I Dreamt About Boston
By Andrea Philippa Z., Sofia, Bulgaria
Author's note: I am very concerned about the widespread violence that seems to be shaping our world.I guess that... Show full author's note »
5I probably have been walking quite slowly because when I arrive at my mom’s house it’s already about 7:30PM.
You could never miss the “Beverly Jacks” written with big black letters on the door.
She welcomes me with a warm hug and a big smile. She tells me my dad is still at work.
She smells like a… really expensive perfume. That’s my mom. I admit I’ve missed her. I ought to visit her and dad more often.
She makes me coffee fast, probably because she knows how addicted I am to it, and we sit on her enormous dark bloody red couch. We talk about normal things for a while, before I decide to tell her all about what’s going on at the moment.
I take a deep breath before I start talking but she surprises me.
‘You heard about that terrorist bombing in Boston?’ Even her eyes are asking.
‘Yes. Very horrible. And cruel. And just…’ I sigh. ‘Unfair.’
‘You should be happy you’re here in Seattle, TJ. Though, I feel like there isn’t a safe place in the world today.’
She’s completely right. I nod and decide it’s time now.
‘You know, mom… I dreamt… About this terrorist attack without knowing about it.’ I look in her big brown eyes.
‘You did?’ They widen. ‘That’s so strange… But we all know you have one powerful seventh sense.’
I stay silent.
‘The way those people in the sports marathon reacted, though… It was quite amazing. They thought of each other, you know. Even if one was terribly injured or bleeding they’d help another who’s in worse condition. They weren’t thinking about themselves at all. They were trying to keep each other alive.’
She really was moved by the people’s reactions. I believe they did deserve admiration. Going through such horror would mark your life forever. And even if there were only three people who died, the rest of those who experienced the bombing will remember it forever. Most of them are in critical condition or with amputated legs or arms, which in my opinion is even worse than death itself. It’s impossible to live like that. One of the three who died was an eight-year-old. He did nothing to deserve this horrible way to die. None of those people did.
I now realize how thankful I really am I don’t live in Boston. Yet I am connected to the bombing, in a strange way.
I don’t get offended by the fact my mom wasn’t impressed when I told her about my dream. My mom is the definition of realistic. She sees things as they are, while my dad is probably the opposite. Yet, for some reason, I feel like telling him could only worsen things.
I guess mom just didn’t think it was a big deal. Her expression even reminded of McKayla Maroney’s, that gymnast whose “unimpressed” expression made her famous.
Although I don’t know why no one was surprised by my so-called nightmare. Of course, only Jay and my mom knew but that was probably a good thing. No one else should find out about it. I saw the terrorist attack in my dream and I guess maybe fate had something to do with it. How can a thing like that not shock you? Of course, Jay just didn’t believe me and mom accepted it as something normal. I remember how angry I am with Jay, I don’t want to return home and face him. I don’t even want to see him.
I stay with my mom for another hour; we talk a little more about Boston, then about how my life’s going and then I decide I ought to leave because it’s already 9PM. I hug my mom tight before I leave.
‘And visit us more often, okay? You know you’re always welcomed here, sunshine.’ Her warm smile makes me feel nostalgic.
‘I will, I promise.’ I’m completely honest.
‘I love you.’ I say as I step out of the house.
‘I love you more.’ she responds, kind of confidently.
‘We’ll see each other, mom!’ I shout as I am not so close to the house anymore.
‘And hear each other! I’ll call you, TJ!’ She smiles and closes the door.
It’s completely dark outside and although I like going for long walks during the night because it’s kind of romantic and mysterious simultaneously, I decide to take a taxi. I’m not in the mood right now and the fact that I’ll probably have to talk to Jay makes me feel even more depressed.
Luckily, I find a taxi fat and I’m home within fifteen minutes. He drove quite fast, I must say.
When I open the door, the first thing I see is Jay, holding a pink rose in his left hand, moving it back and forth. He looks rather… ashamed of himself. He’s staring at the floor.
‘I’m sorry I behaved like an ass today. And I am so sorry about that ass-text I sent you. I don’t know why I did that. I was an ass. I’m sorry.’ He finally looks in my brown eyes, so dark and mysterious, yet so warm. ‘I didn’t support you at all.’ That was a fact.
I sigh and begin:
‘Well… You called yourself an “ass” three times in just two minutes so… You’re forgiven. Let’s just forget about it.’ I hug him and take the pink rose off this hand.
‘It smells wonderful.’ I say quietly. He smiles and his dimples show. I feel kind of relieved but so exhausted. I feel like this is the longest day I’ve lived and that’s probably true. It’s definitely been crazy so far.
When I go to bed, I feel like I haven’t had peace and quiet in months. I fall asleep instantly.