Having a basic familiarity of the game, I started throwing my shoulders into the opposing players sending them flying to either side of the field as I forced a hole for Thomas to run through. Unfortunately, the more players I knocked aside the more players who showed up to replace them. Soon there seemed to be hundreds of opponents packed close together between us and the end zone. This was blatant cheating. Still I hammered on and watched as the gridlines disappeared under my feet. The dream owner really wanted that touchdown and was helping Thomas and I get there.
I saw the exit sign glowing green at the end of the tunnel behind the end-zone. Hallelujah! We had a way out . Ten yards, nine, eight, seven — I continued to push on. Six, five, four — now I was beginning to slow and was thankful when I felt Thomas shove at my back to add momentum. Once past the goal line, the dreamer had abandoned us, but we couldn’t let the drop in energy slow us down. Usually I don’t tire dreamside but today had been unusually taxing. Three, two, one , I had almost stopped now, feeling that I was too exhausted to move on, then suddenly we were there, running down the tunnel toward the glowing exit sign next to the locker-room.
I shoved the door open and snapped awake instantly. I was slumped in a very uncomfortable hospital chair just outside Thomas’ room. Springing to my feet, I threw open the door to room 316 and found a ring of concerned looking individuals surrounding Thomas’ bed. They watched in amazement as he regained consciousness and slurred what I recognized as: “Touchdown!”
One woman in particular looked more amazed then the rest. She stood beside the bed holding an unplugged cable in her hand. Although I had never met her, from the cast on her right arm, I recognized her as Thomas’ supposedly loving wife, Nora.
“Nora, what are you doing with that plug in your hand,” were the first clear, waking words that left Thomas’ mouth.
That was a telling question. I can’t tell you how many times I had seen it. Loved ones who take the expression “pull the plug” literally then end up unplugging the lights over the patient’s headboard or the heart monitoring machine in their eagerness to get it all over with.
“Nora?” he asked again.
It looked like someone had some explaining to do. Thankfully it wasn’t me.
I backed out of the room before anyone noticed me. I felt no inclination to participate in the subsequent heated discussion. Having completed my contractual obligation and seen Thomas safely wakeside, I decided that the rest of the details such as billing and words of thanks could be taken care of via the mail.
If Thomas ever asked why I left without talking to him, I’d tell him that I hate long, mushy goodbyes. Really, I just hate long family arguments.
He probably wouldn’t ask though. Most rescued dreamers never quite believed that I was real.
About The Author
Melanie and her husband, also a writer, live in the California Gold Country with their cat (also a writer who has a page on myspace) and their dog (who is hoping to get a page on facebook as soon as she masters typing). Melanie likes gardening but hates the deer who also like her garden, and she volunteers at a local animal shelter. Discover more about her books at www.melaniejackson.com
I saw the exit sign glowing green at the end of the tunnel behind the end-zone. Hallelujah! We had a way out . Ten yards, nine, eight, seven — I continued to push on. Six, five, four — now I was beginning to slow and was thankful when I felt Thomas shove at my back to add momentum. Once past the goal line, the dreamer had abandoned us, but we couldn’t let the drop in energy slow us down. Usually I don’t tire dreamside but today had been unusually taxing. Three, two, one , I had almost stopped now, feeling that I was too exhausted to move on, then suddenly we were there, running down the tunnel toward the glowing exit sign next to the locker-room.
I shoved the door open and snapped awake instantly. I was slumped in a very uncomfortable hospital chair just outside Thomas’ room. Springing to my feet, I threw open the door to room 316 and found a ring of concerned looking individuals surrounding Thomas’ bed. They watched in amazement as he regained consciousness and slurred what I recognized as: “Touchdown!”
One woman in particular looked more amazed then the rest. She stood beside the bed holding an unplugged cable in her hand. Although I had never met her, from the cast on her right arm, I recognized her as Thomas’ supposedly loving wife, Nora.
“Nora, what are you doing with that plug in your hand,” were the first clear, waking words that left Thomas’ mouth.
That was a telling question. I can’t tell you how many times I had seen it. Loved ones who take the expression “pull the plug” literally then end up unplugging the lights over the patient’s headboard or the heart monitoring machine in their eagerness to get it all over with.
“Nora?” he asked again.
It looked like someone had some explaining to do. Thankfully it wasn’t me.
I backed out of the room before anyone noticed me. I felt no inclination to participate in the subsequent heated discussion. Having completed my contractual obligation and seen Thomas safely wakeside, I decided that the rest of the details such as billing and words of thanks could be taken care of via the mail.
If Thomas ever asked why I left without talking to him, I’d tell him that I hate long, mushy goodbyes. Really, I just hate long family arguments.
He probably wouldn’t ask though. Most rescued dreamers never quite believed that I was real.
About The Author
Melanie and her husband, also a writer, live in the California Gold Country with their cat (also a writer who has a page on myspace) and their dog (who is hoping to get a page on facebook as soon as she masters typing). Melanie likes gardening but hates the deer who also like her garden, and she volunteers at a local animal shelter. Discover more about her books at www.melaniejackson.com
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