The Dream - Chapter 1

Icy cold sheets of rain and sleet lashed against his skin, soaking him through and through, sending a numbing chill deep into his bones. As the frozen winds slammed against him and sent him hurtling through the dark, ominous cloud banks, his nervous system threw itself into overdrive, every inch of his body screaming out for mercy. He had just passed from one dense copse of clouds to the next—in barely more than the blink of an eye—when he felt it. 

    It was sudden and subtle, but the change was there all the same. 

    He could sense the ions charging up in the atmosphere like a battery getting ready to explode; the air enveloping him smelled of copper and rust. Like the blades of a turbine engine revving up, the energy built and increased to the breaking point, when an eerie calm fell over everything. 

    He was still free-falling through the clouds, but in that moment the world had become silent, still, peaceful. 

    Just as he emerged from the last bit of cloud cover, the barren earth, cracked and dry beneath him, exploded into pure energy, and light shattered the stillness that had engulfed him. Surges of lightning flashed all around, blinding in their intensity. He felt the deadly course of electricity flow over every limb and every risen hair. 

    But only one thing registered in the deepest recesses of his mind: he was falling at almost the speed of sound, and when he smashed into the bare rocks and sand below, his body would incinerate on impact. He would cease to exist. All he knew in those last few moments of life was that he was falling . . .

    James gasped and jerked upright as the incessant pounding on the door finally broke through the surrealism of his dream and he opened his eyes. For a moment, he had forgotten where he was, but as the veil of sleep lifted, he knew.         His bedroom was small and sparsely furnished—a bed, dresser, and nightstand with a lamp—and at the moment was brightly lit, as the blinds did little to block the sun from streaming through the window. The only wall decoration was a single poster of a storm with an incredible amount of lightning. 

    If you asked James, he would tell you the image was a masochistic representation of the dream he had just relived, the dream that had haunted him for most of his life. The dream was always the same, and he had it at least once a week. In the dream—or nightmare, depending on who you asked—James was always in the middle of a massive storm with wind whipping around him, freezing rain pelting his skin, and flashing lightning above and around him. He was never on the ground during the dream, but flying through the air. He woke up at the same part every time, right as he was about to hit the ground.

    James reached over to turn off the alarm and noticed it was off. Ughhhh, not again. 

    His foster mom, Karen, was banging on the door again. “James, if you don’t hurry you’ll be late. Hustle up!” she shouted in her slight Spanish accent.

    “Got it, Karen. I’m up.”

    James swung himself out of bed and swiftly made it up. He threw on a pair of jeans, a clean t-shirt, and some Chuck Taylors, then ran to the bathroom in the hallway he shared with the other foster kids. He brushed his teeth, ran a little water through his hair, and checked his reflection in the candle-lit mirror. His dark hair had that “just-out of-bed” look—perfect, he thought. 

    James was tall and thin, with a slight tan, an angular jawline, and eyes that were a startlingly bright bluish-gray. Studying the image before him, his mind wandered, and once again he found himself wondering which of his features belonged to his mother and which to his father. He had never seen a picture of either, so he could only guess. Because his father had chosen not to be around, James hoped that the best of him came from his mother. 

    At that moment, he realized his hand had crept up to the eagle pendant hanging around his neck on a golden necklace, his thumb absently brushing its wings. It had belonged to his mother, and was the only thing he had to remember her by, nothing much, but better than nothing at all. Though he had never polished the pendant or necklace, the whole thing still gleamed like shards of crystal whenever it caught even the slightest ray of light. 

    James treasured it. 

    Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he breathed deeply, tucked the necklace into his shirt, and gave his reflection a timid smile, then walked out of the bathroom.

    He grabbed his hoodie, his old iPod, and flung his backpack onto his shoulder. Walking into the kitchen, he found Karen finishing up a phone call.

    “Power out again?” he wondered.

    Karen sighed. “Yeah. The power company said they should have it back on by the end of the day . . . you’d think they would fix it right the first time,” she grumbled. “That’s the third time in the past month. Here, just take a banana and a juice with you for breakfast.”

    “Thanks,” he said, grabbing the offered items before running down to the bus stop.

    James had just reached the street corner as the bus was pulling up.

    “Glad to see you could make it today,” said the young boy whom had been waiting on him.

    “Shut up, Joey!” James retorted.

    Joey was James’ younger foster brother. He was kind of chubby, short, and a freshman. He tried to make up the height differential by injecting humor or sarcasm into everything he said. Of course, this proved to annoy most people. But as James was a junior and kind of liked Joey, he took on the older brother role and looked out for Joey a lot at school. They both went to the only high school in their small town. Situated thirty miles south of Albuquerque, New Mexico, Belen had a population of 10,000. Not much excitement, of course.

    They got onto the bus and sat together towards the middle. While staring out the window and starting on his small breakfast, James flipped his iPod to his favorite playlist and slipped his earbuds in, all the while thinking about Karen. James had moved around from foster home to foster home all of his life. He’d had some okay foster parents and some really bad ones, but Karen was the best by far. Though she was young, she did a good job and genuinely cared for all the kids that came through. James had been in her home now for over six months—since the start of school in August—and was grateful for everything she had done for him. He had been seventeen for almost a month, and knowing that he would legally be an adult at eighteen, he was hoping he could just stay with her until then. He had moved enough for one lifetime.

    “Yo, James! Hello, Earth to James!” Joey interrupted his thoughts, waving a hand in front of his face.

    He shook his head to clear it and pulled out his earbuds. “Yeah, what’s up?”

    “Um, we’re about to school . . . and I was wondering if . . . you’d . . . you know . . . walk me to class?” Joey asked softly while looking at his shoes.

    “It’s cool man, of course.” He paused before continuing quietly, “Gabe been giving you problems again?”

    The younger boy finally looked up. “Kinda.”

    James nodded. “Don’t worry, man. I got your back.”

    “Thanks,” Joey whispered.

    The bus pulled to a stop and they all filed out. As James and Joey were making their way across the quad to Joey’s first class they heard, “Hey, midget boy! Yo! I’m talkin’ to you!”

    They paused midstride. 

Joey sighed, looked down, and shuffled his feet back and forth.

    “I got this,” whispered James. “Whatcha need, Gabe?” he said loudly.

    “This ain’t got nutin’ to do wit’ you, O-lympia,” Gabe spat.

    “I say it does!”

    Gabe was a bit big for a freshman, so he thought himself kind of tough—until he was facing someone older and bigger, anyway. Then he just cowered, like all bullies.

    “If you’ve got something to say, say it,” James pressed him.

    “Whateva’, Olympia. You best watch yo back.” He directed himself at Joey and pointed threateningly. “See ya ‘round shorty!” 

    As Gabe turned to leave, James could hear him muttering things that sounded like “. . . what kinda name’s Olympia anyway” under his breath.

    James flicked a crooked smile at Joey. “C’mon, let’s get to class.” Losing himself in music once again, he escorted Joey to his first class, then hurried to his locker to drop off his extra books. As he was wrapping up his earphones to stow them away, he heard gruff laughter from behind as someone slammed into him. The jolt caused him to lose his grip on the iPod and when it reached the floor, he heard a gut-wrenching crack. Teeth clenched and heart pounding, James spun on the spot and found himself staring into the eyes of Marc Pena, a big, burly varsity football player.

    “Sorry ‘bout that bro. Didn’t see you there,” he said with a smug smile on his face. Though Marc’s voice rang with sincerity, his eyes said otherwise. They were taunting, an open invitation to violence. Their stares locked for what seemed like a lifetime, but the buzz of the bell shattered the intense moment.

    James put a clamp down on his anger and muttered, “Yeah, no problem.” He bent down to pick up his iPod, and moisture filled his eyes unbidden as he saw the spider-webbed cracks across the face of the screen. Holding his breath, he powered the device on, and as it lit up normally, he released a sigh of relief. He turned it off again, carefully placed it in his locker, and sprinted to his first class.

 James could never understand why he had to take Spanish all four years; he absolutely hated it. The fact that he was not any good at the subject probably didn’t help either. He slid into class as the last bell was ringing and went to his normal seat near the back of the room. As he was sitting down, Gemma, the blonde girl next to him, whispered, “psst . . . James. Did you finish your homework last night? My absolute favorite show was on and I so didn’t finish.”

    James sighed and closed his eyes. “Yeah, I got it all done, why?”

    “Can I like, please copy yours real quick so I don’t get another F?”

    “Uh, sure, whatever, here.” Always something. He handed her his homework and a minute or so later she gave it back.

    “Thanks, James. You’re a doll,” said Gemma with a seductive smile—or her best attempt at one, anyway.

    “Anytime.” Sure.

    Mr. Martinez came around to collect the homework and as he did, he initiated conversation with everyone in Spanish. Since this was their third year, the students were supposed to speak only Spanish in class, but James thought he sounded stupid, so he hated it. As Mr. Martinez started in on a lecture, he heard, “Psst.” 

    James started to turn only to have Gemma thrust a note onto his desk. 

    He sighed and opened it:

Do you want to go out with me this weekend?

   

    James wrote that he was busy on the bottom of the note and handed it back to her as quickly as possible. It wasn’t that he didn’t find her attractive or anything, but with his background, he usually tried to avoid those situations. And besides, Gemma meant well, he was sure, but she just wasn’t his type. He liked a girl with a bit of intelligence.

    Mr. Martinez suddenly stopped his lecture, cleared his throat, and asked—in Spanish of course— “Senor Olympia, ¿Usted o Sra. Torres tiene algo que añadir?” (Mr. Olympia, do you or Ms. Torres have anything to add?)

    “Uh, no señor,” he replied quickly.

    “Muy bien, preste atención!” (“Very well, pay attention!”)

    James blushed a little when he realized that the whole class was looking at him. He didn’t enjoy being the center of attention, even though, as the perpetual new kid and all, he should be used to it by now.

    The rest of the morning dragged on as James went from class to class. He was so hungry he was actually looking forward to lunch. Not exactly accepted into any particular crowd, James usually found himself sitting alone at whichever table was open and listening to music or thumbing through a well-worn book while finishing his food. Today was no different. While music drowned out all else, he found himself gazing at the other students around him, wondering what it would be like to have a history in a place—to have grown up in a single town and have real friends. Having never been in one place for very long, he had missed out on many of the normal childhood experiences: sleepovers, parties, long-lasting friendships, and girlfriends. As hard as he tried to be thankful for what he did have, he found it difficult at times not to question the hand fate had dealt him and not to wonder how life could have been. The lunch bell rang; he shook himself out of his thoughts and gathered up his things.

    The day was finally winding down as he attended his last period class, History. This year he was taking AP US History. History was by far his favorite subject. James could never satisfactorily explain to anyone, including himself, why he was such a history buff. Even more difficult to explain was his strong interest in wars and military, especially the governments and political philosophies of ancient empires. All of this led to his paying much more attention in class even though Mr. Willoughby could be incredibly boring. Today, though, James wasn’t quite himself; he couldn’t shake the weird feeling creeping up on him…maybe nervousness or anxiety? James couldn’t describe or place it. 

    The bell buzzed loudly, signaling the end of class and waking James up from his thoughts. With despair, he realized he had no idea what had happened in class. “Damn,” he said to himself. He left the classroom, walked down the hall to get what he needed from his locker, and headed out to find Joey before going to the bus. He found him at the end of the hall trying out a new joke on some sophomore girls. 

    Of course. 

    As James was walking up, one of the girls rolled her eyes and walked out the door. “Still trying to be a comedian, huh?” James said with a laugh. 

    “Shut up. I thought the joke was funny!” Joey said.

    “Well, that makes one of us. Man, they didn’t even give you so much as a pity laugh!”

    Joey steamed and looked ready to throw a punch. But before he had the chance, James choked back his laughter. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

    They walked out the door, worked their way across the quad and out to the bus home. They sat together towards the middle, settling in for the ride, and as always, the rest of the kids pulled out their tablets and smartphones. Before James could drown out his thoughts with music, Joey said, “Anything cool happen today?”

    “Nope, not really—er—unless you count Gemma Torres asking me out again.”

    “Uh . . . James, what the heck is wrong with you!? She is so hot!” Joey said, his voice tinged with disbelief.

    “Yeah, she looks good, but I couldn’t imagine trying to talk to her for more than fifteen minutes.”

    Joey scoffed, then bounced his eyebrows up and down knowingly. “It’s a date. Talkin’ ain’t necessary.”

    “God Joey, is that all that’s on your mind? You’re barely fourteen!”

    “Sor-ry. Just sayin’ is all.”

    “And anyway,” continued James, “it’s not like I could be much of a date seeing as I don’t have any money—or a car, for that matter.”

    “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Joey thought for a minute. “Hey, I don’t have much homework, ya’ think we could get Karen to rent a new movie or something?”

    “I’m sure she would . . . wait! Why don’t you tell her a couple of your jokes to soften her up first?” James replied.

    “Ha ha! She loves my jokes. She always laughs at them.”

    “Sure she does,” he said. “Well, even if she doesn’t, we’ll find something to do.”

    The bus pulled to the corner at the end of their street and they got out. They walked down the street in silence—except for Joey trying out a few punch lines of his jokes—and James stopped at the head of the driveway to get the mail before heading for the kitchen through the garage. As he stepped in, he called, “Karen, we’re home! I got the mail for you.” 

    There was no answer. 

    “I guess she must be out back,” James shrugged.

    “Yeah. The twins are out there terrorizing her again,” Joey said with a laugh.

    “Well, I’ll go say hey. You go and get your homework done.”

    “Okay.” Joey walked to his room.

    James laid the mail on the counter and made his way outside. The yard was mainly gravel with a small, concrete porch and a swing set on a patch of hard-packed dirt. The yard was fenced in so Karen wouldn’t have to worry about the younger kids leaving and getting into trouble.

    As he stepped onto the porch, he found Karen sitting in a lawn chair watching the twins, Hayley and Jordan, playing. “Hey, have a good day?” she asked.

    “Loads of fun,” James said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

    She laughed softly. “No detention, right?”

    “Of course not, I’m the perfect student!” James flashed a winning smile at her.

    “And . . . the teachers are just out to get you, right?”

    “Wait, how’d you know?” he asked with mock seriousness.

    “I’ve heard it all and been there before, remember?”

    James laughed. “Yeah.”

    Karen suddenly grew serious and said, “After dinner you have a visitor coming to talk to— 

    James grunted, then frowned. 

    “Now don’t go looking like that. I’m sure it’s nothing bad or I would’ve been told.”

    “Uh-huh.”

    “I’m serious. And I want you to wear a decent shirt and at least a pair of khakis. No jeans, got it?” she told him, just as a mother would.

    “Mmhmm,” James mumbled.

    “Good. Now go get some homework done and then come help me with dinner, okay?”

    He didn’t reply. 

    “Okay?” Karen pressed.

    James looked at her for a second before replying. “All right.”