# Man of My Dreams

Author: Hedry
Tags: Deer, Depression, Dream, Male, Nonspecific narrator, Stag

Someone starts feeling their age and has a bit of a journey. Something a little different. I should probably warn that there's a little theme of suicidal thought here, so please consider that if this type of content might be distressing for you.

I don't remember when it started.  It was so insidious, I just... One day, I didn't feel real.  I didn't feel like a person.  I thought it was just life, you know?  As you get older, as you age, people drop out of your life.  Family dies, or moves away, friends move, lose touch... your circle gets smaller and smaller, right?  And soon I found I was living alone in an apartment and just living for work, and...

 

And I got depressed.  Depression.  I fell into a trap, every day the same, in and out.  I just started laughing one day while I sat looking out the window, like I was a prisoner.  I watch the world go by.  I could be out there with the people, walking around, getting a coffee, having dinner, watching movies, laughing, but I don't.  And I looked in the mirror and saw that I was going grey, and I needed something, but I didn't know what.

 

I mean, I was okay, right?  I was fine just doing my thing, and then one day I'd be dead.  But the thing is, what's the difference between that being sometime in the future, and today?  And that thought just couldn't get out of my head.  And I slid open the door to the balcony, and the stones were ice cold as I looked down about eight stories and the rain started, and then, just then, as I leaned out, I felt that shock that I didn't want to die.  And I just crumpled up in a ball on the balcony and let the rain hit me and I just stayed there for like half an hour until I felt cold and numb and stupid.  And I laughed and laughed.  And cried.

 

I called work, told them I was sick, would have to take a few days off, and I just drank.  I didn't even try to go to sleep in my bed, I just lay on the floor with the door to the balcony a little open, and a pillow from the couch, and I lay there, watching the rain come in, and I slowly drifted off to sleep.

 

And I dreamed.

 

He stepped lightly through my dreams, over moonlight and breezes that smelled of honeysuckle, to stand over me, blocking the view of the stars.  I blinked in a sleepy kind of way, where I knew it was a dream, but it didn't matter, and he looked down at me with big eyes, soulful, like a stag (no not like a stag, as a stag, a stag), the king of the woods, dark, mysterious, handsome.  He crouched down beside me, the moon framed now between his antlers - I remember that specifically - like some kind of portent.  The gentle breeze set poplar and aspen trembling as he spoke.

 

"Hey."

 

Even in my dream, I blinked.  The word was out of place, glib, blunt.  I stared at him, confused, reaching out to touch his firm chest -

 

"Hey, no, look, it's cool, uh... I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay, yeah?  You're having kind of a rough time and I just thought I'd pop in and say hi, you know?  I know I haven't visited or - "

 

I sat up.  I knew him, on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't name him.  Couldn't say it.  Couldn't.  So I just pretended everything was okay like I usually do.  "Moon, franchise, leaf, operator... handbag?"  I could see by his expression I wasn't reaching him.  I reached out again to try to touch him, to look into his eyes, show him my need.  I needed him.  "Carburetor?"

 

He again gently positioned my hand away from his chest, then adjusted his position from a kneeling crouch and sat beside me.  "Look, I know things are tough, I'm sorry you're feeling this way.  I just want you to know that you're loved - you are, and you're gonna make it through this.  You don't have anything to prove to me, I know you're fighting, and it's hard.  You're important to me, okay?  It's a battle, you know?"

 

The aspens took on a little of their autumn yellow as the full moon passed overhead, quaking in that gentle breeze that smelled of late blooming honeysuckle - or was that him?  I leaned in close and caught the sent of cedar and sandalwood, and a hint of musk, and I moved to lean against him, the bellows of his chest heaving in a sigh.  "Ah fuck."  He shook his head and finally positioned himself a little closer, relenting, one hand behind me to allow me to lean against his frame.  "Okay.  It's okay."

 

"Rice combo?  Alpha window clip?"

 

He looked at me again in the eyes.  "Don't forget to drink some water.  It's important to stay hydrated when you've been drinking."

 

I tilted my head and it was black and the rain was pelting the door to the balcony, and I winced.  It was three in the morning, at least suggested by my phone.  No moon.  I stood up to hit the washroom, drink some water, and then just collapse against the side of the wall, feeling the cold at my back.  The room was too cold, but I didn't want to shut the window, not yet.  It felt... real.  Really real.  More real than me, but when I leaned out to put my hand into the rain, I could feel it, and that was strangely comforting to me.  I lay there for an hour with my hand in the rain before struggling off to bed, where I slept as I imagine a log might, which is to say not dead, but, you know, as close as I'd like to compare it.

 

The next day I just tried to pretend that I was normal, like everyone else.  I woke up at six with a  dry mouth and a modest headache, because my body hates me, obviously, said fuck it at about seven thirty, and put on track pants and a grubby fleece and a rain jacket and went out to get coffee.  I was wet in about ten minutes, so good call on not getting the shower.  Umbrella in hand, I drank my exceedingly tall black coffee as I stood there in the intermittent pissing and watched no one.  Cars sped across the street from destination to destination, and I was the only person outside.  I caught hints of people, like ghosts, as the ran from their cars to a shop, or in reverse.  Slowly walking to the park, it was quieter.  There was no one here, and it was far enough away from the traffic to actually feel quiet, you know?  There were still enough leaves on the tree that I could put the umbrella away for a bit and just stand there, and listen to the patter and the wind, like last night when... no.  Not last night.  When was I listening to the trees?

 

I stood there for an hour, just listening, feeling just an intense longing for something, someone.  And yet I didn't feel awful, just incomplete.

 

The rest of the day was a blur.  I made myself eat something.  Sat in a restaurant for a bit, ordered a sandwich, toast, bacon, lettuce, butter.  Coffee, again, tasted like shit.  Jazz played in the background and I felt out of time, like it was a different age.  The whole place looked like it was out of the forties or fifties, with black and white pictures on the wall, and old records, and other shit.  I browsed the walls with my eyes for a little while, and leaned against the counter for a few minutes, starting to feel the day catch up with me,

 

and I dreamed.

 

The phone was ringing against the wall, but there was no one to get it.  I sat up from cigarette yellowed, cracked vinyl coated seating, and shuffled along the metal rimmed table, the booth feeling just a little too large.  I could hide under the table, if I wanted to.  I wanted to, but the phone.  I had to answer the phone.

 

Stepping out from under the table, I passed the display of deserts, lit under incandescent lights that showed off the care that they'd been made with, but they were too perfect, as if just a picture of them, or made of plastic, or frozen in time.  I began to wonder when I'd been here before - with my parents?  No, my grandparents.  Oh, wow.  I leaned against the display, feeling the cold glass as I drowsily pressed my nose against it and breathed out, leaving a smear of fog that my small hands ached to wipe.

 

I couldn't see them, but I could smell the cigarette smoke above me, making the air blue.  They were chatting in the booth about their lives, smoking like chimneys, just legs filling the seats, and shadows above them, as the phone continued to ring on the wall.

 

"You're dreaming."  Oh, thank goodness.  My heart leapt in my chest to see him again.  I turned, then turned again.  "No, uh... just..."  I began to feel distress as the voice was constantly behind me, just to the side, out of view.  "Okay, wait, hold on."

 

And there he was, just beside me, hand on my shoulder as he tried to get me to stop spinning.  "Listen, I'm still here, okay?  I'm not leaving you.  I want you to know that.  You're obviously tired, but this is a little stranger than normal.  Guess you just want someone to look after you for a bit, huh?"  He crouched down beside me to get on my level, his tie hanging out from his shirt, his jacket fitting over his frame handsomely.  "That's normal, totally reasonable.  You could use a bit of TLC to go with your BLT.  Uh... BL, I guess, no tomato."  He smiled sheepishly, antlers framing a hanging light.

 

"111111111111111111?" I asked, leaning in to hug him.  I just wanted to be held, just wanted to be hugged, just... I just...  The phone kept ringing, kept ringing.  I looked up at the phone, long cord dangling against the wall, plastic yellowed with age.

 

He rubbed my back, comfortingly.  I just stood there for a while, holding him-

 

The cashier picked up the phone as I wiped the drool from my face, and by the stares I'd been caught snoring.  Fuck.  I left a few bills on the counter and stumbled back out into the rain.  Leaning against wet brick that the underhang didn't quite protect, I caught my breath as my heart ached.  I just wanted a hug, needed a hug.  Fuck.  Shaking in the cold and the wet, I called up one of my friends.  It went to voicemail.

 

"Hey, uh... I know we haven't really hung out in a while, but do you think it'd be okay to catch up for a bit?  I just wanted to reconnect, and if you're not too busy sometime?  Uh, anytime?  Or if you don't, that's fine too, I just..."  I stood there letting it record the sound of the rain for a few moments.  "Just miss you is all.  I really hope you're doing okay, and things are probably, things are probably going really great for you.  I know they are.  Well, uh, bye.  Call me.  If you want."

 

I stood there in the rain and wind - the wind was whipping up - and just listened.  Cars went by, splashing growing pools of water.  It was getting dark, and lights began to flick on, creating an ethereal, dreamy feel to the walk home.  I kept my head down, looking at the other world in the pavement.  It seemed brighter, more exciting, more interesting.  I sighed, a little cloud forming from my breath.  Brr.  Would it be snow?  It was early yet in the season, but just cold enough to think of it.  Maybe flurries.

 

As I got close to home, I looked up at my apartment building.  A few lights were on, and I could imagine warm dinners and quiet, gentle conversations.  How was your day, dear?  Did anything interesting happen?  Would you like to go out tonight?  Et cetera, et cetera.  I imagined them going to socials afterwards, or hanging out with friends and smoking and having exotic drinks with fun names.  I could imagine sitting there, cigarette in hand, feeling cool.  Gin please.

 

Of course, that wasn't me.  No smoking, at least, and no one to be close with.  I laughed stupidly as I entered the apartment and turned on the TV, just for background noise.  Death, horror, stupidity.  As always.  I turned it off and just listened to the hum of the lights and the shaking of the windows in the wind.  This storm.  It hadn't let up for days, it felt like.  When would I get to see the sun?

 

I was feeling tired again, but it was only eight now.  I had nothing to do, nowhere to be.  I caught myself staring into the light until rings of distorted colours felt burned into my vision as I air-dried.  Shifting my attention to the wall, I stared at it, the hum of the lights and the flow of air in the otherwise silent apartment growing without comparison to become ear-splitting dins, until I shook my head and heard my neck crack, placing everything into perspective again.  Silence.

 

"I don't want to die," I made myself say.  The words echoed for a moment, and I frowned as the word 'die' was the last to hit my ears again, and again.  "Fuck," I swore, and looked for things to do.  Clean.

 

I bustled about the apartment, picking things up, doing laundry, dusting, dishes... everything.  Just anything to be distracted.  All the lights on, I put the local radio station on in the background.  Mostly commercials, it felt like, but there was a voice, talking about traffic, talking about weather... hmm.  Rain ending tonight, thank goodness.

 

I was tired, wanted to go to sleep, I just missed... him.

 

Him who?  I tried to remember.  It felt like a name of the tip of my tongue, just out of reach.  Sitting on the couch, I just stared at my hands as I tried to recall something that was impossible to think of.  Who was I missing?  I began to feel crazy, and lay back, furious with myself for all this stupidity.  And in the full light of the apartment, with the radio on,

 

I dreamed.

 

I was here with purpose, hunting.  So much war, so much death.  I adjusted the rifle in my hands.  It felt comfortable, worn, used.  Like I'd been on many hunts before, seen the prey go down, ended the fight, his life for mine.  My knife had tasted blood many times, been warmed by many last moments.  Squinting into the distance, brown autumn scrub slowly collecting falling snow, I looked toward the trees.  Antlers?  And then he was there beside me, as I turned in slow motion to face him.  Everything moving like molasses.  I felt awkward, helpless, my heart racing as I turned.  I'm supposed to shoot, to stab, to end this.

 

"What are you doing?"

 

I didn't respond to him as I turned, overbalanced, falling back onto my ass as I looked up at him, his form shadowed, noble, the growing storm above us framed perfectly.  An arc of lightning, but no noise.

 

"You're going to be okay, you're going to get through this."

 

I reached for my knife.

 

He leaned down to try to help me up, and, still falling, I took his hand.  "Who are you?" I asked.

 

And everything stood still.  No noise, just a picture of a moment.

 

He looked shocked.  "What?"  Our eyes met, and for an eternity, a moment, we were connected, just looking into each other, and I felt like I was home.

 

"Who are you?" I asked again, as his eyes began to dart left and right.  I could smell him sweat, smelled cedar and sandalwood, and confusion.  "Wait, please.  I love you."  He made a noise, unintelligible, and turned to run, bounding away.  "I love you!"

 

No no no no!  I began to cry as I pulled out the rifle.  Can't let him go, can't let him leave, I have to... I have to...  "I love you!" I called out again as he bounded off into the distance, getting smaller, farther away.  I don't want to lose him, but I don't want to kill him.  I can't, I can't!  But I have to, don't I?  Do I?  But it's my... dream?  A dream?  Is it a dream, only a dream?  Or...

 

Finger on the trigger,

 

I awoke to streaming sunlight and a vibrating phone.  "Mf.  Fuck.  Holy shit, wh.  What time?"  Seven thirty.

 

I clumsily fumbled with screen, then brought it to my ear.  "Hello?"

 

At first there was an awkward silence, but there was definitely someone there.  And then, after a pause and a breath:

 

"Hey."

 

And I smiled.

Source: https://sofurry.com/s/WelplENe