Excerpt: An Uncertain Chance
Cassie was in the center of a surreal bad dream. The scenario was so desperate and ugly, with misery quite unlike anything she had ever imagined. Here was an illuminated frantic world of strange persons, unlikely situations; an outlandish world she didn’t recognize, yet seemed so familiar. She wanted to stay with the oddities dancing about in the universe of her mind, but she could not sustain the panorama of sights and sounds. She was being pulled from the uncomfortable sleep by some kind of terrible demon that tugged at her. She wanted to remain with the scenes of strangeness. There was a feeling of expectation as if there would be some sort revelation. They were dreadful embodiments of ideas that came from somewhere in the unexplored recesses of her mind, wound tightly in a knot of solution that was yet to present itself. She was fascinated; she wanted to hold on to all of this, to have some understanding where understanding did not seem possible. The dream was a confusing mess.
Some glimmer of recognition came through, some sense projected across the broad screen that gave her dream structure. In all of the confusion of images and sounds there was a question that came to her of whether, perhaps, she might be in the process of giving birth or was, on the other hand, herself being born. She could not, within the wild frenzy of this dream, decide which. But then the cosmic scenario changed drastically.
“Mommy, Mommy,” the voice cried. It was a child’s voice, thinly carried, so plaintive that it might break her heart. “Mommy, Mommy,” the voice echoed again, resonating within Cassie, the sound churning relentlessly as if some machine were out of control.
Was this the child she never had? Calling to her? She could think this and still know that she was dreaming, caught in this fantasy place. She could think this and know that she had no way of responding, no way to clarify the source of the cry.
Cassie processed that thought in the distorted dimension of her dream where she could talk to her consciousness and still be asleep. She made the profound effort of sorting out what makes sense, but where nothing makes sense.
Or was she calling Mommy?
Oh, Mommy, Mommy. The frail voice sounded with tragic overtones.
Sure, of course, Burt was watching, off to the side somehow. He would be. He was there to see what she would do, what she would say. He was so smug, that jerk. Couldn’t he know how that would make me feel? Of course he understands, damn it.
She did not want to be judged right now, thank you, she would just like to have this dream and keep going and not have Burt in it. Butt out, Burt, you bastard. Thank you. Who is calling? Why are you calling?
It all collapsed to black with a snap. The real world started to take hold when Molly barked. She barked twice and Cassie knew she had been egged on by Mike. Her stepfather saw to her comfort, but knew when it was time for her to get moving.
No alarm clock in the world was as good as the demanding dog bark that insisted she get up, or of that first smell of coffee brewing. Each so penetrating, so persuasive. Both were surely an indication of the potential energy that wafted through the house. The continuing pungent aroma brought Cassie to her semi-awake senses. She was in transition from sleep to awake. She liked this transition state where she could stretch and roll over and know that full reality was some place yet to come. Through the blackness there were those strange, elusive thoughts where she believed she had command of everything, every bit of information she wanted, and every scrap of evidence for every conjecture about life that she had made. There was that uneasy sense of omniscience which made her want to resist the passage of time. She begged for the blessing of total understanding to continue forever, but it was no use. The feeling was fleeting and she chased it with her mind in an effort to master its complexities. Who cried out, she wondered? She could not get hold of that. It was so frustrating trying to transcend time and space. Frustrating to not really know everything.
Mommy, Mommy. There was still the agony of that seeking cry as the child’s voice persisted while Cassie was caught in the undertow of impending full awakening.
Her mental chase for omniscience ended as Cassie became fully awake. She stared at the ceiling. She had lost hold of that special feeling once more and it was maddening. She did want to know everything. There was some sense she could fight being awake, but that too was futile. She knew the feeling was gone, vanished as quickly as it had come; that sense she was in command. She knew she was not, knew she had to wrestle for the helm of her own destiny. God, that seems so pretentious, she thought, but how she felt. I will be in charge, I will, she murmured to herself.
She will if she can just overcome the intimidation she feels. All of life is an intimidation. The ominous conclusion rolled over her as she struggled with the loss of her fleeting gift of knowing all things.
“I know nothing,” she yelled into her pillow. “I don’t know a goddamn thing.”