The Christmas of My Dreams

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The Christmas of My Dreams
By Drew Miller

High school student John gets more than he bargained for when he begins using a curious old typewriter which he inherits from his grandfather. Although this Christmas story is not strictly classified as TG, it does contain a surprising and heartfelt ending for those who are kind enough to give it a chance and read through to the end. Hope you enjoy it!

“Well that was a complete waste of time!” I fumed as my father, my older brother, and I piled into our beat up Civic parked along the curb in front of a modest looking office building.

My father was clenching the grimy steering wheel as hard as he was clenching his teeth when I caught sight of his glare in the rearview.

“What’s wrong with you John?” he demanded. “Can’t you go five seconds without complaining about something? I mean this entire trip…”

“What’s wrong with me?” I interjected. “What’s wrong with me? Are you serious?” I shook my head. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong: driving over ten hours to Grandpa’s funeral, a funeral that most of our relatives were smart enough not to attend I might add.”

“He may have been a recluse toward the end, but he’s still your Grandfather.”

“Yeah,” I said, crossing my arms, “in name only. And once again, thanks for dragging me to the reading of the will.” I glanced over to my right at the ancient typewriter sitting behind my brother. Patting it, I said, “Glad we were here to pick up this gem, huh Sam?” Sam didn’t acknowledge me. He just resumed staring out the window with his arms crossed.

“You see?” said my father. “Now you’ve upset your brother.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh yeah. He seems real broken up. But maybe you’re right dad; after all, he did have three more years to not get to know Grandpa.”

Dad sighed as he maneuvered the car back into the stream of the busy pre-Christmas traffic.

He said, “Why don’t you just put your headphones back on and try to give me some peace and quiet on the drive home? Okay?”

“Fine,” I said, with clenched teeth.

Before I blasted my tunes, I heard Dad tune the radio to the Christmas station and I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas started softly playing.

The seemingly endless drive from Pennsylvania to Florida down I-95 consisted of me listening to my angry young man music while I looked at the uninteresting bleak scenery rushing past while Sam sat brooding in the front passenger seat. The only thing that was missing was some black lipstick and fingernail polish to go along with Sam’s whole teenage angst thing.

~o~O~o~

We got home around midnight and marched our tired bodies up the two flights of stairs to our small apartment. Dad unlocked the door, but it stubbornly resisted opening in the higher humidity as of late. With quiet anger, he kicked it the rest of the way open. No one said a word as we entered.
I dragged my feet to my room and slammed the door. I dropped my suitcase and kicked it into the corner. Next, I slid the closet door open and tossed the typewriter on the top shelf, shifting the center of mass of the pile of miscellaneous junk so that a baseball glove fell to the ground.

I plopped down on the bed and stared at the ceiling with my hands resting underneath my head. I didn’t think there was anything that could cheer me up, not even the poster of the scantily clad girl on my door, or even the fact that Christmas break would start later this coming week.

~o~O~o~

The next day at school was a total drag, both literally and figuratively. The fact that it was a Monday only added insult to injury.

I grabbed my math book out of my locker and leaned against it for a bit, dreading the start of my first period Algebra class.

“Hey John!” said my equally awkward freshman friend Jim joining me in my malaise. “Dude, I’m so sorry to hear about your grandpa.”

“Yeah, well shit happens I suppose.”

“Man, you don’t seem very broken up by it. I don’t know. If it were my Grandpa, it’d be pretty tough I think.”

“Well my Grandpa isn’t your Grandpa, okay?” I snapped.

“Jesus man! Don’t bite my head off. I didn’t kill the man.”

I took a deep breath. “Sorry. It’s just this whole month has completely sucked so far. This whole semester in fact.”

Jim empathetically nodded his head before saying, “We’d better get going. You don’t want to be late for Mr. Samuel’s class again.”

“You really think it matters Eddie?” I observed. We both enjoyed a laugh at the inside joke from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.

As we made our way, he asked, “Did you get a chance to study?”

“I tried but…” I shook my head before continuing on. “Even with the extension that he gave me, there’s no way I’m gonna be able to ace the test. Maybe if I’m lucky, I can barely get a B on the test and maybe squeak by with a C.”

~o~O~o~

“Can you believe that guy?” I fumed, after the first period bell rang. “I swear, he’s really got it out for me. You’d think he’d of figured it out by now that I’m the last person you want to call on in the class.” I punched my locker. “I mean, I’m not my brother for Christ’s sake! I hate that I have so many of his former teachers. They keep expecting me to be him. They’re always like, ‘your brother was such a pleasure to teach, or maybe if you’d put in some more effort you could reach your potential.’ Well I’m not him. I’m not as smart as him and I never will be and I’m tired of being reminded of it on a daily basis!”

“Would you like some cheese with that whine?” teased Jim, the only person who could get away with being honest with me without out incurring my feeble wrath.

“Sorry man. Didn’t mean to dump on you like that.”

“You only got three more days of this shit before break and then you can…” He turned around and I started reading the back of his t-shirt and I couldn’t help but laugh.

The Perfect Day

Get up.

Play video games.

Eat lunch.

Play video games.

Take a nap.

Get up and play more video games.

Eat dinner.

Invite my friend over and play more video games.

Go to sleep.

Dream about playing video games.

I gave him a fist bump before we headed our separate ways.

“See ya at lunch,” I said.

~o~O~o~

“Dude,” said to Jim, as we sat in the lobby of our High School. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so envious of your brother. I mean look who he hangs out with.”
I turned to him and said, “I never said I was jealous. I mean why would I be?” I looked at all of the drama geeks Sam was hanging out with and wondered if perhaps it would be worth it to commit social suicide in exchange for an IQ of 145.

Before I could ponder the matter further, there she was. It was Beth Andrews walking past us in her tight skirt and cute little babydoll. Her dad was rich, but she didn’t need any of daddy’s money in the form of a gift certificate for plastic surgery on her 18th birthday. This chick was like the Paris Hilton of High School, only reasonably intelligent and hotter.

“Earth to John?” said Jim, waving his hand in front of me. “Forget about it man. Stop torturing yourself. There aint no way even Santa could hook you up with that babe. There just isn’t enough magic in the world.”

“I know. I know. She’s a senior and I’m just a lowly freshman. A guy can dream can’t he?”

A devilish grin lit up Jim’s face. “There’s always Stacy!”

I stuck my finger in my mouth. “No frackin’ way! That girl’s a consolation prize nobody wants.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers is all I’m sayin.’”

I sighed as I watched Beth meet up with her equally perfect boyfriend, the star wide receiver for our divisional champs football team. She stood on her tiptoes and met the lips of that cut 6’3’’ stud. I shook my head because I knew that I would be the one standing on my tiptoes if I was to kiss her and she was wearing the same wedges she had on now. I managed a laugh at such a pathetic truth.

“What is it?” asked Jim, as if he’d been left out on the punch line of some joke.

“Fate’s a cruel bitch sometimes man,” I replied.

~o~O~o~

The rest of the day, I spent more time daydreaming than paying attention. I think that perhaps only about thirty minutes of real learning took place that day.

The bell rung and I danced a little jig inside as I left my fifth period Spanish class.

Jim caught up with me and slapped me on the back. “Vamanos mi amigo!”

We stepped out into the seventy-five degree warmth under a partly cloudy sky.

We piled into the hot bus. And as usual, Jim and I sat together. I slid the window open and fanned my face with my weathered spiral notebook.

“Florida’s cool and all except this time of the year,” I said. “The only thing worse than having to tough out the last few days is no snow around Christmas. If I wanted summer in December, I’d head to Hawaii or Australia or somewhere and kick it on the beach man!”

Jim laughed before saying, “Spend five years in northern Minnesota and I guarantee you you’d be headed back here faster than a retiree after receiving his first Social Security check. Man, give me this weather any day! Screw the upper mid-west. Besides, it doesn’t mean we can’t have a little Christmas fun…Remember I’ve got all of those snowballs in deep freeze in my garage.”

“More like hailstones as dense as they are. I had bruises going into the New Years last time.”

“Man, don’t be such a pussy! I can’t help it if I’ve got the arm of a pitcher. So, you still game, or are you gonna puss out on me?”

“Yeah, I’m in. Can’t argue with tradition.”

“Cool,” he said. “So what’s the plan? For after school I mean. Are you gonna come over to my place and hang for a while?”

“I wish, but there’s no way my dad’s gonna let me outta the house. I’ve got the math test day after tomorrow. Remember? I’m not grounded, but I might as well be.” I stared out the window and my eyes lit up at the sight of a familiar vehicle getting ready to pass us on the left. I nudged Jim with my elbow. “Dude! Check it out! It’s Beth in her convertible. Damn she looks fine. And look at those tits! There’s a pretty good view from up here.”

I peered out the window along with all of the other lust-sick boys at the vision in the red convertible passing our lowly bus. She smiled as she passed. I’m not sure if it was because of something funny her boyfriend said or because of the testosterone fueled attention she was drawing.

~o~O~o~

I tried to study that night, but like I said, I was having trouble concentrating. And there was absolutely no way I was going to swallow my pride and ask my genius bro for help. After a few hours of cramming, I felt like a sopping wet sponge. I got up, stretched, and then paced around the room.

Deciding I had maxed out on studying, I thought about the one assignment I would have over the break. It was no big deal, just one of those stupid “what I did over the break” essays. Then I thought about Jim’s t-shirt and started laughing as I lay on my bed staring at my fantasy girly on the ceiling. I wondered what would happen if I turned in an essay as succinct and eloquent as the masterpiece on his shirt.

I got up and walked over to the closet and pulled out the ancient typewriter. I moved my keyboard out of the way and set it down on my desk. I grinned as I typed it word for word using a sheet of gleaming white paper normally reserved for my printer.

The Perfect Day…

(No need to waste any more ink. You know the rest).

~o~O~o~

I was so tired that night that I didn’t even put on my pajamas. I simply slid off my jeans and tossed them in the vicinity of the closet.

It felt like there were lead weights dangling from my eyelids and I fell asleep quickly. However, it only felt like I was asleep for a matter of seconds before I awoke in the dim light of morning sifting in between my blinds.

“Shit!” I exclaimed, glancing at my alarm clock.

It seemed I had hit the snooze alarm more times than usual this morning and was now running about thirty minutes behind!

I adopted my back up “in case of emergency” expedited routine and pulled out the least dingy looking t-shirt and least wrinkled jeans I could find in the laundry pile without even sniffing them. Then, I grabbed the bottle of febreeze from my closet and gave my armpits and crotch a quick spray.

Next, I ran to the bathroom and splashed my face with cold water. I wet my fingers and ran them through my hair, taking it from unkempt to almost carefully disheveled.

“You’re up awfully early,” commented my dad, calmly sipping on a cup of coffee in his recliner.

“Early? What do you mean by early?” I pointed to the clock. “It’s a school day, and maybe if I make like Usain Bolt, I’ll make the bus.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “Set your backpack down and get some breakfast.”

Something was certainly off about this morning. My dad was never this nice on a school day, especially before finishing his first cup of coffee.

“So, you’re going to give me a lift to school?” I wondered, running my fingers through my hair.

He let out a guffaw. “School? The stressful environment of school is not something I want to subject my son to at the moment. I think you need a mental health day. I know you’re putting on a brave face to the world, but you don’t have to. You still need to grieve. It’s not healthy to hold everything in the way you do.”

He gave me a wink before getting up and walking over to the Christmas tree and picking up a present.

“I was going to wait until the morning of, but it looks like you could use a little Christmas right now.”

“It’s light,” I remarked, after he placed it in my eager hands. I ripped off the paper and my eyes went wide. “No way! This is awesome!”

“I take it that’s the first person shooter game you wanted?”

“Hell yes!” I gave him a hug. “You’re the greatest dad!”

“I think perhaps your bestowing me with the title of ‘the greatest’ might be a little premature.” I furrowed my brow, but before I could inquire further, he said, “Hold that thought son and wait here. I’ll be right back.” When he returned, he was holding something behind his back. “Ta da!” he said, presenting a wafer thin laptop.

“Holy shi…” I began. “Sorry dad.” I practically snatched it out of his hands like a thief.

“I trust you’ll find this top of the line. No point in getting you the latest game without the RAM and a processor with enough gigahertz to give you the optimum experience. Don’t you think?”

I gave him a big hug. “You are without a doubt, the coolest Dad in the whole world!”

“Well what are you just standing around for? Go on and try it out. I’ll get breakfast started.”

I was on cloud nine as I started up the virgin laptop. As I did, I was filled with questions: Was this a dream? It had to be, but then again, it sure as hell didn’t feel like a dream because everything seemed so real. My attention to detail was practically eidetic!

It turned out to be the best day ever! Even that was an understatement. It was as if the simple script on Jim’s t-shirt was playing itself out in real life.

After a hard day of gaming, my eyes finally succumbed to fatigue around one in the morning. Once again, it seemed as if I awoke only seconds later.

My alarm clock went off and I slapped the snooze alarm like a reflex. The next thing I knew, I heard my dad shouting, “Hey John, get your butt out of bed! I don’t have time to drive you if you miss the bus. I’ve got a meeting this morning…Did you hear what I said young man?”

“Yeah,” I said weakly. Just give me a few minutes.”

I dragged my body out of bed and let out the biggest yawn. I felt exhausted. It felt like I had just arrived at my destination in Europe somewhere after a fourteen hour flight. It was like I hadn’t slept at all.

My eyes still mere slits, I fumbled and groaned my way through my routine. When I came back into my room after using the bathroom, I did a double take when I looked at my desk. It was gone. Where was my gaming laptop? The first thought that popped into my head was Sam.

I grabbed my book bag and rushed over to the dining room table. “Where is it Sam?” I asked, my arms crossed in my indignant repose.

“Where’s what?” he asked calmly, his face still hidden behind the paper he was reading.

“You know damn well! My gaming laptop. You know, the one with the flame decals on it.”

He lowered the paper and just gave me this blank stare. Either he was telling the truth or he was really good at feigning ignorance.

“Oh, I get it,” I said, forcing a smile. “Very funny.” I threw my hands up in the air. “Okay, you got me. Now seriously, where is it?”

“What,” said Sam. “Are you taking crazy pills or something? I didn’t steal your imaginary laptop,” he insisted.

“Dad!” I whined, “Would you please tell Sam to give me back my gaming laptop!”

My dad popped his head out of the kitchen. “Son, what the heck are you talking about?”

“You mean to tell me that you honestly don’t remember giving me an early Christmas present in the form of a laptop to go along with the game you bought me?”

“John,” he said, “You must have been dreaming. You always did have an active imagination. Now stop badgering your brother and get something to eat. It’s getting late.”

“Alright,” I quietly relented after being confronted with the dead serious expression on dad’s face. As I grabbed a bowl from the cupboard, I turned to him and asked, “Hey Dad?”

“Uh huh,” he said.

“Do you mind if I take today off? You know, a mental health day? I’m really exhausted and I think Grandpa’s death shook me up more than I thought.”

I heard a guffaw from the peanut gallery before Dad’s eyes met mine with that “you’ve got to be kidding look.”

“Look John,” he began, “You’ve already missed enough school as it is this year. You’ve only got two more days to go. You’ll just have to tough it out like the rest of us.”

I grabbed my cereal and slumped down in my chair. Damn! It really was a dream! But that revelation didn’t stop me from belatedly seeking some unbiased confirmation. I squinted my eyes and read the date on the paper. Yep. It was still plain old lousy today, or yesterday depending on one’s perspective.

I shook my head before a chill shot down my spine. I rushed back into my room and looked at the meager amount of print on the paper still inserted into the typewriter.

“Holy shit! What I wrote did come true somehow.”

However, such an epiphany notwithstanding, I quickly dismissed the possibility of such a magic typewriter making such dime-a-dozen desires come true. It was just a coincidence, I reassured myself. Yes. That was definitely it. It was just a coincidence in the form of the most vivid dream I had ever experienced.

~o~O~o~

Once at school, I shot the shit with Jim before classes started, with him doing most of the talking this time.

“Jesus John!” he said, sizing up my weary face. “You look like shit man!”

“Gee. Thanks,” I said before yawning, too tired to think of a clever retort.

“How late were you up studying anyway?”

“It’s got nothing to do with the studying,” I assured. “It’s just…”

“Just what?”

“Never mind. I just need to stop playing video games as much and sleep more is all.”

“I hear ya. If I could, I’d play them in my sleep!”

“Right,” I said nervously. Let me know how that works out for you!

~o~O~o~

I spent the entire rest of the day fighting fatigue, and lost the battle on more than one occasion. The day was just a blur.

I fell asleep on the bus on the way home. I’d just have to wait until later to get another look at Beth’s c-cup cleavage in the passing lane.

~o~O~o~

When I got home, I thought back on my dream and wondered if I should type up something else to see if it came true in my mind’s eye that night, but I was just too exhausted. I went to bed early, and before I knew it, my alarm clock was pulling me back to the land of the living.

I had had one of those typical teenage frustration dreams. I dreamed I was taking the math test. My heart was racing because I was still on the first problem but there were only five more minutes left! To make things worse, every time I put pencil to paper, the lead broke and I kept having to sharpen it. Thankfully, I awoke before I got the test grade back.

I sighed as I sat up and dangled my legs from the edge of the bed in the cool and stale air. Perhaps the dream wasn’t that far of a cry from reality. I knew I’d find out soon enough.

~o~O~o~

“How’d it go?” asked my dad as I walked through the door after a less tiring day of school.

“You mean the test? Better than I thought it would. Never underestimate the value of a good night’s sleep.”

“That’s good to hear son, because the last thing I want right now is another parent-teacher conference.”

“Well I wouldn’t worry about that. I think I managed a B. I’ll tell ya, it feels really good to finally get that test out of the way.” I looked around before asking, “Where’s Sam?”

“Something related to drama club at school. I think their having some kind of meeting to plan next year’s agenda. You know,” he said, looking thoughtful, “It wouldn’t hurt if you joined a club or took part in some kind of extracurricular activity. It’d do you good…maybe even help get you out of that shell of yours.”

“What shell?” I protested. “I’ve got friends. Well, maybe not a lot of friends, but a couple of good friends.”

“Try not to get so defensive John. It was just a suggestion. Take it or leave it.”

I stood there for a few moments with my hands in my pockets, studying a spot on the carpet. I realized that the only club where I’d meet the criteria for membership would be the “Gawky Freshman Loser’s Club.”

That though really gnawed away at me while I sat on the edge of my bed, contemplating what to do with my leisure time. I looked back at the typewriter looking all neglected and lonely, and thought about my dream once more. I felt a pulse of energy radiate out from my heart. I couldn’t resist the urge. It seemed to be calling out to me, daring me to confirm its awesome power.

“What the hell!” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

I walked over and fed in a new sheet of paper a little easier this time now that I had already gotten my trial and error tutorial out of the way. I smiled at the blank page, for it gleamed with promise.

I figured that if I couldn’t have the perfect life, at least I could fantasize about it. I grinned as I thought of a title: Big Man on Campus.

The words of the first sentence flowed remarkably easily:

It was just another typical school day that started out as awesome as every day before it…

I typed fast and furiously as I finished a day in the life of my dreams, of any hopelessly awkward fourteen year old such as myself.

I laughed gleefully as I anticipated what it would be like if my thin yet full manuscript played itself out in real life. If my selfish desires came true tonight, then all doubt would be removed regarding whether this particular typewriter was inexplicably endowed with magical powers.

~o~O~o~

“I’m burning moonlight!” I somberly remarked, tossing and turning under the stale sheets of my bed. I was just fueled by too much excitement to sleep. It was like I was a little kid on Christmas Eve.

Out of desperation, I snuck into my dad’s room and stole one his prescription sleeping pills he thought I didn’t know about. Judging by how much he was snoring, I figured I’d be joining him in dreamland very soon.

Erring on the side of caution, I only took half a pill. Good thing too! It knocked me out faster than my mom after an all night binger. God I missed her. That’s the last thing I remember before falling asleep.

~o~O~o~

Despite my carefully written script, I don’t think anything could have prepared me for the real deal!

The first thing I ‘awoke’ to was the pleasant sensation of something soft and warm pressed against me. I looked over and couldn’t believe my eyes. It wasn’t just anyone lying next to me, it was Beth! There she was, the most beautiful girl in school just as I’d written. And she was wearing a black negligee I might add!

She draped her arm over me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“Good morning you big stud!” She stretched luxuriously after complementing me. “You were amazing last night, you bad boy you. I never knew it could be that good. My God, I’ve never cum that many times in my life!”

“Umm…you’re welcome,” was my lame reply.
Finally managing to take my eyes off the babe lying next to me, I glanced at the alarm clock.

“Whoa! It’s getting late,” I said. “We’d better get going.”

“What’s with you this morning?” she said with a smile. “You’re acting kind of funny. We’re seniors, remember? And you don’t have a first period class.”

“Right. How could I forget.”

“And speaking of class, how would you like to brush up on some biology before breakfast?”

With a devilish smile, she climbed on top of me and sexily slid down one of the satin straps of her lingerie. I looked up and grinned like an idiot.

Thank you God!

She may not have been a virgin, but I still felt like one as I was living out someone else’s life. But I quickly forgot about being nervous while she kindly went about doing most of the work if you know what I mean.

“Yes!” I exclaimed, as we both came.

“What is it?” she asked breathlessly.

“It’s just that it’s so amazing not being a virgin. Don’t you think?”

She looked at me, wearing an expression of puzzlement. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t given it that much thought since you popped my you know what after that killer party last year after we won the state championship.” Her eyes took on a faraway look when she said, “God that party was epic.”

“It sure was,” I said, with that same stupid grin on my face.

She gave me another long kiss before climbing off of me. “I’m gonna hop in the shower!”

She walked across my now spacious bedroom floor wearing nothing but her perfect silky smooth skin, teasing me with every swish of her hips.

I couldn’t contain my excitement any longer. I jumped out of bed and threw my arms up in the air like I had just thrown the game winning touchdown at the championship.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! I just had sex with Beth and her tits were more perfect than I could have ever imagined. Jim’s never going to believe this. Never!”

Just then, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror of the closet door.

“Holy shit!” I exclaimed. I was even better looking than I had written myself.

It was like me only on steroids. I must have put on about eighty pounds of muscle and grown about a foot. I started flexing my huge biceps like a body builder and admired my perfect six pack.

“Arnold Swarzenegger’s got nothin’ on me bitches!” I exclaimed.

I lied back down on the bed and grabbed the remote control off the bedside table. My bedroom had everything. I turned on the 50’’ plasma screen television and surfed the HD movie channels.

“There’s no way life get’s any better than this!”

Then a thought popped into my head: maybe I’d join Beth in the shower and take some more lessons!

As it turns out, after taking turns soaping each other up, things did get better.

Beth was still toweling off and doing her makeup as I got dressed. I pulled out a brand spanking new pair of jeans and one of those cool under armor moisture wicking shirts. I heard a knock on the door while I strutted in front of the mirror and admired the way my shirt hugged my chiseled body.

Opening it so it was ajar, I saw a very well dressed older man.

“Master Andrews, breakfast is served.”

“Oh. Cool. Thanks man,” I said to the butler.

“Beth popped her head out and said, “Don’t wait for me. I’ll be down in a few.” She blew me a kiss.

“I could get used to this!” I said, walking down the hall.

Suddenly, something came into view that made my bedroom, which was nearly as large as my apartment in real life, seem tiny by comparison.

I came to the railing and stood equidistant between two staircases with their gleaming brass banisters.

I admired the shiny marble floor below, and I couldn’t resist the urge.

“Good morning! My name is John Andrews and my life is awesome!” I loved the way my voice echoed.

One of the maids below gave me a curious look before going on about her work. Then, I heard the approach of footsteps like when one is in a museum.

Avery well dressed version of my father appeared in the foyer and looked at me and smiled.

“Well Mr. ‘my life is awesome,’ good morning to you too. Why don’t you come join your brother and I for breakfast if you would be so kind.”

I jogged down and followed my father into the dining room and sat down at one end of a ridiculously long cherry wood table.

A lot of things may have changed, but it seemed one thing hadn’t: There was Sam, reading the paper as usual, seemingly oblivious to the glorious entrance of his Adonis brother.

I walked over and peered over the newspaper and shook my head in response to his pseudo-intellectual repose.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” I teased.

“Aren’t we chipper this morning,” he replied, without taking his eyes of the page.

“Yes we are,” I said, picking up an apple and polishing it. “You might say that I woke up on the right side of the bed…right next to my girlfriend.”

He rolled his eyes before saying, “Since when did Beth get demoted in status from fiancée to mere girlfriend?”

I remained silent. Fiancee? I didn’t remember writing fiancée anywhere in the script. I just remember writing that we were inseparable and I was the only man she loved or would ever love. I also didn’t remember writing Sam’s character so snobby.

Finally recovering from my loss for words, I nonchalantly said, “Of course she’s my fiancée. Girlfriend was just a figure of speech. And dude, smile for once! Stop reading all of that depressing news. Look around. We live in a mansion and…” I walked over to the window and parted the curtains. “And it’s a beautiful day outside. Just look at the fountain and all of those beautiful palm trees lining our driveway, and all of the…all of the luxury cars.”

At that moment, I think I was grinning as big as when I awoke to that angel lying next to me.

“Something wrong John?” asked my father, responding to my silence.

“Oh no,” I said. “I’m just admiring the display of perfect German engineering in our driveway. That’s all.”

Sam spoke up and said, “I know we are very fortunate to be able to live a life of luxury, but there’s obviously more to life than possessions and maids and chauffeurs and the like. You don’t just surround yourself with things that suddenly press the default button of happiness when you’re in their presence…John. Earth to John. Are you even listening?”

It was as if his voice had trailed off in the middle of his short lecture, for my attention was captivated by something else, not a possession, but a vision wearing a tight skirt and a tight top.
She clicked her way over in her wedges and gave me a quick kiss before sitting down at the table.

“Good morning Mr. Andrews,” she said. And in a civil tone and not much more, she said good morning to my brother.

With an equal amount of sincerity, he said, “Good morning Beth.”

I sat down next to her and noticed that my father seemed to be lost in thought.

“Something on your mind dad?” I asked.

He said, “You just don’t seem quite like yourself son. And what is it with the use of the word dude all of the sudden? I understand when you’re around your friends and you want to sound hip, but it’s strange hearing that kind of slang at the breakfast table, especially someone who aced the verbal portion of the SATs.”

I so wanted to be a smart ass and say “dude! Just chill,” but I bit my tongue and just stared at my breakfast that was placed before me.

I looked over at Beth and muttered, “What am I on some kind of Slimfast diet?”

She said, “It’s just your protein shake silly.” Then, in the most disgusting cutesy-wutesy voice, she said, “I need to make sure my man drinks his proteins so he can stay strong and hold me in those big arms of his.”

For some reason, I pictured Stacey uttering those same words because it sounded just like the tone of voice she would use. I had to suppress a shutter.

I noticed that Sam politely excused himself right after the exchange, to prevent himself from hurling at the corny dialogue no doubt. I mean who was writing this dialogue anyway? It was like this story was taking on a life of its own, revising itself into something sappier as it went along.

I drank my breakfast like a good boy while she dove into her hearty breakfast consisting of a grapefruit and a slice of wheat toast.

~o~O~o~

“Which car should we take?” I asked.

“You are hilarious this morning,” said Beth. “Do you know that?” She tossed me a set of keys from the hall table. “Last one to the convertible is a rotten egg!”

I followed her out the huge door and down the stone steps and wondered which one. There were only three after all!

As I watched her hurdle the door of the red convertible in that tight skirt of hers like a gymnast, my earlier pre-Christmas cheer began returning. I hopped in right beside her on that warm leather and revved the engine of the perfectly tuned automobile; meanwhile, she put in a CD and blasted some tunes.

“Alright!” I shouted over the pulsing of the motor. “Let’s hit the road in this 300+ horsepower open sleigh.” I turned my head and asked, “Whadda ya say babe?”

“Less talking and more driving. Put this bitch in gear and let’s hit the road!”

“God I love you Beth!” I shouted, which I’m sure came across as just a whisper to her as the engine roared and the seats pressed into our backs.

It wasn’t long until we got onto the two lane road that led to our school. We zipped on past my bus and I think I derived as much satisfaction as she did knowing that horny teenage boys were lusting after her.

In that moment of pure exhilaration as we tore ass through the still morning air, lost in the music instead of each other’s eyes, I figured life just didn’t get any better than this.

~o~O~o~

The only thing missing as we walked down the main hall of my school just before the bell rang was a red carpet. I felt like teenage royalty watching the kids pour out of their classrooms and pass us in halls where I had walked day after day as if I was invisible. Now all of the cool kids and wannabes waiting in the wings were acknowledging me with smiles and waves.

For me, the friendly exchanges ranged from “nice jacket man” or “thanks for inviting me to your party last weekend. It was killer!” For Beth, all of the compliments from all of the popular girls about her designer clothes and shoes seemed to be an excuse to flirt with me with their eyes.

I have to admit, I was enjoying all of the attention from all of those jealous girls, apparently a little too much, because Beth stopped and put her hands on her hips.

“Were you just staring at Tiffany’s ass again?”

“What?” I said, immediately catching myself and shifting my gaze from Beth’s breasts to her eyes. “No. Of course not!” I innocently protested.

“Come on, admit it. You kinda were, weren’t you.”

“Well maybe just a little,” I confessed. “But only to remind myself of how much her rear end pales in comparison to your luscious booty.” I reached over and gave Beth’s well toned butt a squeeze.

“Oh you’re just too easy!” she said, easing out of her sexy stance of mock offense. “Come on. Walk me to my class.”

After we kissed by the door of her third period class, I said, “See ya later babe. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you more!” she said in that ultra cutesy voice again.

I walked over to my locker. A lot had changed, but not my locker combination.

“Hey Jim,” I said. “How’s it hangin’ man?”

He jumped a couple of feet in the air it seemed before looking at me with a stunned expression on his face, like a mouse that had just been dropped in a snake cage.

“What’s up with you dude? Cat got your tongue?”

“Uhh,” he began. “It’s just that you’ve never really talked to me before. Don’t take this the wrong way, but are you messing with me?”

“Messing with you? Why would I do that? We’ve been friends since…” I stopped before saying since the beginning of Middle School because of the persistence of that blank expression on his sweaty and pallid face.

Just then, I noticed a couple of cute upperclassmen girls walking past. I barely heard the one who was a cheerleader say, “Like why is he hanging out with that freshman loser?”

That really stung me, but what stung me even more was not coming to the quick defense of my friend.

“Look, I better get going,” said Jim. “I’ve gotta head over to the guidance office.”

“Yeah,” I said, running my fingers through my hair. “Guess I better go find Beth. See ya round.” I gave him a wave as he walked off, but he didn’t turn around.

Before shutting my locker door, I noticed a note that had slid to the bottom. I picked up the perfumed piece of paper and unfolded it. It simply read: I’ll be in the usual place today: stage right this time! I look forward to a little dessert after school!
-You know who

That big grin formed on my face once more at the thought of doing it with that chick again. She was one surprisingly horny girl! I didn’t remember writing her character that adventurous.

My phone vibrated and I superfluously checked to see who it was. Beth had some serious separation anxiety issues for it was about the dozenth time she had texted me.

~o~O~o~

“Where have you been pumpkin?” asked Beth, as she leaned in for a quick kiss.

“Just made a pit stop at my locker before lunch,” I said.

“Come on. Let’s hit the road. I’m starved!”

“Who are ya texting?” I asked.

“Todd and Margot. I’m letting them know that we’re going over to that new Chinese place. You like Chinese, don’t you?”

“Umm…” I started to say.

“Good,” she said, returning her eyes to her keypad.

“You know,” I said casually, “We could always eat here too.”

She put her finger in her mouth. “Cafeteria food? As if!”

“Right,” I said with a nervous laugh. “Who wants to eat that swill anyway.”

~o~O~o~

We met up with Todd, the star wide receiver, and Margot, the vacuous cheerleader. Okay, maybe vacuous is unnecessarily stereotypically harsh and perhaps mean is a more appropriate description of a girl that was as vicious as she was pretty.

I’ll spare you the details of the conversation and simply summarize. The exchange between Margot and Beth consisted mostly of reflecting on the degree of sluttiness of the other girls in the top of the social hierarchy. Todd and I spent most of the time reminiscing about our journey to the state championship game where we routed our opponent 63-17, or talking about how the Bucs were, once again, letting him down this season. Before I got to chatting with him, I thought I liked football, but talking about it all of the time was just boring after a while. I was thankful when the conversation shifted gears to talk of the upcoming skiing trip to Aspen.

~o~O~o~

After indulging way too much on the sweet and sour chicken, we arrived back at school, running a few minutes behind.

“Good luck on your test,” said Beth, holding my hand in front of Mr. Samuel’s door.

“As if he needs luck,” said Todd.

“See you later pumpkin,” said Beth.

“Later Honeybunny,” I replied. The opening scene from Pulp Fiction had popped into my mind and it just seemed like the right thing to say.

It was really weird after I found my desk. On the surface, the thick test looked like the hardest thing I could ever take, but it was like the test took care of itself as soon as pencil hit paper; in fact, it was just like riding a bike or tying my shoe. Double integrals? No problem. Trigonometric substitution? Piece of cake. Integration by parts? As if! Jeez! I was starting to sound like Beth.

It felt like I was Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting when I dropped the test on Samuel’s desk.

“Here, let me grade it now,” he said, putting on his reading glasses. He smiled at me before saying, “As if I really need to anyway.”

He gave it a cursory inspection. “Yep. Looks good…Looks right.” He set it down after a minute and leaned back in his chair. “Perfect as usual. Might as well use your test as an answer key Mr. Andrews.”

“Thanks,” I said in an aw shucks kind of way. I beamed a big smile. I was really enjoying putting on an air of false modesty.

I beamed an even bigger smile as I walked to the small theater of our drama department in anticipation of a little afternoon delight!

I walked through the drama classroom across the ugly and worn green carpet and exited from stage left onto the small black stage. I fumbled my way through in the feeble light seeping in from the classroom, stumbling into a wooden box.

“Keep it down!” said a female voice in a loud whisper.

“Sorry!” I said.

As soon as I exited stage right, she grabbed me and pulled me against her soft voluptuous body. She didn’t waste any time. We started furiously making out with the pent up passion of lovers separated for months on opposite sides of the vast Pacific instead of hours on opposite ends of a hallway.

While I was feeling her up, she nibbled on my ear before whispering, “Guess what, I’m not wearing any panties!”

I slid up her skirt and started doing my thing. She braced herself against the wall and we both started moaning.

“Oh Beth!” I said breathlessly. “You bad girl you!”

“Beth?” she hissed. “Jesus Christ John. You’re thinking about her. I thought you said you loved me?”

“I do baby. Sorry. It just sort of slipped out.” I leaned in and starting kissing her on the neck, but she pulled away.

“Yeah. I bet you’re sorry.” She got down on her hands and knees.

“What are you doing? I said I was sorry.”

“What do think I’m doing? I’m looking for my panties.” While she slipped them on, she said, “God! I’m so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid!” She slapped me. “That’s for making me care about you, you asshole.”

~o~O~o~

Even though my slut and I didn’t do it, I just couldn’t shake this feeling of guilt that was starting to gnaw away at me.

It was difficult hanging out with Beth at the mall that evening, holding hands as we did some last minute shopping for some relatives. I really hated having to force a smile every time she stared adoringly into my eyes. She wasn’t just some character in my mind. Now she seemed as real as anyone I’d ever met in the real world.

After making love that evening in the suite that was my bedroom, she fell asleep first. She was snuggled up against me and she had her arm draped over my body. I looked over at her body silhouetted in the moonlight and smiled at her. However, what should have been a moment of perfect contentment was tainted by that feeling of guilt from earlier in the day in stage right.

I realized that when I awoke back in my own humble room, I was going to have to have a talk with myself about being more specific regarding the next script I was going to type up. They say the Devil is definitely in the details, and boy was that the truth!

~o~O~o~

I awoke the next morning, but something didn’t feel quite right-in a pleasant sort of way. I looked to my right and Beth was still cuddled up against me.

She kissed me on the cheek and said, “Good morning you big stud!” She stretched luxuriously before continuing on. “You were amazing last night! You bad boy you. I never knew it could be like that. I’ve never cum that much in my life!”

“You’re welcome honeybunny,” I said.

Talk about déjá  vu! Not that I was really complaining or anything waking up next to the voluptuous ten that was Beth.

Responding to my silence, she asked, “What’s up with you this morning? You’re acting kind of funny.”

“I’m just having a feeling of déjá  vu. That’s all.”

“Well duh. We’re seniors. Remember? We’ve been going out together and waking up together for quite some time.”

I rolled over on my side and gazed into her eyes. “It’s just that sometimes it doesn’t feel that long.”

She climbed on top of me and slid down the strap of her negligee. Then, she started massaging the growing bulge in my underwear.

She said, “It feels plenty long to me!” Giggling, she said, “How would you like to brush up on a little biology before breakfast?”

I quickly forgot about the feeling of déjá  vu and the recycled corny dialogue from the other day while we made love.

Once again, after we made love, she hopped in the shower and went about her routine. This time, I didn’t join her; instead, I made my way downstairs, this time sparing everyone my dramatic announcement at the top of the stairs. Still, it was déjá  vu all over again when I walked into the dining room.

After the usual exchange of pleasantries, I noticed that in addition to the same flavor of protein shake confronting me, everyone was wearing the exact same clothes. In fact, it looked like Sam had his face buried in the same paper as the day before. I walked over to double check.

“What is it?” he asked with a smirk. “Are you suddenly interested in the world beyond this estate that doesn’t, as it turns out, revolve around you?”

“Jeez!” I said. “I’m just checkin’ the date for cryin’ out loud. Why do you always have to be such a dick?”

“Language John!” admonished my father. He shook his head. “I expect better from someone who got a perfect score on their SATs.” Addressing Sam’s grin with a glare, he added, “And Sam, stop antagonizing your brother. Let’s have some civil discourse this morning.”

Sam looked over at Beth before smiling at me. He whispered, “I don’t know why you bothered to check the date. She always wears those Gucci shoes on Tuesday.”

“Of course,” I retorted. “How could I forget.”

Beth gave me a peck on the cheek. Then, she sat down next to me and things, for the most part, continued to play out exactly as yesterday.

You know that movie Groundhog Day? Well, that was my day, only not as funny, unless by funny you mean the scene that played out in the school parking lot after school.

Remember how I told you about the scene in the theater with the girl sans panties? Well this time, since there didn’t seem to be any reward for not having sex with her, I just went with my hormones and remembered not to call her Beth while in the throes of passion.

After my rendezvous with my mistress, I exited the hallway adjacent to the parking lot where a rather large crowd was watching Beth just go with it with a baseball bat to my car.

I raced over to confront her, but I was sure to maintain a safe distance from that crazed look on her face.

“My car!” I shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”

“You’ve got some nerve acting all innocent!” she yelled. “Did you honestly think I was so stupid that I wouldn’t find out about you and your little slut?” she hissed.

I backed away as her voice reached a crescendo as intense as the damage she was inflicting on my car. She dropped the bat after smashing my headlights. And as if she hadn’t soothed herself enough with her rage, she yanked off her engagement ring and threw it at me.

“Why don’t you give it to your little whore!”

Even though it was a dream, seeing everyone watch our little drama was making me uncomfortable, and that discomfort was now bordering on embarrassment. I stupidly walked over and tried to calm her down.

“I’m sorry babe. I just screwed up. I swear. I tried to resist, but she kept throwing herself at me. But I can promise you that it didn’t mean anything. I don’t love her. I love you Beth. You know I love you. Right?”

It didn’t work. When I tried to grasp her hands, she pushed me away. Then, she just seemed to snap, as if she hadn’t gone berserk enough. She starting shaking me as intensely as she was sobbing. Now I knew how the car felt.

“How could you John? How could you?”

It’s weird what happened next. Everything started to get fuzzy and fade away, like I was severely nearsighted and Beth had tossed my coke bottle glasses out of spite.

After a few seconds, everything went black, but I was still being shaken by some unknown force.

The next voice I heard from somewhere in the void wasn’t Beth’s. At first, it sounded far away, but it quickly became closer and more urgent.

“John!” said a male voice that I barely recognized as if from some half remembered dream.

“John!” said the voice a second time, this time more sternly. Now I recognized the owner of that voice. It was my father!

I opened my eyes and looked around. I was back in my room and the relieved expression on my dad’s face seemed to imply that I had just come back to life after he’d performed CPR.

“Thank God!” he said. “I thought you’d never wake up.”

“What time is it?” I wondered, rubbing the sleepiness out of my eyes.

“It’s 2:30.”

“Whoa!” I exclaimed, in disbelief. “Guess I need to get to bed earlier. Huh dad?”

“I’ll say. It’s a good thing you had your test the other day is all I can say.” After saying that, he looked at me with the most curious expression on his face. There was no hint of anger on his face when he said, “John. Now listen to me. I want you to be completely honest with me…Did you get into my pills?”

“No,” I said without blinking. But I knew immediately that my hesitation was going to make him suspicious.

“Don’t lie to me John. Did you take one of my sleeping pills or not?”

“I…I,” I stuttered.

“Look, I’m not going to get angry if you tell me. Okay?”

“Alright. Alright,” I said. “I took half of one. I’m sorry.”

“Jesus John. Those are prescription only and very potent. You can’t just start out on a dosage that high right away. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to get angry.”

“This is my concerned face. I’m very disappointed in you. Now you’ve missed another day and…” He shook his head after his voice trailed off. “I guess I’ll just tell the school that you were sick. Now go ahead and get up and get washed up. I’ve got some chores for you to do now that you’re a man of leisure. You should have plenty of energy to do them considering how well rested you are.”

I got up, but I felt even less well rested than after that day off of playing video games. It was like jet lag times a hundred.

Before I shuffled out into the hall toward the bathroom, I walked over to my desk. I leaned on my chair and perused my script.

“That’s strange,” I said, picking up the pages.

I scratched my chin as I thought back on my dream. I had dreamed for approximately one and a half days and I noticed there was about one and a half pages worth of print. That was certainly an odd coincidence. Was it the pills or was it the page count that had dictated the duration of my stay in dreamland? I couldn’t be sure. Was this the caveat, the warning that should have been affixed to the typewriter in large bold letters alerting the novice typist to beware? If so, talk about one hell of a tradeoff.

I ripped up the pages and tossed them in the trashcan. I sighed and headed for the bathroom. While brushing my teeth, I decided to stick with reality for a while. It may be boring, but at least it was fairly predictable, and I could definitely use some predictable right now. I shuddered as the image of Beth smashing my car popped into my mind.

~o~O~o~

The next day was the last day of class for the year. Even though it was only half a day, the time passed excruciatingly slowly.

On the bus ride home, I mostly just stared out the window, debating about whether to tell my friend or not about the most unusual object in my possession.

Jim said, “You’re awfully quiet. Ever since you got back from the funeral, you’ve been…Well, you haven’t been quite yourself.”

I nodded. “Hey Jim,” I said, ignoring the approach of Beth’s convertible, “Can I come over to your house this afternoon? There’s something I need to show you.”

“Sure. What is it exactly you want to show me?”

“I can’t explain now. It’s not the right time and place.” Responding to the raising of his eyebrow, I said, “Don’t worry. I’m not coming over to come out of the closet or anything like that.”

He snapped his fingers. “What a gyp! So much for a date to bring along to the Christmas party.”

“Ha ha!” I said. “Sarcasm is the retreat of a weak mind.”

“So, you gonna give me any hints or what?”

“Suffice it to say it’s gonna blow your mind!”

Just then, Stacey popped her red head up above the seat behind us and grinned. “So what’s all this talk about blowing? Who’s blowing who exactly?”

“Go away Stacey!” said both Jim and I in unison. “This doesn’t concern you,” I said.

~o~O~o~

I walked over to Jim’s house, typewriter in tow. His mom let me in and I lugged the thing to his room and dropped it on his desk.

He looked indignant as he shifted his gaze from the typewriter back to me.

“That’s your big surprise?” he said.

“Yeah. I know it doesn’t look like much, but this is no ordinary typewriter.”

I proceeded to recount my experiences with the magical device, making sure not to omit how many times Beth and I did it.

“Bull shit man!” he scoffed. “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but it doesn’t take some magical typewriter to induce a wet dream about that hottie!”

“But it was so vivid and real…as real as talking to you now.”

“That doesn’t prove anything other than that you have an active imagination.”

“Maybe,” I admitted, thinking about the sleeping pill I’d taken before waking up next to Beth.

“So,” he said, ignoring the typewriter, “Since you’re here, do you wanna play some x-box or watch some re-imagined BSG? I got the box set for my birthday.”

“Sure,” I said. “Let’s do that. For some reason, I’m all video-gamed out for a while.”

~o~O~o~

“You want to stay for dinner?” asked Jim.

“Nah,” I said. “I’d better get back home.”

“Don’t forget your enchanted typewriter!” he teased.

Looking back over my shoulder before walking out into the hall, I said, “Dude. Just humor me. Okay? Go ahead. Feel free to type up a fantasy of yours but make sure to keep it short.”

“Why should the length matter?”

“Just trust me. If you decide to type something up, make sure and keep it to no more than one page.”

“Sure man. Whatever you say.”

“Just do it,” I said sternly. “I dare you. Then we’ll see who’s laughing in the morning. Sweet dreams.”

~o~O~o~

I was having a rather pedestrian dream when I heard my ringtone being sung by a mockingbird that magically appeared in front of Beth and I. We were on a sled and she had her arms wrapped around my waist.

The dream faded and then all there was was blackness and the sound of my ringtone piercing it.

I angrily flipped it open and closed it in a split second before I rolled over and pulled the covers over my head.

It rang again. Normally, the opening theme from Star Trek Voyager would be inspiring, but now it was just plain annoying. I rubbed the sleepiness out of my eyes and looked at the number. It was Jim. Since I had that feeling where you know you’re not going to be able to get back to sleep, I flipped it open.

My voice was dry and raspy. “You’d better be calling to inform me that Kepler has discovered an Earth mass planet in the habitable zone or that SETI has picked up a radio signal from a race of supermodel aliens.”

“Sorry it’s so early,” said Jim in a near whisper. “But I just couldn’t wait until it faded before telling you how awesome it was!”

I bolted upright into the chilly air of my small room.

“You used the typewriter, didn’t you?”

“Sorry I didn’t believe you before. I thought you were just prankin’ me.”

“So what’d you type that came true?”

“Dude, I lived out an episode of BSG. I was Apollo. I drove a VIPER and I even made out with Katee Sackhoff…I mean Starbuck!”

“Kick ass man!”

“You were right. It was more than a dream. It was so gritty and real.”

I feigned seriousness. “Just answer me one thing: did you kick some serious Cylon butt?”

“You bet your ass I did!”

The adrenaline must have been wearing off because I heard Jim yawning from the other end.

“You still there?” I asked, after a protracted silence following the yawn.

“Yeah,” he said in a raspy voice.

“Let me ask you something Jim: Do you feel like you’re running about a twenty-four hour sleep deficit?”

“Now that you do mention it, I do feel pretty whipped. I guess Katee must have worn me out more than I thought.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured. “I think that’s normal. The same thing happened to me…The fatigue I mean.”

“Good thing we’re on break,” said Jim. “At least I can sleep in.”

“Good thing,” I agreed, with a chuckle. “Hey Jim,” I began, “Now that you know I’m not full of shit, I need you to promise me not to tell anyone about this. Okay?”

“Sure thing man. After all, who’d think I wasn’t nuts? Now I need to ask you something. Mind if I hang on to the typewriter for a while?”

“Umm…” I bit my lip. “I don’t know. Tell you what, why don’t you come on over later today. Bring the typewriter with you and we’ll figure this thing out.” There was just silence on the other end for a little while. “Okay?” I reiterated, after clearing my throat.

“Yeah sure,” he said weakly.

“Cool. Get some shut eye and I’ll talk to you later.”

~o~O~o~

I was making a sandwich when I heard a knock on the door. I looked at my watch, smiled, and then shook my head. It was almost two o’clock. It had to be Jim.

I went over to the sink to wash the PB&J off my hands. While I did, there was an impatient rapping on the door.

“You gonna get that John?” shouted my brother from just outside his room.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “I’m comin.’ Hold your horses.”

I dried off my hands on the front of my jeans as I leisurely hustled to the door. I opened the door just as another bout of knocking began.

As expected, there was Jim, wearing sun glasses as if recovering from a hangover after an all- nighter.

“Come on in,” I said.

“Bout time,” he teased. “This bastard is heavy!”

“Just set it down on the desk in my room. I’ve cleared a spot. I’ll be right in…You want something to eat?” I asked, as he made his way down the hall. “I’m makin’ a sandwich.”

Still panting, he managed to say, “Maybe just some chips if you’ve got any.”

“Okay.”

Jim was collapsed in my beanbag chair after his exertion when I walked in. I tossed him the chips.

“Breakfast is served you slacker!” I announced.

I proceeded to sit down in my desk chair after closing the door. I leaned back and nibbled on my sandwich.

“So where’s your masterpiece of literary fiction?” he teased.

I pointed to the trashcan. I smacked my lips together a couple of times and swallowed before saying, “Not my best work. I need to fire my editor!”

We both enjoyed a hearty laugh at my self-deprecating comment.

Then Jim said, “Remember how you were tellin’ me not write more than one page?”

I nodded.

“So what’s the deal with that?”

I clasped my hands behind my head before I beginning. “Writing more than one page is no big deal if you plan on going into a stasis chamber for a long while. Seriously though, the amount you dream or the number of days you live out-however you want to look at it- depends on how much you write. If you fill up one page, you live out one day in dreamland. You fill up two pages and you live out two days, and so on.”

“So you’re tellin’ me that if you decide to type up five pages, you’ll live out five days of your fantasy, but it’ll all be crammed into one night?”

“Not that simple,” I added, with a shake of my head. “I learned the hard way that we’re talking about real time. Five pages corresponds to five days in dreamland, which corresponds to five days of sleeping in the real world. I think…I’m pretty sure.”

“So in other words, don’t write the next great American novel. Thanks for the FYI.” Jim’s eyes lit up after nodding his head in understanding.

“What?” I wondered.

“At least now we know why your Grandfather was a complete recluse.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling a half smile. “One mystery solved.”

“Hey John? I’ve got another question. If you don’t type up something new, will you have the same dream?”

“I don’t think so,” I said, with a degree more uncertainty than I had expected.

“You don’t sound very sure,” he observed. “You sure I don’t have to shred it or something to avoid a rerun, not that that would be such a bad thing.”

“No. I think you’re good. I didn’t tear up the first one the morning after, and I didn’t have the same dream that night.”

“So what’d you type up the first time if you don’t mind me asking?”

“You know the writing on the back of your favorite shirt?”

He grinned. “You didn’t.”

“Yep,” I stated with a measure of pride in my voice.

“That’s so cool! I wish I woulda’ thought of that. How was it?”

“It was everything I thought it would be and more. It was like a morning in heaven.”

Jim said, “This is by far the coolest thing to happen to me in my short and pathetic life thus far. We’re like the luckiest guys in school!”

I smiled before saying, “Now we just have to track down Bill Gates and get him to hand over the magical laptop with the enchanted MS Word program that’ll turn fantasy into reality, instead of just dreaming about it.”

“Seems real enough for me,” confessed Jim. “Besides, I think it’s probably a good thing the typewriter has its limits. This thing seems addictive enough as it is.”

“Good point,” I admitted. “We’ve gotta be careful not to get too caught up in it, just like we gotta be careful not to let word about this slip out, especially to Sam.”

Jim looked thoughtful for a few moments before he spoke. “What do you suppose your brother would want to dream about?”

I rolled my eyes and said, “Probably acting together in a play with Sir Anthony Hopkins. That’s definitely one script I don’t want to read.”

Next, Jim said, “So how are we going to do this?”

“Whadda ya mean?”

“You know. Who’s gonna take the first shift? I was thinking that since my folks and I are gonna be out of town for Christmas to visit my Grandparents in Tampa, I could maybe enjoy this early Christmas present and give it back right before I leave so you can have it. You know. Go halvesies.”

“Hmm,” I said, scratching the peach fuzz on my chin. I glanced at the typewriter before continuing on. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“What do you mean not a good idea? It’s a great idea!”

“Look,” I asserted, “it’s just that there’s still a lot we don’t know about this thing. Now here’s what I think we should do: I think I should hang on to it for a while and write some more scripts to make sure that there aren’t any more surprises.” Jim crossed his arms and glared at me. “What’s wrong with you all of the sudden? It’s not like I said I’m going to keep it all to myself.”

“It’s not that,” he said. “I just don’t like being bullshitted. That’s all.”

“I’m not trying to bullshit you man. What’s up with you?”

“I’ll tell you what’s up with me. If you want to be selfish and have it all to yourself at first, that’s fine. Just don’t try to feed me a line about looking out for my welfare and expect me to buy it!”

“Jesus!” I exclaimed. “What bug crawled up your ass?”

He quietly fumed for a few moments before laying into me some more. “Sometimes I think the only reason we’re friends is so you can come over to my nice house and hang out in my nice room with my TV and gaming system and everything.”

“Come on. You know that’s not the only reason,” I insisted.

Jim shook his head. “When I got a new game, do I ever tell you that you have to wait to come over and play it until after I’ve tested it out for a while? Huh? Do I? Do I ever? No. And why wasn’t it until after I got that new computer that you suddenly began showing up at my door after school more often like I was your tutor or something? I know the food in my house isn’t that good and that my sister isn’t that hot.”

“Jeez Damien!” I retorted. “Why the hell do you think I come over? You think I want to hang out here in this lousy apartment with Sam getting on my nerves and keep listening to my Dad’s broken record about getting more involved at school? Hell no. I’d rather hang out with you man.” Whoops! That part kinda didn’t come out just the way I intended it too. Now it looked like Jim had shifted gears from his indignant stage to his pouting phase.

“Well that’s just great!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. With acid dripping from his voice, he said, “Good to know where I stand. Good to finally know that the reason I’m your friend is because I meet the criteria of my company being slightly preferable to your bitchy faggot of a brother!”

“Hey! Hold on one second. He may be bitchy, but he’s not…How dare you call him that!”

Jim ignored my outrage and rose to his feet.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“I’m going home…and maybe to find a new friend while I’m at it. If you wanna be a selfish dick and keep the typewriter, then that’s fine by me.” He muttered as he walked past me, the last obstacle between him and the door. “Thing probably doesn’t do anything anyway. That dream was probably just the product of an overactive imagination.”

But I just had to get the last word in. “Fine by me!” I said. “When I’m making sweet love to Beth again, I’ll be sure to give her your best.”

He didn’t rise to my taunt. He simply raised his arm and gave me the finger on his way out.

“How eloquent!” I muttered.

After I heard the front door slam shut, I slammed my bedroom door shut. But that wasn’t enough satisfaction for me. I furiously ran my fingers through my hair as I scanned the room for something else to blame besides the door. My fuming eyes landed on the trashcan. I kicked it like an innocent dog in the wrong place at the wrong time.

After my rage crested, I kneeled down and started stuffing the contents back in: a banana peel, a lot of wadded up tissues, the pieces of the shredded manuscript of my pathetic teenage wet dream, and of course the neatly folded joke of an essay I had first typed.

I unfolded it. “The perfect day,” I whispered.

I shook my head and carefully ripped it up, tossing the pieces in with the banana peel and the stream of consciousness that was the out of context words and phrases.

For some reason, I could no longer bear the sight of the typewriter. I picked it up and lugged it over to the closet and put it back on the shelf.

With arms akimbo, I sighed as I made a cursory inventory of my meager life’s possessions, and I was keenly aware of what the room lacked instead of focusing on what I was fortunate to have. I was especially aware of a small flat screen missing like the one Jim had in his room.

Suddenly, I began to give credence to that jab he made regarding our friendship. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was being selfish.

Not wanting to think any further on the matter, I collapsed on my bed and grabbed the remote to my CD player and listened to some Muse.

I thought I was listening at a reasonable volume until I heard a pounding on the door. It was Sam.

“Keep it down! I’m trying to read!”

I pretended not to hear.

This time Sam’s voice was louder. “I swear John. This is the last time I’m going to politely ask you to turn down your music!”

I didn’t budge. I thought maybe watching Sam lose his temper would cheer me up after losing my friend.

The next thing I knew, the door burst open, and he rushed over and ripped the plug out of the wall.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I shouted. “The music wasn’t that loud.”

“Maybe if the walls in this apartment weren’t so thin,” he growled.

“Well maybe you should invest in some ear plugs!” I yelled, with gleeful anger in my voice.

“Well maybe you should…” His voice trailed off and he threw his arms up in the air. “Why do I even bother? You’re not going to change. Just like mom never changed. Just like things won’t change for me. I mean, you are who you are at your core.” He shook his head and I could tell he was fighting back tears. “God, I wish I didn’t know that. I really wish I could lie to myself about the way things are, about the way they could be. “Do what you want,” he said in a weary tone of voice, more characteristic of my father after a long work week.

He shuffled out, but he glanced back once before clearing the threshold, as if to say something. His mouth opened so it was ajar, but he spoke no words.

I just sat there on the edge of the bed and thought about what he had said about people not changing, specifically that there was no hope for mom. Now I was fighting back tears as I thought about the last time I had seen her while I walked to the door. I closed it with a surprising gentleness borne of a weariness of my own.

I returned to my bed and buried my head in my pillow, wondering how this day had gone so wrong. For the first time in a long time, I cried. I hadn’t cried this much since that terrible day when I had said goodbye to my mom.

Maybe Sam was right about things not changing, for this Christmas didn’t look to be any merrier than the last. I just wanted everyone to be happy. And I wanted my family to be whole again as much as I wanted my friend back.

After I emptied myself, I had an idea. I walked over to the closet and pulled out the typewriter. If I couldn’t have the perfect Christmas in real life, at least I could have the one of my dreams.

I typed up a page which basically could be summed up in one sentence: everyone got what they wanted on Christmas and everyone was happy.

~o~O~o~

I went to bed early and ‘awoke’ to the invigorating aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting into my room. That was followed by a gentle knocking on my door.

“Come in,” I said.

Rubbing the sleepiness out of my eyes, I watched as the door slowly drifted open and a woman wearing a white terrycloth robe and a beautiful and warm smile walked in as softly as the rain in her bunny slippers.

“Morning John,” she said. “Hope I didn’t interrupt any visions of sugar plums dancing in your head.”

“Mom?”I asked weakly, my eyes now glistening. I jumped out of bed and rushed over to embrace her. “God I missed you!

She gave me a curious look and a puzzled smile when I was finally able to tear myself away from that intoxicating smell of perfume that had settled in the folds of her robe like mist over a meadow.

“Sorry,” I said, wiping tears away from my eyes. “It’s just that I had this terrible dream that you were gone for a very long time.”

“Oh, I’m sorry sweetie.” She studied my relieved expression for a few moments before that warm smile brushed across her face again. “It must have been some dream but it’s over now.”
She continued to wear that comforting smile like she did her perfume as she walked over to the window. Parting the curtains, she said, “This should cheer you up!”

My eyes went wide as I walked over and stood next to her.

She said, “Looks like the forecasters weren’t just playing a joke on us.” She took a deep breath as if she was breathing in the crisp and cold air above that thick blanket of snow just beyond the frosty panes of glass.

“Wow,” I said.

She gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Merry Christmas John. Now hurry up and get ready. Let’s get this show on the road before even the snow in the shade of the palm trees melts!”

“Cool!” I exclaimed after she left, my face still pressed up against glass. I wondered what other delights were in store on this most improbable of Christmas days in Florida.

I threw on my clothes-just jeans and a sweater-in a flash. I skipped down the hall for the living room after giving my face a splash and my hair a quick comb. When I reached the threshold, I froze for two reasons: not only was I happily back in our old and modest three bedroom house, but there was an unfamiliar yet strangely familiar older teenage girl who looked a lot like mom, whose eyes lit up when she caught sight of me in my Christmas sweater.

She rushed over to me, bouncing all the way in her sweater dress. She embraced me only slightly less vigorously than I had embraced mom.

“Good morning John,” she said sweetly. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas…uh, sis,” I said with a questioning inflection to my voice. Furrowing my brow, I said, “Excuse me one second guys. I just need to…I’ll be right back.” I walked back down the hallway, looking for Sam’s bedroom, wondering where he was.

I opened what should have been his bedroom door, and instead of the Spartan room that was strictly off limits, there was a fully decked out girly-girl room.

Checking to see if the coast was clear, I snuck in and had a look around to learn more about the mystery girl who seemed to have usurped Sam’s place. It was really weird looking at this pink room. But this girl and Sam seemed to have a lot in common. There was the same Garbage poster, nearly in the same spot on the wall, and the same dolphin figurines on the dresser that Sam collected.

As I walked back down the hall, I wondered if perhaps this was Samantha, the female version of my brother, brought to life by my mother’s desperate longing to have a girl child. I smiled as I realized it was better him than me. If I had been transformed into a girl, I wouldn’t be smiling or bouncing around the way my new sister did. I’d have to change the title of my story from The Christmas of My Dreams to My Christmas Nightmare!

I returned to the softly playing music of Nat King Cole in the living room and I just stood there for a few moments, taking everything in. Mom was sipping on her coffee, while dad was building a fire. I watched as my sister called a fat tabby cat in a sweet singsong voice. It jumped on her lap with a chirp and revved its motor as she stroked its fur. Its loud purr together with the softly playing music and the crackling of the fire conspired to make me feel very relaxed.

“Hey mom?” I asked. “Where’s Sam?”

Mom gave me a quizzical look before saying, “Samantha’s right over there honey.”

Samantha smiled at me while she did her best to suppress a giggle.

Dad glanced back after blowing on the fire. “I’m beginning to think that perhaps we should have gotten our son some glasses for Christmas.” He grinned at my mom.

“And why are you suddenly addressing your sister as Sam after all of these years?” asked mom.

“Yeah John,” chimed in Samantha. “You know I prefer Samantha.”

“Sorry,” I said weakly. “I didn’t mean to put a dent in all of the Christmas cheer.”

“Alright,” said my dad, standing up and stretching. “Now that we’ve set the proper mood, let’s get this show on the road.”

I was kind of surprised at the rather modest number and types of gifts I received-the usual clothes and video games and so forth. But I was even more surprised at my reaction. I wasn’t disappointed in the slightest; in fact, I was as happy as if mom and dad had handed me the keys to that Audi convertible that I drove Beth in. And, as it turns out, I was even happier for my new sister when she opened her last present.

Dad walked over and handed her a pink envelope and then gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Her eyes went wide and I could tell she was tearing up at the sight of whatever was in that envelope. She held up a check for all to see and practically hyperventilated with joy as she did so.

“Oh My God!” she exclaimed, bouncing up and down. “You guys are the greatest!” She rushed over and gave both of my parents a hug.

“What is it?” I wondered. “The rest of the money for your college fund?”

“It’s the rest of the money for my surgery!” she exclaimed

The smile ran away from my face. “Surgery? What surgery?”

Arms akimbo, she said, “Why my Sex Reassignment Surgery of course silly!”

Now my mother was fighting back tears. “I just can’t believe it. I’m finally going to officially have a daughter! I’m so happy for you honey!”

Mom and Samantha embraced once more, and there was a lot of crying and smiling that was really starting to make me uncomfortable.

Finally, it dawned on me. This wasn’t mom’s wish, this was Sam’s wish. I was in shock. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Did he really want to be this bubbly girl that was crying tears of joy in mom’s arms at the prospect of having his…his thing cut off? This was just plain crazy.

At first, I had this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach at the thought of someone wanting to change their sex. I just couldn’t wrap my mind around it. But my initial feeling of disgust soon melted away at seeing how natural and happy Sam was as Samantha. Being a girl just seemed to suit him better. And I could certainly get used to his…I mean her sunny new disposition.

The moment was bittersweet, knowing that beautiful and bright Samantha would fade into gloomy Sam in just a matter of hours. At that moment, I wished that he could share in the dream with me and fully realize the desperate desire in his heart that must have weighed on him terribly for so long.

I couldn’t even imagine carrying such a terrible burden. He and I would certainly have to have a heart to heart after I awoke, assuming of course that the perfect feeling of acceptance surging within me wouldn’t fade like the twilight upon waking. I sincerely hoped that was the case just as much as I was sure Sam hoped he would be a girl when he awoke.

Mom saw the look on my face and asked, “What is it dear?”

“Nothing,” I said, almost in a whisper. “I’m just thinking that I couldn’t have scripted a better Christmas, and that I love you all very much.”

The End
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Comments

wow

that last dream completely blew me away. I hope you can find a way to bring this back to a happy conclusion. keep up the good work.
robert

001.JPG

Wonderful Story

littlerocksilver's picture

Very well written story line.

Portia

What a wonderful dream.....

D. Eden's picture

Perhaps John is really growing up. It seems that the knowledge of why his brother is so gloomy has finally made him understand.

I truly wish that we could all have the Christmas of our dreams. I know Samantha and I both would love to have a wonderful Christmas like this one.

Even though your story brought tears to my eyes, I enjoyed it very, very much - even the pain it made me feel.

Thank you,

Dallas

D. Eden

Dum Vivimus, Vivamus

The non-TG

thing kept me away till the wonderful story comment made me curious enough to give it a try. This is really good, and a great set up. I however respectively disagree with the story tags.
This is very good.
hugs
Grover

Excellent

This is a wonderful story, well written and gripping! Bittersweet but well worth the read!

Sydney Moya