Short Story: A Real Fantasy

Title: A Real Fantasy

Written By: Cristina DM.

Narrator:

The following is a tale of an unexpected date.

She lay angled so that she could see the glaring television. Her head moved in unison with his breathes – up, down, up, down. It seemed she was more than content with being in that very moment – no pressure to fulfill any expectations. It was not planned that she would find her way to him, but the ruthless night sent her in any direction. As long as the night was not already constructed beyond her will and capabilities, it was bound to be satisfying. She had been let down by this man again and again but felt that by seeing him her sins committed earlier would be forgotten or justified.

…

She was on the streetcar late on a Wednesday night, trying to settle plans for the upcoming weekend. The few moments between messaging her friends, she began to think over what it was she really wanted and how, when she decided what it was, she would achieve it and release all her obligations to her insignificant others. With an abrupt jolt, the streetcar came to a stop meters before the turn into the station. As the driver stepped outside to clear the track, it was decided that the night would end with another unanswered message.

Once the streetcar made its screeching turn into the station, she realized that she was rather hungry. Stepping out, she noticed that her bus home was waiting in its designated space – a coincidence which rarely occurred. She was faced with a dilemma: go to sleep hungry or eat and wait for another bus. She makes a right and walked into the McDonalds (her only choice at this hour) and ordered herself two cheeseburgers to go. Walking passed idling buses a quarter filled, she made her way to an isolated bench and sat down awaiting her bus. Suddenly she heard her phone beep – she received a message. Quickly fumbling for her phone she unlocks it and reads the message – ‘I’ll be there in 10 minutes’.

She began to think that maybe this night wouldn’t be all the terrible, although she thought she’d be more excited knowing that she was going to see him in a few minutes. Until the very moment he messaged her again and told her that he was finally at home and that she could pass by, she doubted the whole thing. Throwing away her wrappers and bag she began to walk a block from the station to his complex. It was drizzling so she wrapped her white pashmina loosely over her hair. In less than five minutes she was at his front door - ‘I’m outside’. Send.

She didn’t know where the night would lead her. Previously, when she would meet with him, on the rare occasions when circumstances allowed it, she had a great time, each night with its own progress, regression and experiences. She’d known him since she was very young and whether this is the reason she feels a connection towards him, she was not yet sure. In the most recent time she’d met him, she was sure that there was a feeling of sexual tension between him and her – but nothing happened to solidify or reject this feeling. He opened the door after a moment, closed it behind him and she walked up his steps to hug hello.

She wanted to smile and joke with him but the one thing she was determined to do before this was to confront him.

“What happened yesterday?” she asked awaiting another well calculated excuse.

“I told you I had family over. Well, my cousin got kicked out of her house and she wanted to come over and stay the night. It was like, 2 am and I was worried so I called my dad to pick her up but she took a cab here” he paused. “Her parents keep arguing with her and accusing her of things she doesn’t do, so she needed to get away. I had to sleep on the coach because my dad offered her my room.” There was another slight pause and then he continued, “I was going to tell you and I thought that there was enough time to meet but things didn’t work out.”

“Ok. Why didn’t you message me and tell me that you couldn’t meet with me? You messaged me and told me you’d call me at six, but then six came along without a phone call. As a matter of fact, there wasn’t a phone call all night.” She pauses to stare at him as he lets his head hang trying to hide a smirk.

“All I needed you to do was tell me you wouldn’t make it. I don’t appreciate you just forgetting about the whole thing and not letting me know what’s going on. Why are you laughing?” she asked wondering if it was her that he was laughing at.

“I don’t know. I meant to meet with you. I don’t know,” he replies shaking his head and smirking still.

“Are you laughing at the coincidence?” she asked, knowing that that was exactly what he was laughing at.

“Yes. I’m usually doing nothing. Like, I don’t usually have plans or anything. I just wasn’t expecting my cousin to run away from home,” he replied with a serious tone – a truthful tone.

Convinced that she said what she was determined to say, she concluded the topic by saying, “All I ask is that you let me know when you can’t make it. Don’t just leave me hanging. Ok?”

“Ya.”

There was a rush of relief that fell over her. She set herself out to do something, say something, and she did. Better yet, she received the reaction she wanted – slight guilt. This reaction helped to reassure her that the connection she feels towards him is reciprocated.

It has always been a fault of hers to re-create relationships in her mind, according to her own laws, ones that change in relation to her mood. The division of fantasy and reality are always blurred, but even more so for her. She would vicariously live through her thoughts, her imagination, her re-creations. However, his reaction justifies it all.

“Did you want to come in and have a drink?” he asked, possibly wanting to reconcile.

“I was just going to stop by. I can’t stay long,” she replied, hoping that he would insist. He did.

“Come on,” he said with a smile, gently ushering her towards the door, “you have to come in and have a drink now.”

“One drink,” she replied. Her mind began to race hastily, to figure out how the night would end. Or had she already figured it out?

She stepped in his home, side tracking the misplaced bicycle, closed the door and began up the steps to his living space. Removing her converse’s she walked in his TV room and placed her jacket and purse on a white Victorian chair leaning against the wall opposite of the television stand. He walked out of the kitchen and into the living room, handing her a fresh beer.

“You haven’t been here in a while, right?” he asked noticing her searching the room for the synthesizer and guitars that used to lie underneath the kitchen bar.

“I guess so. Where’s your equipment?” she asked, wondering if this would be the moment that would lead her to see his bedroom, a flight of stairs up.

“It’s in my room. Come and check it out,” he invitingly commanded as he began to climb the stairs.

She followed, wondering what his room would look like. When she lay in her own room watching television late at night she always wondered if he was doing the same. As she entered the room she was greatly surprised to find it neat and decided not to question whether it was his work or the work of his mother, two doors down the hall. She was pleased that now she could realistically create his room in her mind. All that she had to imagine and invent was him – where he was seated, what he was doing and what he was thinking. Sometimes it was easier to determine the facts first.

He had returned a few weeks ago from visiting his paternal father and brother in Ecuador, the Galapagos Islands. He had mentioned this to her in one of their exchanged messages. He had videos and pictures he wanted to show her as they made their way to his room. Before doing this, he showed her an armadillo guitar that his father gave to him as a gift and played a note or two – the sound reminded her of a night of never-ending festivities.

He had returned from a karaoke bar when he invited her over. He had much to drink already and wasn’t shying away from a few more beers. She had seated herself on his bed and was watching him stumble to start his DVD of photos and videos. While viewing them, she indefinitely saw how much this young man looked up to his father and how fulfilled he was for spending a month there with him. Nevertheless, jokes were made and laughs shared.

She had finished her drink but did not acknowledge it – she wanted to stay a little longer. Her subtleness gave way when he had finished his and offered her another. She politely reminded him that she was only going to stay for one – if she had another, she’d have to leave. When he returned he asked if a movie would be alright. She knew that a movie would take much to long to view but he insisted and tossed a few DVD’s at her to choose from. In the end, it was he who chose to watch a concert DVD of the Foo Fighters.

In the mist of watching the concert and small talk, he left the room. With a book in his hand he returned a moment later. It was an astrology book that described your own personality to you in relation to your sign in unison with the moon, mercury and the sun. He read pages to her. She listened intently and nodded when the book was partly correct. Finishing another beer, he went downstairs. In the meantime, she lay back on his bed, resting her head on his mountain of pillows and read a page or two to herself.

When he returned he placed the computer wicker chair back into its place and sat near her on the bed. She stood up and sat near him. They continued to talk of the book and its similarities to her personality. Once all the pages were read, he turned on the TV for cable late night shows. He lay down but his feet remained off the bed, to the side. She lay separated from him, with her own pillow, wondering when she would lay with him. As she was watching the show, he was silent, and for fear of him falling asleep she would look up and catch him staring at her.

“Are you awake?” she asked, slightly embarrassed that she caught him off guard, but pleased nonetheless.

“Ya.” He replied and began to fiddle with her hair draped along the back of her pillow.

After a few more minutes, she looked up at him again and he grabbed her gently by the arm and lifted her towards him so that she may lay her head on his chest. She loved it there. His beat was strong and unpredictable. She would glide her hand along his chest to test whether she made his heart race. She enjoyed being where she was in that very moment, and did not expect any more good to come from a night which convinced her to turn out the opposite.

…

It was approaching three a.m., her mother had called and wanted her home – even if she was just down the street.

“I have three minutes,” she told him.

And without a moments thought he approached her, head slightly bent, as she rose her head and kissed. She had wanted this to happen for so long and now she was sure that it was to be worth the wait. She tipped his cap of his head, and leaned in closer. Their heads weaved with one another as though they were created a blanket to envelop themselves in – a moment to which no one could intrude. She had known him for many years, since childhood, and never believed that he would be able to do this, and so she was proven wrong. But more importantly, he did it right, confidently and with purpose. He lifted her arm and placed it near his head and traced her arm, done her side and engulfed her in a powerful and protective hug. She wanted him to hold her tighter and tighter, she loved how it felt to be inseparable for a moment. He couldn’t let go and she didn’t want him to.

He began to lift himself and placed her on the bottom. He lay between her legs and lifted hers so that they wrapped around his. She held him tight. The kissing was relentless and satisfying. She didn’t think it could get any better – but it did. She held his face in her hands but he began to lift them away and guide them above her head. He held them down. She felt incredibly vulnerable but had no reaction to cover, protect or refuse herself to him. He held them down with one hand and began to trace her side along down to her hip. She was lost. His hand began to ascend once again and as he let go of her hands, she did not defensively bring her arms back down but kept them there as he intertwined his fingers with hers. She questioned if this was even possible – how could he know just what to do and when to do it? She didn’t wonder how many came before her, she just wanted to know what else was awaiting her. She yearned and he lifted her again, so that he lay under her. The kissing began to grow softer, slower – less intense. She knew that it was over, she had to return to the complication and intricacies of life.

She lay on him, head nuzzled into the crevice of his neck, waiting as her breath began to return to normal. He continued to play with her hair, combing it out of the way, kissing her forehead. As she lay there she thought how satisfying the wait was, as well as how much more complicated this has made everything. She knew that she was not ready for commitment and he as well, but she wanted this night to happen again – and again – and again. She would look up and see him smiling to himself, for whatever reason, and she reciprocated.

“I love how we both can’t help smiling,” she said cunningly.

He just continued to smile. After a long moment of rest she fell off to his right – both staring at one another.

“So what do you think of this?” she asked, uncertain of what she wanted to hear.

“What do I think of this?” he replied, with a smirk.

“Yes…”

“I think it should’ve happened a while ago,” he replied with a contrasting serious tone.

She did not reply but allowed the answer to absorb. In previous times they had met she wondered when she was walking home if he really did like her – he did.

“What do you think of this?” he asked mockingly.

“I’m not sure,” she said. She feared saying something that she may regret later.

“It was something, right?” he asked, scared that she may say it was nothing at all.

“It was definitely something,” she said with a smile on her face, looking at him as his smile began to grow and fear exit his mind.

After another moment of content and rest, he continued, “I just think you’re a beautiful person.”

She couldn’t help the smile that grew steadily on her face. She was ready to throw everything away and commit all of herself to him. Nothing else mattered then the moment in which they both, wholly, participated in, with unquestionable conviction.

______________________________________________________________________________

Narrator:

The problems which tomorrow will bring her will without a doubt be hurtful, complicated and unresolved. She will return to her re-creations, insecurities and vulnerable self. But although these two people, who seem to be made for one another, may never be so – this story will be looked upon by both whenever one is in need of a real fantasy.