Read an Excerpt
By L. V. Tamez
iUniverse, Inc.Copyright © 2012 L. V. Tamez
All right reserved.
Chapter OneDarcy sat up in a pool of her own sweat. Feeling gross and a little hazy she got out of bed and made her way unsteadily to her restroom. As she shuffled across the hall, the sound of her footsteps brought the memories of her dreams back. She ran back to her bed, reached over the half empty bottles of water on her nightstand and just behind it. She hoped it would still be there, and then she pulled out the dusty black journal. She knocked over her alarm clock; "shit 3:34 am," she thought, completely aware she probably would not get back to sleep. She opened it and wrote the date and time in the corner and began scribbling everything that would come to mind. For as long as she could remember, she'd been dreaming lucidly, ferociously and quite vividly. Like most people's they were full of mysteriously unfamiliar people and places.
As she continued on with an alacrity she'd managed to conjure up, oddly enough she was reminded of an argument she had had when she was ten with her neighbor Ricky Furbes over her dreams. She had fatuously revealed to him this ability to dream floridly. His grandmother said that normal people dreamed with purpose or not at all, and colored dreams denoted something unnatural and evil. Darcy knew she wasn't evil and as far as she could tell at 17 there was absolutely nothing unnatural about her at all. He never played with her after that afternoon, but she was quick to get passed it. She was quick to get passed most things in life. Darcy had a hard time connecting and made it a point never to do so. "Le sang des mes veines coule de mon coeur et le votre a partir de votre cerveau," her mother often made it a point to tell her, but Darcy never learned her mother's native french, so she never cared what it meant. Besides she'd always dreamed in color and this particular night, one color stood out above all others.
As the pencil beneath her fingers grazed over the pages effortlessly, she began describing the faces in her dream and that's when she had a revelation of sorts. It was those striking blue eyes that she'd seen before. It was one of her most reoccurring dreams, the all too familiar house, the white pillars, the crack in the door, it was weird but as soon as she would see the crack, it's almost as if she knew exactly what would happen next. She'd walk through the door, passing in still motion as if she were being filmed by an old, still framed studio camera. The only thing different this time was that through the familiarity of the unfamiliar faces and voices, he was there again.
Darcy (from the Beginning)
Darcy had never really been interested in her dreams until she was twelve; up to then she thought it was all relatively normal. Ashamed to admit it even to and especially to her self, he was the one that ignited her interest turn peculiar obsession with them. She often had reoccurring dreams where the events of almost the entire thing were predictable, everything but the boy; which made her even more curious. His appearances were very random in the different dreams and she had never remembered seeing anyone like him in her everyday existence, he was just another figment. She'd first begun to take notice of him when she was twelve or so. At first he seemed to fill a space in the void of strangers and then as time went on, he became more profound. In the dreams, he never spoke to her, but she noted that he would stare at her with a gaze of intrigue. He seemed to be about her age twelve or so, he had dark hair and seemed ordinary enough, except for his strikingly bright blue eyes. They were royal blue and she had never seen anyone with eyes like his. Beautifully piercing.
During those first couple of years, Darcy continued to pass her dreams off as a normal reoccurrence. He would appear once in a while, but they never exchanged more than glances. She would simply see herself pass him over, or see him staring at her from a distance. Back then she was dreaming as an audience member might be viewing a play. Watching the sequence of events unfold before her and even if she was in it, she could only observe herself from a distance.
The year she turned fifteen, she noticed something so significant, it triggered her desire to start her dream journal. The boy with the blue eyes returned again that year except he was not really a boy anymore. He was changing, his physique, his face, he was older. The first time she noticed the difference in his appearance, she woke up in a cold sweat. As far as she understood, the people in her dreams were a fictitious product of her over active imagination; could it be possible that her brain was complex enough to create a character that could age. That night she began the journal.
As time went on, she noticed that she started seeing him less and less. That year something else changed as well, although she could always tell when she was dreaming, she could only witness them inactively, but then one night, she found her self walking up a familiar path, she was a little confused at first, but as the crack on the door came into focus, she realized she was dreaming. This time though she was seeing everything through a new set of eyes, her own. Everything continued to happen exactly as it always had and she even reacted the same way she had before; it was all very mechanical. When she awoke that morning, she felt no different then she had any other morning, and as she recorded the event of the night she wondered if her dreams would continue on that way. They did.
By the time Darcy turned sixteen, the boy had disappeared all together and she had abandoned her journal. That year she had too much going on in her actual life to continue with her asinine infatuation. She'd outgrown it.
Darcy lived in a less than suburban neighborhood. Her father was a financial advisor to the elite and her mother had once had a very lucrative, but short lived modeling career. In fact, although Darcy did not acquire any of her mother's vanity, she had her beauty and then some and the best part of her was that she was genuinely unaware of it. She grew up in the best of everything and she had everything life had to offer. Like every normal teenage girl, she enjoyed movies, music and socializing, and although she always had a desire to swim out to the deeper end of the social pool, in her neck of the Hollywood hills she was forced to wade in the shallow waters.
Darcy went about her senior year of high school with anticipation and eagerness for what was to come. She was filling out college applications and longing for the year to pass with haste. Much to own surprise she had even been eyeing a boy in her advanced history class. Attracting the opposite sex had never been difficult for Darcy; she found she had a harder time returning their affections. Harley seemed a bit different though. They actually had conversations about things other than what he drove, who he knew, where he liked to party, or how much money his family had. He also seemed to be genuinely interested in her as well. When she found out her parents were throwing her a surprise 17th birthday party that year, she made sure her friends saw to it that he would be there. He was.
It was a typical party as far as high school shindigs went. There was a lot of music, gossip and skin. She knew about half of the people there and she didn't mind too much because she had Harley's attention all night. That's the night he first kissed her and made their situation more serious. When she fell asleep that night she was in a state of bliss, and that's the night he returned as well.
When she woke up at 9:30 that morning, the first thing she did was reach over to grab the journal. He hadn't returned to the second dream of the evening, but she remembered he had been in the first. She pulled back on the satin marker and began to read.
Friday October 11 (17 birthday) 3:34 Am
It started out in a shopping center, it's large and open, and I've seen it before. I walk over to a bench and drop myself onto it. I just sit there superciliously and watch the people walk by. All of a sudden I am talking to my Aunt Emily about some horse or something I'm not too sure. I must have remembered my birthday because mom comes over with a cupcake and as I am about to blowout the candle the scenery changes.
Now I am walking through the playground of my old elementary school and I find myself on a rusty swing looking up at the stars. Then I see someone and I feel butterflies in my stomach. At first I'm not sure, but then as I look at his eyes, I can see it's him. A pain rises up in my throat as if it hurts to breathe, but I can tell it resonates in my chest. He's gotten so much taller, and broader.
He was standing on a small hill in the distance and as I looked up our eyes met. I stared at him for a while and he looked at me this time with a strange look of confusion and disbelief. I remembered I was dreaming and I was actually able to take a little bit of control. I stood up and took a step in his direction and his eyes widened. Then, as I get to the steps of the house as usual the pillars and crack are exactly the same. I walk in and as I go down the hall through all the people I can see him walking away and he stops and turns back to me and suddenly everything seems to be animated in movement and black and white like an old movie. Everything looks like different shades of grey except his beautiful blue eyes. He still looks shocked that I'm staring at him. I must have woken up, because that is all I can remember.
She lay back on her bed and closed her eyes tight. With everything she could muster up, she tried to remember him. He was tall, about 6'1" and she could see his face in bits, but couldn't fully bring it into focus in her mind. She remembered his black hair was not long, but a bit over grown and tapered to his head on the sides and it went up in all directions on top, it suited him. He had a very distinct jaw line and his bottom lip was plump and seductively ripe. His eyebrows perfectly framed his striking eyes. He had dreamy eyes, they didn't open very wide, and they made him look sad, but the color made her feel warm. He was perfect. Everyone in LA had aspirations of being famous, so she had encountered various handsome faces on a daily basis. She wondered if her brain hadn't put together all the best features and created this painfully perfect face. If only he were real.
She sat up in her bed and had flash backs of her party from the night before. Realizing she was a year older, she ran to the mirror to see if there weren't any major physical changes she should be made aware of. She pulled the dark, wavy, unruly locks of hair back out of her face and up into a messy knot atop her head. She looked up into her own eyes, which she seldom did without flinching at the reflection that stare back at her. She was not too keen on eye contact, not even with herself, especially not with herself. She studied the different bits of color that made up the aquamarine pigment of her iris and then she thought of the cerulean eyes in her dreams and as she was about to once again drift into the face of the dream boy, she quickly thought of Harley. She smiled at the notion of the kiss that had been exchanged. Harley's eyes were dark and on the very opposite end of the chromatic spectrum, but she found them mysterious and equally as enticing. It was still very hard for her to believe that she'd found someone she actually liked and that was a huge relief, because she was beginning to feel like the odd man out in the typical high school relationship scene.
That Saturday evening she had made plans to meet up her girl friends for dinner. She usually declined, and had aptly earned the nickname Buzz Kill. It wasn't so much because she didn't enjoy the company, because truthfully when her friends were out of the watchful eyes of the high school body, they were fun to be around. Mostly it was because Darcy enjoyed staying home and embracing the sweet escape a good book offered her. She never really had experienced any kind of tragedy in her own life and it made her feel inadequate and undeserving.
That night, she felt like letting loose a little though, so she threw on some jeans and a black t-shirt, pulled up her hair and set out. She walked over her driveway passing her mother's Porche and her father's slue of impractical and unnecessarily pretentious cars. When she turned sixteen, she knew her father was going to get her a car and ostentation was not a quality she could tolerate; she asked for a "regular, normal" car. Hoping to receive a car that would better suit her reticence, instead her father surprised her with a black Chevy Camaro. According to her father the initial idea of her driving a Chevy made him grimace, but he was actually quite fond of this particular model. She hated to admit it, but so was she and she couldn't very well argue with the alternative fuel tank, it would have been ecologically irresponsible. She walked over to her guilty pleasure and hopped in.
When Darcy arrived at the trendy, over priced pizza parlor, her friends were already inside. She walked in and sat down. The smell of the baking cheese was over whelming; her friends were indulging in salads but she couldn't possibly pass over pizza. She ordered a cheese pizza and smiled smugly at her friends.
"Sorry guys, I'm not a Rabbit," she giggled.
"Well, Darcy don't start to complain when you have an ass the size of a Beluga Whale," her friend Amanda countered. "Now Darcy, you know what we're all thinking."
A bright red flush ran across her face. "Yeah Darcy, Harley Reede?! What in the world?" Stacy never let Amanda make her point without interrupting.
"What, he's really nice." Darcy said through her breath.
"Yeah, but he's really weird and kinda scary." Stacy always whispered, like it was making everything she said justifiable.
"Well, I mean he is pretty hot Darce, especially for someone named Harley. I mean he has that dark Johnny Depp thing, but like seriously, I've heard stories you know about his many female encounters? I was surprised he showed up, I mean he doesn't really strike me as the party type. Or any type really. Does he have any friends who aren't lovesick girls? But anyway how come we didn't even know about this? Is it serious; I mean is it a fling or do you like, like him?" Amanda's whole life revolved around the social scene and what was going on in everyone else's life.
"Well he does play soccer and I've seen him with those guys. And I mean come on Mandy, they were like a few moves short of making babies." Stacy joked. "I'm kidding Darcy; we all know you're still well let's say virtuous. But I mean seriously he looked pretty willing, do you think you might be ready?"
"Change of subject please." Darcy never talked much about her personal life and she wasn't about to open that can of worms, but Stacy had brought up a good point.
On the drive home, Darcy thought about it more and more. The sad reality about her generation was that there weren't very many girls left unconquered. Also, it wasn't so much of a question of virtue or morality for Darcy it was more the lack of opportunity. She had never even had a real relationship before, usually it fizzled out before it got to that point. She tried to concentrate on the road ahead, but she thought instead about her mother, how easy it all came to her, the flirting, and the teasing; in fact sometimes she felt embarrassed by the fact that it came too easy. Where Jeannette, her mother, was concerned, no man was out of bounds and so many of her teachers, coaches, friend's fathers, had fallen victim to her mother's seduction. She figured that in denying herself in that respect, she was somewhat making up for all of her mother's immoral transgressions. She decided she still had plenty of time before that opportunity would present itself again, so she turned up the radio and sped off in to the night.
Sunday morning, Darcy woke up disappointed. She thought she would see him again, but his return wasn't permanent. Her dream was strange enough to tempt her to record, but she decided not to raise old habits. That night Harley invited her out for coffee, but she wasn't in the mood for scrutiny, so she offered instead a movie at her house.
Darcy: Hopeful Expectations
When Harley arrived she smirked at the mere sight of him, in jeans and a grey t-shirt, he really wasn't much of a Harley. He wasn't too tall, but he was fit and his hair always seemed to frame his face perfectly. His high cheek bones helped make his crooked smile irresistible, and his dark, almond shaped eyes could easily draw in anyone. He had a couple of movies in tow and she led him in.
Excerpted from Lucid Dreams by L. V. Tamez Copyright © 2012 by L. V. Tamez. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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