Just a Dream, Only a Dream

She still couldn't shake the previous night's dream. She had completed more today than what she normally accomplished in a week, attempting to focus her mind on other things. No matter what she did, everything reminded her of the terror and hopelessness painted in her imagination by the ever so real dream. House cleaned, laundry folded, dinner prepared, she stretched out on the front porch swing with a glass of iced tea and a book. Her nerves were shot, having constantly searched behind doors and under beds, expecting to see the person in her dream. She never saw him in the house, but continually felt his presence. Emily once again told herself she wasn't going crazy for the twentieth time today.

Nine pages into the book and glass empty, Emily closed her eyes in search of another dream. Any dream would be better than the night before; dreams of serial killers, psychos on the loose, snakes, and vicious dogs - anything other than the dream that haunted her last night and all today.

She continued to tell herself that all of this was nonsense. A dream is just that - a dream and nothing more. If it were more than a dream, others would be concerned as well, friends would be warning her and she would not be permitted to sit here on the porch of her house. His style was not to hide; he was boastful in what he did, bragging to his friends. He simply was not here; it was just a dream. Tim was due to arrive home in 20 minutes; Emily rose to put the final touches on dinner and freshen up before her husband saw her like this.

The mirror confirmed her assumption; she was a wreck: hair unkept, face flush, eyes swollen. As she ran the brush through her dark brown hair, she was reminded of a rocky dirt road from her childhood - a bumpy ride to put it mildly. She recalled having wrecked the family car on that road at the age of 16. There was something in the trees that she couldn't quite make out that distracted her, causing her to crash head on with the oncoming car. Four days, a concussion, and thirty-eight stitches later, she returned home only to be yelled at by her father for being so careless and causing financial strain on the family.

"Honey? Emily? Your hard working husband has arrived home. Come down here and give me a welcome home smooch." Tim called from the bottom of the stairs, returning from a three day business trip. Emily raced down the stairs, jumping into his arms. Trying desperately with no success to hold back her tears, Emily sobbed.

"Are you ok? What's wrong?"

"O nothing, I'm just so glad to see you." The dream was just that, a dream. This was reality; this, her loving husband home, would be the image to erase the horrible images of the dream from last night. As with any marriage, they had some hard times, but right now, at this moment, all was good. "Are you hungry? I made your favorite - pork chops, mashed potatoes, and for desert, banana pudding."

As they sat down to eat, Emily pushed her last night's dream from her mind. She swore to herself many years ago to live in the present and not in the past. With wine poured, she looked at her Tim and began to feel her nerves relax and find peace again. Her dreams would be on him tonight. The life they had built together, not dwelling on the past.

A knock on the front door raised Tim to answer it. Standing outside was Sheriff McRoad. He whispered something to Tim and they both turned to look at Emily. At that moment, she knew her dream from last night was not a dream, but a glimpse of reality of the present and a revelation of the near future.