the weekend. She grabs her purse and leaves her office, hitting the light switch to off on her way. She drives out straight home. The house is quiet when she gets there and she sees that the car her parents share is in the garage. Her parents are both home and her mother greets her from the kitchen.

                 “Hi honey, you’re home early, that’s great.  “I didn’t have time to get to the store this week though, so it may just have to be a take-out kind of night.”

                “Yeah I didn’t think I’d finish all my paperwork either. Any choices you prefer for take-out? Pizza sounds pretty good right now but if you or dad wants something different that’s okay too.” Irene says.

                Her mother’s face turns emotionless for a brief moment, Irene only notices due to her honed ability to read her mother. She ignores the look though. Just as quickly as the emotions leave her face, her mother looks at her with a smile again.

                “Oh pizza’s fine. Your father will probably just make himself a sandwich with whatever’s left in the ice box later anyway. He said earlier he has to finish up plans for some new Webby space or something that he’s been asked to help with. I haven’t seen him all day actually.”

                Irene holds back a small laugh. Her mother never really got the appeal of anything computer related. “I think it’s called a Web site mom. Oh well, more food for us then right? You want any special toppings or should I just order our usual half sausage and half banana peppers?”

                Her mom nods. “That’s fine. You’re always so good at remembering and being considerate of my favorites dear. There’s cash in the Anchor jar to pay for dinner.”

                Irene sighs as she dials the number for the pizza place. She knows it’s easier to just accept the money her mom gives her for anything instead of arguing her ability to actually pay for things now that she’s got a job.

                Later that night, Irene dreams—a lot. Most of the night’s images are just brief flashes of pictures related to her day’s activities. She knows this is typical of dreams, they help us process what people when awake. Once she actually enters her first REM stage though, she has a dream that almost seems to have a storyline occurring around the people she sees in it.

                The scene is a disastrous mess and her vision is very fuzzy at first. Then, as things come into focus, Irene can see what she identifies as a huge construction site type of area. She looks around more to see a construction site with everything is being torn apart; sheetrock, iron support rods and other building materials strewn about ready to be used later.

As Irene continues looking around, she realizes that she’s actually only watching things occur. I’m not really an interactive part in this, well, I guess I could call it a deconstruction zone. As she continues to watch, Irene sees the site be torn apart from within by way of an unseen force. Amidst the chaos, she sees a couple come into focus. Irene sees a man and woman who she thinks are around her age. Maybe five year’s difference, but I can’t tell if that’s older or younger.

The man has shaggy dark black hair, cut short enough that it doesn’t cover his charcoal gray eyes. The woman he’s with has auburn hair down to her shoulders and sapphire blue eyes. They are engaged in a romantic embrace that becomes more intense as the deconstruction around them also increases in volume and size. The destruction continues for several minutes, but soon, additional sounds flood the scene. A romantic ballad Irene remembers hearing in third grade blasts over the demolition surrounding the lovers. Bryan Adams’ voice croons about how everything he does is for his beloved. The lovers declare their devotion to each other with passionate kissing.

The scene now reminds Irene of a movie she’s never seen but she feels would be a profitable one for Hollywood. She also feels jealous of the woman. I don’t know why but I want to be more than just a viewer of something like this. I want to be feel as safe as that woman appears. Irene feels her heart ache with the desire. Eventually, the scene is completely torn down, the music fades off, leaving only the lovers safely clasped in each other’s arms in its wake. It’s then that Irene wakes herself up.

She sees through bleary eyes that her nightstand clock has only passed a few hours since she first fell asleep. It’s not even three yet. She shakes her head slightly before turning over to sleep again. Irene enters REM again quickly, soon finding herself in a classroom.

A teacher she doesn’t recognize hands thick packets of hard copy paper to her and the other surrounding students. The educator strictly warns to not turn the packets over until she states to do so. No one dares disobey this warning and instead sits with his or her head looking down at the papers in front of them, Irene included. Irene is very nervous. She feels her whole body grow tense with sweat. She feels unprepared for whatever information is in the packet.

The woman grins with malevolence, “Okay, you may begin. You have twenty minutes.” Irene is scared but she can’t help having a quick mental of the woman with horns on her head and a pitchfork in her hand.

Irene quickly turns her packet over to scan the questions. She discovers that there are over one hundred of them but she didn’t dare try counting all of them for an exact number. She starts reading to see they seem to cover the same topic over and over, repeating multiple times. The topic is fairly simple. She has to figure out the answers to how she’s going to get her license to be an official psychologist in Darrington. The questions though are worded so ambiguously that with each one she finishes, she spends more time reviewing her work than actually writing her answers.

Irene’s whole body shakes with panic as she continues to write with a feverish pace to stay on track and complete her task. She finally reaches the last page and looks up to see the instructor announce the test is over. Irene’s panic from before explodes within her and she wakes herself up again, this time in a cold sweat. She again looks at her clock to see that barely an hour has passed since the last dream. Irene sighs.

What is up with my subconscious tonight? I mean granted I know that having a test over something means you’re worried about being graded on something. I have been worrying about getting licensed. I need to know if I’m doing the right thing. Okay one more dream is all I can handle tonight and I know just what I want to do in it.

Irene lies down on the side of her pillow facing her clock and lulls herself to sleep for what she hopes is the last time. She focuses herself into a dream where she has plans to meet Geoff at Sophia’s. She knows that he’ll question his presence there as he’s not a huge fan of the café. The images start to get clearer. She remembers he’ll remind her with mock anger that he’s got a masculine image to uphold and shouldn’t be there. Once she arrives, he greets her pleasantly with a quick one-armed hug over her shoulders and asks her sit down.

“Okay Geoff, I know you’re busy since you have to go on call later today with your colleague having a family emergency so this will be quick.” Irene says immediately, not wanting to waste any time.

Geoff holds his hand up to pause her quick speaking. “Woah, slow down ‘Ren.  You have to answer something for me first. Why am I the one you so desperately needed to run an idea by instead of Hester? Doesn’t that break some sort of girlie secret pact or something?”

Irene rolls her eyes at Geoff’s idea of ‘girlie secret pacts’ that he’s said he thinks are the basis of all female-female friendships. He probably also thinks that those ‘pacts’ as it were are based in pillow fights we have while dressed in skimpy pajamas which are the only reasons to have the friendships anyway.

“Well, considering I need advice on something concerning my expectations for employment, who would you say is better to talk to—a trust fund artist or a valedictorian turned doctor at a free clinic?” Irene replies.

“I don’t know Ira, are you sure Hester doesn’t know anything about jobs?” Geoff kids her and she reacts with a serious face, her patented way to tell him to cut the joking. “Okay, teasing out of the way. What did you want to ask me?”

Irene brings up the possibility of her becoming a licensed psychologist. She explains that she doesn’t want to quit her great job at the community college. She just wants to make sure she can still work in psychological fields on her own if say the budget doesn’t renew her current position somewhere down the line for example.

Geoff starts to respond but questions how to. “And you want advice on where to do these internship hours? I mean we don’t really have a lot of mental health related things at my clinic but…”

“No, I just want to know if it’s a bad idea to get these hours on my own even if it’ll take years longer than usual since I have a full time job.” Irene says softly, worry tainting her voice.

“Irene,” Geoff says, the shock of his using her name properly brings her to look him directly in the eyes. He continues with a sincere tone to his voice. “Why on earth would you think it’s a bad thing to make sure you’re employable in this economy? You’ve always been so great at planning things in your life and this is no exception.”

“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t worry about getting in these hours?”

“I’m saying you should worry more if you didn’t come up with this idea, it’s very smart and…” He answers but is cut off by his pager beeping.

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 18.03.2015

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