1

Sherwood Falls

Brian and I, and Kels and Diego, are heading up to Lake Tahoe for the weekend.

Brian and I are downstairs by the front door. Ready to go. Diego’s stuff is already down here. And he’s standing at the top of the stairs.

He must think if he stands on top of the stairs watching Kels run around, at the last minute, like a wild woman, that’s going to make her ready faster.

Mr. Hollorman is out in the garage packing up the car with gear. He doesn’t want all our “cackling” and “interfering” and “nonsense” distracting him while he gets the car started, filled with the gear he says we’re going to need, and ready for the mountain drive.

I have my small pack and my big, reliable suitcase beside me.  My satin pillow cases and headwrap are folded up and tucked into the front of my pack, from all of us staying over last night, in their big, three level, one attic house. Everyone was camped in different rooms and bedrooms, complete with those rough cotton pillows.

“Jess. So you got sleep,” Brian says, and takes me in for a hug.

“No,” I say and hold him tight. I don’t want to talk about the dream again. If I don’t talk about it, maybe it won’t happen tonight. And I’ll never have to know what was on the other side of that door, through the garage, and beyond that place I couldn’t see. I’m ready to get as far away as I can from Sherwood Falls.

I’ve had vivid dreams all my life. But never one like this. And never one that kept coming.

“I. am. so. ready. to get out of this town for the weekend,” I say. “Hot cocoa.”

“Late night sneak outs,” Brian says.

“Curled up watching movies,” I say.

“If we don’t head up soon, we might get stuck,” Brian says. And then he peeks through the blinds of the front window, letting in a waft of reflective cold, and a bright glimpse of newly falling snow.

“Kels, come on,” I say loud enough for it to carry to the upstairs rooms.  But it’s like shouting into a void. “I thought she was already packed,” I say, up to Diego.

“You guys are best friends, right, so I don’t know why you’re acting surprised.”

“I’ll go check,” I say.

“I got it,” Diego says.

“He’s got it,” Brian says.

“That coat looks good on you. We got the right one. You have those gloves I got you?” I say.

“I don’t need gloves. I run hot,” Brian says.

“Okay,” I say, rolling my eyes. I try not to smile. But I can’t help it.

As a reflex, I reach for my own gloves. And when they go on too easily,

my heart sinks into my stomach. The bracelet my grandfather gave me.

“My grandfather’s bracelet,” I say. I, frantically, search my pockets, then Brian’s pockets.

“Hey, now,” Brian says, smiling a little bit too big.

“Brian, I’m serious,” I say.

“You probably put it in your suitcase when you were getting ready.”

I scan the floor for a shimmer of thin silver, with a single pendant on it. Then I unzip the front of my big, trusty suitcase and look through it.

Then I go to open my pack.

Brian puts his hand on top of mine to stop me. “I’m sure you’ll find it.”

I move his hand away and then lay my suitcase down, and open it up, to look through it. “Check your bag,” I look up and say, to Brian, feeling my stomach start to tighten.

“How would it get into my bag?” he says.

But I give him the look. And he opens his suitcase to check.

“Alright, carriage is leaving, get this show on the road. Ready for suitcases and passengers,” Mr. Hollorman announces from the garage. And then he honks the horn twice. “I will leave without you,” he says.

He doesn’t care that we’re sixteen now, and if he leaves us here, there may not be a house when he gets back. He has left us before. Never on a trip like this. But we’ve had to walk too far to school, more than once.

“Babe, that’s it now, time to go,” Brian says to me.

“I’m ready. I’m ready,” Kels shouts, running down the stairs with one of her suitcases. Diego is right behind her, with her boots in his hand and another suitcase.

“I couldn’t find my Nirvana T-shirt with the red X on the front. Then I thought maybe you borrowed it–” she says looking at me.

“That I borrowed it. Your Nirvana T-shirt with the tears in it. That I borrowed it?” I say.

“Okay, I realized you didn’t and that I had stuffed it into my boot when I was carrying stuff back from Diego’s house one night,” she says.

“I’ve got to look upstairs,” I say.

“Kids, come on,” Mr. Hollorman shouts out.

I run upstairs to where we were all playing board games into the wee hours. “I’ll be right there.”

“I’m taking your bags to the car,” Brian says.

I run downstairs to the guest room where I slept. And I check the floors, bedspreads, and the bathroom where I got ready.

But, as I rush around, the bracelet is nowhere to be found.

I hear the car horn honk again. And that sinking feeling rises into my chest.

“It’s okay. You’ll be okay,” I try to tell myself and then rush out to the car.

I try to laugh along with everyone as they make jokes and play music on the way up to the lake.

But I’m dreading when I won’t be able to keep my eyes open anymore tonight.

—

When we’re in the cabin unpacking, right before sundown, I go to Kelsey in the kitchen.

She’s making burgers, fries and salad for dinner.

Mr. Hollorman is checking on his other cabins, and their tenants, on either side of us.

And the guys are in the living room playing video games.

“Hey, Kels, if in the morning if I’m not waking up, or anything’s not seeming right, call my mom, okay. She’s the one who always has her phone with her. Just promise me you guys won’t stop trying to wake me up, if I can’t wake myself up,” I say.

“Call your mom?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you up.”

I want to say more, but I don’t want to push it.

And that night, as I’m falling asleep, I can feel it taking me under.

The same dream comes to me again.

And it starts the same.

I’m walking into the front of my house.

–excerpt.

© 2021. Written by Nika Patrice. All Rights Reserved.

Recurring is a short story that reveals itself to be a short story in verse, as the dream recurs.