November 25th
Dear Mom,
I've been sick.
Not horribly so, or at least I like to think it wasn't that horrible, but it's in my chest and the coughs still leave me a little shaken.
It's been five days, I think, and I'm exhausted, but feeling a bit stronger.
I'm still in Arkansas. I couldn't get up the energy to leave when I'd planned, and I have some time to get to New Orleans to see Dad anyway, so I'm not too concerned. Mostly just wish I was feeling better already.
It has given me time to read several of the books in my e-reader, and I'm glad for that, but the dreams are what really has left me drained.
You know when you're sick and have the same dreams over and over?
I suppose it's only natural I would dream of you when I'm sick. Tired and grouchy, and I just want my mom.
In my dream I was looking for you, always looking for you. I was in a jungle, mist rising from the ground, sun shining through ferns all around me. It was hot. So hot I could hardly go on, but I knew I had to keep looking for you.
I was stumbling over roots, my throat parched, searching in the mist because I heard you calling my name. Every movement was more difficult than the one before, and I'd almost given up when I caught a glimpse of a rainbow through the fog and charged forward in one last desperate lunge.
Up ahead through the trees I could see your outline and I hurried toward you, hoping at last to be wrapped in your arms, but instead, bursting through the trees, I teetered on the edge of a cliff, and with a desperate scream, plunged into the water below.
I don't know how many times I've dreamed this, the water filling my lungs, no idea which way was up.
Sinking to the bottom to find nothing but the cold embrace of the water all around me, the light filtering through the clear blue depths before I wake, gasping, covered in sweat.
These dreams fill me with an ache of missing you I haven't felt before. Of course I miss you all the time, but this is a new feeling.
You know I get sick easily. You probably would have been watching for it, with winter coming on and all my day trips to different mountain sights.
You would have made sure I wore my coat the other day instead of hiking up one of the nearby ridges in just my t-shirt and leggings.
I know, I said I wasn't stupid the last time I got sick, but I think I may have gotten stupid since then.
Or maybe it's the lack of anyone in my vicinity who would bully me into feeling better. I missed eighteen calls from Meg, and she's angry at me now, but I didn't hear the phone. She says Dad's been calling her to see if she's heard from me, and Jasper even checked in with her once.
I have five messages from him and one voice mail.
The first is just a hello, but from there they range all the way up to: “Aurelia Harris, if you don't call me within the next three hours I'm going to have to assume something terrible has happened and Meg, Tom, and I are going to have to form a gang and take down whoever hurt you.”
I called him as soon as I heard his message and he is also angry. I'm too scared to call Meg because while Jasper might be angry, there's an understanding coming from him I don't expect from Meg.
He also still has a healthy dose of humility when it comes to our friendship, or whatever it is. Meg was born without humility and it shows.
I asked Jasper to let Meg know I'm okay, but too sick to talk.
Not dying, just sick.
I texted Dad.
I didn't want him worried about me. Especially since he'll see me before too long, and you both had to fight too often for me to be healthy as a kid. I don't want to cause him extra trauma, I just didn't think to message anyone.
It's the first time in a few months that I've really felt like such a complete failure. I didn't even have the presence of mind to message Althea that I would miss our session.
I knew when I started that commitment was going to be too much.
But really, I never wanted to freak anyone out. I don't want Dad to go through not hearing from me, not being able to reach me. To relive the hours after your death before he discovered his life had changed forever.
I don't want that for any of them, and I'm so sorry.
So now I'm sitting on my bed, wrapped in all my blankets, sipping hot ginger tea, and feeling perversely grateful for the three of them. Five if you count Tom and Althea. Worried about me. Counting me as worthy of being concerned for me.
In spite of how selfish I've been the last week, these are people who love me.
Well, maybe not Jasper. But he was still worried, and that leaves a warm feeling in my middle. I'm lucky to have them.
Now to shake off the last vestiges of those horrific dream, and finish this book before I go to bed for the night.
I miss how you'd run your hands through my hair.
I love you,
Bo
