Dream - 16th October

(Josie Sayz: This is not my usual, thought-out, edited writing style. This is just a quick scribble of the dream I had last night.)

 

Walking down a road, Jane glanced to her left. Her mum was walking alongside her. Flickering her eyes to the right, Jane found herself walking down a country lane, towards a new stretch of eight semidetached houses being built on the opposite side of the road. To her left lay a large open field, full of grazing cows and sheep. As they passed the construction, Jane’s mum pointed out a lone house, a little further up the road. A side road separated this house from the new builds. Jane felt her cheeks heat up as she stared at the house. “Look how many cars that house has,” Jane’s mum pointed out. The detached house, up ahead, was surrounded by a park-size perimeter of grass. Up the driveway, seven cars were parked. From the back of the house, two large vans pulled out, joined the side road and sped towards the country land that Jane and her mum were walking along. Jane flickered a glance from the construction site and back to the house. A group of at least ten men were walking towards the house.

“I don’t think those cars belong to that house,” Jane told her mum, as she forced a swallow.

“How do you know?” asked her mum, in an accusing tone.

“That’s Peter’s house,” Jane muttered, as she forced another swallow at the lump in her throat. “I think the construction workers have parked outside his house.”

“That’s not right,” her mum raged. “Let’s go knock on Peter’s door and let him know.” Grabbing the strap of her handbag on her shoulder, lines creased Jane’s mum’s nose, as she began to march towards the property.

“Mum,” Jane hissed, as she raced after her. “You can’t do that.”

“You stay here then,” barked her mum over her shoulder, as she continued to powerwalk towards Peter Pan’s house.

Following after her mum, Jane lingered at the end of the driveway, as her mum marched up to the front door and rang the doorbell. Jane’s eyes danced across the house before her, as she gripped her right elbow with her left hand. With an identical design to the new build houses, Peter’s house was the size of two semidetached houses, with a triangular pointed roof above the upper windows on either side of the entrance. Each floor was huge, with a three-panel window, towering close to seven foot high, spreading light through the period-looking property. Looking up, Jane forced a swallow. ‘Was Peter’s house always an old-fashioned, Victorian mansion?’ Jane wondered, as old memories of them, squished together, along with his housemate, Wendy and her dog Barrie, in a small, three-room flat. ‘I must be remembering wrong,’ she told herself. ‘This has always been Peter’s house. He’s always lived here.’

With a scowl scrunched on her face, Jane’s mum stormed back towards her daughter. “No answer,” she grumbled, as the workmen neared Peter’s driveway. “Better try the back door, just in case the doorbell’s broken,” her mum announced, as she marched around the property.

“Mum,” Jane cried, as she chased after her. “Mum, please stop this. You don’t know if Peter agreed for the workmen to park on his property.”

“It’s not right,” her mum declared. “And look at this,” she huffed, as she pointed a hand to the side of Peter’s property. “There isn’t a fence, or bushes or trees. We can just walk right around to the back of his house. He’s a stupid man,” her mum scolded. “Thoughtless. No care to protect his property or his family. So glad you don’t live here anymore.”

As they neared the back of the house, Jane’s eyes were drawn to the two large trees, with a small pond in between them. ‘Our Babbling Brook,’ she remembered, with a smirk, as memories of her and Peter having a picnic beside the pond fluttered to the front of her mind.

“Look,” Jane’s mum growled, shuddered Jane away from her daydream. Three large vans, with ladders fixed to their rooves were parked on the grass. “Peter needs to put a stop to this,” her mum declared. “They are parking in his back garden,” she growled. “Check the back door,” she barked to Jane, as she squinted at the registration plates of the vans.

Taking a hesitant step towards the slate-grey coloured wooden door, with a large window looking inside to the kitchen, Jane’s shaking hand hovered towards the door handle. ‘I can’t do this. I know it will be open,’ she warned herself, as the spiralling in her stomach swirled faster. ‘I know it will. He never locked it before.’ A shaky breath escaped Jane, as her left hand rested upon the door handle. It turned. The door opened inwards. “I can’t,” Jane exclaimed, pulling the door closed, as she turned back to her mum.

“Go in,” growled her mum. “I need to speak to Peter.”

“Mum,” Jane sighed. “I can’t just go into Peter’s house. It’s trespassing. We’re not friends anymore. We haven’t spoken in four years. He’s with someone else,” she reminded her mum, with a pout and a puckered brow. Jane’s shoulders deflated, as she let out a deep sigh. Upon seeing her mum’s daggered glare, Jane stiffened her spine and hunched her shoulders. “I can’t,” Jane cried. “What if she’s home? I don’t want to bump into Peter’s fiancée or wife and explain to her, I used to date your husband and my mum wanted me to break into your house to tell you people are parking on Peter’s garden.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” her mum growled. “Fine,” she huffed, as Jane folded her arms tight at her chest and refused to move from the doorway. “We’ll go back ‘round.”

As Jane trudged behind her mum, following her back along the side of Peter’s house, Jane folded her arms tight at her chest. A squeak and sniff escaped her, as she clawed her nails into her biceps. ‘Peter, I’m sorry about my mum,’ Jane thought, squeezing herself tighter, hoping that somehow, if she wished hard enough, Peter would hear her thoughts.

As Jane and her mum came back around to the front of the property, all of the parked cars had vanished. Instead, a white Ford Fiesta pulled into the driveway. “It’s Peter,” Jane gasped. Her body froze. Her feet rooted to the spot.

“I’m going to tell him,” her mum said with a firm nod, as she power-walked in Peter’s direction.

“No,” hissed Jane. Her hand reached out to stop her mum, but her mother was too fast and was already part way to Peter’s car before Jane could bring her feet to race after her.

“Peter,” projected Jane’s mum, as she marched over to him. “Peter!” Lines puckered Peter’s brow, as he slammed his car door closed and turned towards the wild woman, in a long, black, winter coat, as she marched towards him. “Are you aware that seven cars have been using your drive to park on, whilst you are at work? And there were vans parked in your back garden. How long have you lived here now? Why haven’t you put up a fence around the whole of your property? Anyone could walk in,” she scolded. “And your back door was open too. You’re lucky it was me who came by your house. Anyone could have broken in. What must your wife think? You shouldn’t make your home a fieldtrip for burglars,” she went on. “Are you listening, mister? You need to put up a fence.” Stood several feet behind her mother, Jane felt her intestine swirl around in a circumbendibus and her face burnt a deep scarlet and she prayed for the ground to swallow her.

“Okay,” was all Peter replied, with a weak grin.

“You will look into it, right?” Jane’s mum went on.

“Of course,” he reassured her, with a chuckle, as he fished for his front door key, in his pocket. His focus on Jane’s mum hazed, as his eyes noticed the red head stood a few feet behind her. His eyes locked with Jane’s. “Oh, erm,” he stuttered, with a shudder. “Would you like to come in, for a drink?” he asked Jane’s mum.

“Oh, well, thank you,” Jane’s mum replied, with a firm nod.

“Mum,” Jane hissed, throwing her mother a daggered glare. “We can’t go in there. What is his fiancée or wife is there? I don’t want to see her. I can’t. I-”

“Stop being silly,” her mum retorted. “Peter’s inviting us in. It’d be rude to say no.”

“It’s rude to say yes,” Jane muttered under her breath, as her mum grabbed her by the wrist, as though she were a small child and they followed Peter Pan inside his mansion. “You turned up uninvited,” Jane tried to object, as she got dragged inside.

Closing the large, arched wooden door closed behind her, a deep frown furrowed upon Jane’s brow, as her father, who she had not seen in eight years, appeared beside them, in Peter’s hallway. Jane opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her, as she heard Peter say to her parents, “I’ll give you the guided tour,” as he linked arms with Jane’s mum and led her up the stairs. Jane’s father glared at her, ushering Jane to follow after them and he followed up behind.

The first room that Peter led them into, he announced was his office room. Jane’s heart sank to the depths of her stomach. The floorboards lay uncovered, creaking under their footsteps. The wooden desk that Jane remembered as Peter’s most treasured possession, was gone. Against the far wall, an Ikea-looking white desk was littered with paperwork. A white school-style chair was situated in front of it. Papers scattered across the floor, underneath the desk. Peter’s computer, monitor, keyboard, mouse, microphone and headset were nowhere to be seen. ‘It looks like he’s been robbed,’ Jane thought, as her heart gave a pang.

Leaving the office, Peter led them along the landing and into the next room. “And this is the bedroom,” Peter announced, as he stepped inside. The sinking feeling Jane had felt when she stepped inside Peter’s office, squeezed at her chest as she took a look around Peter’s bedroom. The bed was gone. Her eyes grew wide. His bedside table, lamp, television, dvd player, books and clothes were all gone too. There was no furniture in the room at all, just a collection of paperwork, scattered across the floor by the doorway and Wendy’s pencil case and backpack on the floor, amongst the papers. ‘Where’s all his stuff gone?’ Jane wondered, as she scooted out of Peter’s bedroom and back onto the landing. “Something’s wrong,” she muttered, feeling her head spin. Fluttering her eyes, in attempts to steady her balance, Jane shot her head around to look at Peter. Shoulders deflated, he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, as her father spoke to him.

A frown returned to Jane’s forehead, as Peter led them back downstairs. From the outside, Peter’s house looked as though it had at least six room upstairs. ‘But I’ve never seen more than two rooms upstairs at Peter’s house before,’ Jane reminded herself. ‘So, this must be all there is.’

“Wendy’s in the living room, if you want to say hello,” Peter told Jane’s mum, as he led them into the downstairs hallway and through the second door on the right. As Jane’s mum and dad stepped inside, Peter slipped back out of the room and into the doorway straight ahead. Upon hearing Wendy greet her parents, Jane stepped back from the living room entrance, having not stepped inside yet or seen Wendy, and followed after Peter.

Poking the door open, Jane peered her head inside. This was the kitchen. On the far side of the room, opposite, lay a large, bay window, with a sink beneath it. Cabinets lined the room to the left and right. A tabletop stretched across the edge of the room and ended right before the door. Stood right in front of her was Peter Pan. As Jane’s eyes gazed at him, her heart rattled in her ribcage. Warmth tingled in chest, down her arms and legs and warm, happy thoughts returned to the front of her mind. Seeing Peter fidget, Jane shuffled a step to the side and watched him. With a stern expression on his face, Peter held a collection of fabric plasters, in block colours red, blue and green scattered on the tabletop in front of him. He held a pair of scissors in his left hand and was cutting the sticky flaps away from the padded, medical square. Her heart gave a warm twang. ‘He has no ring,’ she realised. A frown wrinkled Jane’s brow, as she tilted her head to the side, watching him. “I’m sorry about my mum,” Jane told him, in a small, soft voice, as she took a step towards him.

“It’s okay,” Peter replied, with a smile and a shrug, as his eyes remained transfixed on his work, as he continued to cut the sticky wings off the red, blue and green plasters.

“Are you okay?” Jane asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Just getting rid of the rubbish,” he declared. “It’s all that remains of my old life,” he told her, as he cut up the last of the plasters. Jane heard him force a swallow, as a snarl crept into his nostrils.

“I’m sorry,” Jane found herself saying, as she hugged his left arm. “I’m always here if you need to talk.”

“Thanks,” he replied, with a soft smirk, as he placed a hand on hers. Feeling her cheeks tingle, Jane slipped her arms out from Peter’s grip, and took a step back.

“We’d better go save your folks from Wendy,” Peter chuckled. “She’ll talk them to death. Come on,” he said, as he gestured his head towards the door. Jane led the way out of the kitchen and into the living room. As she did, she felt a gentle brush of Peter’s hand on the hollow of her back. Then I woke up.

- Josie -