On Black Sand Beaches

By Maddie Cincala

Things to Remember About the Dream World:

1: Physical sensations are not real here. They are only interpreted in one’s mind. Close your eyes and set your intention. Hold onto it even as you drift. Focus. Focus on her. Think about her voice and the way she always kept you grounded. Think of her soft black hair and smooth skin, remember its warmth and the comfort it brought holding her close. Focus on her essence, and she will come to meet you.

I recite this to myself as I lie in bed, only half covered by the grey plush sheets. I do this every night now. I lay here, I manifest, I dream. Anything for a little more time with her. I think as I feel myself drifting off to sleep. When I open my eyes, I am no longer in my bed, but in my bathroom. When I dream, I always start here, a place of vulnerability and privacy. It seems fitting enough to allow myself time to recollect my thoughts.

It’s a poor excuse of a master bath, cramming the toilet, shower, and sink all in a whopping twenty-seven square feet. It came complete with stained tile floors and the ugliest beige paint I’ve ever seen, but the landlord might actually kill me if I ever tied to paint over it. I look into the bathroom mirror to see myself- round face, blue eyes, and bleach blonde hair that reaches the middle of my neck. I take a deep breath, though it feels more like a passing thought than an action. This is the dream working. Sensation is more thought than substance. I turn on the faucet of the chipped porcelain sink, getting that same wrenching squeak as I do in the waking world and rinse my face with water before turning to leave.

When I open the door, I watch as the pool of light from the bathroom spills into the bedroom, illuminating the unmade bed and nightstand which is littered with a variety of snack wrappers, water bottles, and medications. Fortunately enough for me, the ugly beige paint is contained to just the bathroom. The bedroom is a muted blue, but in the dim light, it looks grey. A figure stands in front of the window, looking out at the foggy nothingness beyond. Shay’s figure. The edge of the light just barely dances off her shoulder, giving her side a soft glow that not even a hazy dream image could manage. She turns to look at me and I swear those eyes, even though the life from them is long gone, could give the great Jay Gatsby a run for his money.

“You’re doing it again,” Shay mumbles sheepishly, averting her glance as a subtle blush dust over her cheeks.

“Doing what?” I cross my arms, slowly making my way over to her amongst the dirty clothes strewn across the floor from the past week.

“You’re looking at me with that dumb smile on your face. It’s so embarrassing.”

“Aw, can’t I admire my girlfriend?”

“No… Not really if you think about it,” her voice softens and her gaze falls.

I frown, brows furrowing as I wrap my arms around her and rest my chin on her shoulder. In that moment, I want nothing more. I want to hug her and feel her warmth. I want to be able to tell her it’s okay, but we both know it’s far too late for any of that. This is all we have now. Against the rules of physicality here, I can feel the essence of a tightness in my chest. I know I’ll wake up crying.

I give her waist a gentle squeeze, just as I’ve done so many times before when I still had her with me. “Hey don’t say that. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

Shay just shakes her head, drawing away and looking back out that dirty window where the rest of the city should be. “No, we can’t, Jordan. You know that. I… I don’t want you to keep doing this. You can’t.” She hugs herself, leaning her hip against the windowsill and seems to shrink as her figure leaves the edge of light from the bathroom. She now looks frail and scared, barely lit by the meager glow omitting from the window. I know she’s about to cry. I can hear it in her voice, the way it wavers when she says my name.

“What are you talking about? I can keep going- I can-”

“You can what?”  Shay cuts me off, her tone now much sharper. “Keep taking those pills, or-or that melatonin shit? And for what – a few extra hours of sleep?”

“A few extra hours with you.” I correct gently, though I know exactly where this is going.

“This isn’t about me, Jordan! It can’t be. Not anymore. You’re hurting yourself.” Her voice falters at that last bit, and I catch the soft glint of a tear rolling down her cheek. “I can’t stand to see you sleeping your life away.” Her voice was now barely at a whisper.

“Shay…” I trail off. What can I say? She’s right. She’s always right. “I just miss you. So much.” My own voice wavers now, and though I know I won’t be able to fix things, I come a little closer. I reach out, running a hand through Shay’s dyed black pixie cut, and she lets me, closing her eyes and allowing another tear to glide over her cheek. She lets out a silent breath, the tension in her shoulders finally lessening.

“I know you do. But this isn’t healthy… you know that,” Shay whispers. I do.

“Can’t we talk about it?”

“We can, but in the end we both know you’ll do whatever you want.” She sighs, taking a moment to collect herself before stepping back into the light with me. Despite her crying, her face shows no signs of it. She leads me over to the bed and we lay together, holding each other in a numb embrace. The numbness is a constant reminder that none of this can be real anymore. We stay there together in silence for a moment. Shay plays with my hair while I rest my head on her chest, missing her warmth and her jasmine and tuberose perfume. Missing the rising and falling of her chest as I listen to her heartbeat, always strong and steady, a heartbeat too strong and steady to have been stopped short.

“You’re beautiful,” I whisper, looking up at Shay.

She scoffs, giving my hair a teasing pull that I don’t actually feel. “Oh, shut up.”

“What? I’m being serious.” I am.

“You’re stalling.” She retorts. That too…

“Maybe… or maybe I’m just flirting.”

“You’re doing both. And neither are working.” Like I said, she’s always right.

“Okay, okay. You got me. What else am I supposed to do? You don’t expect me to just quit cold turkey, do you?” I try to keep it light for now.

“God- you make it sound like I’m an addiction.”

“You are to me-”

Shay rolls her eyes, but there is the faintest trace of a smile pulling at her lips. “Come on Jordan. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” The smile fades.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do without you. This place sucks without you,” I mumble, closing my eyes and trying to keep it together. Though physical feeling is different here, I can hear my words choke in my throat, putting a strain in my voice and making it hard to breathe. I hold my breath as if doing so will keep these past six months’ worth of tears and mourning at bay just for this moment. For her.

“It’ll only feel worse the longer you keep this up. You have to move on.” She brings a hand down, caressing my cheek and thumbing over the mole under my left eye. I couldn’t count the times she’d kissed it, calling it my beauty mark and thus slowly chipping away the years of self-conscious efforts to hide it.

“And you said I was making it hard- how do you expect me to do that?” I half tease, though the question remains genuine at its core. The waver in my voice is a dead giveaway.

“You could start by taking care of yourself. Tidy up. Maybe shower. You look stinky.” She grins, though her eyes still have that concern in them that I haven’t been able to shake since we first started doing this.

“Oh, fuck off.” I manage a laugh, pretending to shove her away, and she pulls me closer. She always pulled me closer. “It’s not that bad…” I lie, knowing damn well my apartment is well overdue for a deep clean.

“I’m just saying – maybe you’ll feel a little better after a good cleaning. Air the place out a bit.”

“Maybe. We’ll see how I feel when I wake up.”

“You always say that.”

“But I mean it this time.”

“You always say that too.”

“Alright! Okay. I promise I’ll tidy up and shower tomorrow.” I cave. How could I not?

“And eat some actual food?”

“And eat some actual food.”

“And drink water?”

“Let’s not push it-”

“Fine. Baby steps. I know you can get through this,” Shay whispers and gives me a squeeze. We press our foreheads together and just exist in the moment. The laws of time don’t adhere to dreams, but I feel it all stop, and as she presses her lips to mine, I swear I could feel her warmth again.

Just as I had predicted, I wake up crying, my cheeks cold from the drying tears and my nose running. That tightness in my chest becomes more prominent as I come out of my grog and when I look down, I realize I’ve been clenching my fists in my sleep. Four pink crescents on each palm throb lightly where my nails have dug in, nearly breaking the skin. Great way to start the day, right? My room is dim with the afternoon sun leaking in from the supposed black out curtains that came with the apartment. When I roll over and swipe away the pile of snack wrappers and such on the nightstand, I see that it’s almost three in the afternoon. With that, I roll onto my back and let out a deep sign, staring up at the ceiling and watching the old ceiling fan lazily rotate as the reality sets in yet again. I’m still alone.

I look back down at my hands and eye the silver band on my left ring finger. I’d barely managed to scrounge up enough money for it, and now it feels like a massive weight around my finger. Shay always preferred silver to gold.

I remember when Shay and I started talking about the idea of marriage. We’d just finished moving and unpacking her things into my apartment. We’d gotten a bottle of champagne to celebrate and talk quickly turned to next steps.

“I’m being serious! I want to marry you, Shay. And I’ll be damned if I don’t.” I half teased, knowing then and there that I was going to make it my mission to marry her.

“You’re just saying that.” Shay had accused, taking a sip of her champagne.

“But I’m not. Come on- what kind of ring would you like? No expense is too much.” I announced, though we both knew realistically speaking, there was definitely an amount that was too much.

Shay rolled her eyes but humored me. “Something simple. You hear me? I don’t need something fancy with stones big enough to cut glass.” She crossed her arms, settling onto the couch with a tired groan. “Maybe something modest. And it has to be silver.”

“Ooh how non-traditional” I teased, flopping down onto the couch, and laying myself across her lap. Shay shifted, nearly spilling her champagne as I flopped down and giving me a look before setting the glass on the end table.

“Oh stop. I just don’t like gold. I think it looks tacky.” She huffed a matter-of-factly. “I’ve always been a silver girl.” she hummed, starting to play with my hair, first combing it through with her fingers, then starting to make little braids.

“Noted. And what about ring size?” I grinned.

“Not that I think you’re going to go out and buy one anytime soon, but it’s a seven if you must know. Though, being that we’ve been dating for so long, I would’ve thought you’d know that by now.”

“Oh, you bitch—” I scoffed, playfully swatting at her. “You never wear rings.”

Shay laughed, planting a kiss on my forehead. “I know. I’m just messing with you, dummy.”

I think about that day a lot. I ended up proposing to her that next year. Now Shay’s ring lies six feet under in row “H”, column seventeen in the Blakston Cemetery, most likely tarnishing like the rest of her. The thought alone is enough to bring on a fresh wave of tears every time. However, I know I can’t keep wallowing in my sorrows. I have an apartment and a Jordan to clean. I start with the windows, drawing the shades and then dramatically hissing and cowering at the sunlight currently flash banging my eyes. Shay always got a kick out of that. I can practically see her rolling her eyes at me now and telling me to “quit stalling, this place is a mess.” I allow myself a moment of reminiscing as my eyes adjust before throwing the window open, finally letting the stale, mourning air out, and welcoming the warm afternoon air in. Unlike in the dream world, the small town of Blakston lies beyond: a small-ass town on a seemingly smaller-ass island. It’s like Hawaii, except instead of postcard perfect beaches and kitschy tourist attractions, we have black sand and basalt mining. Woohoo for us?

I continue on, putting on some music and then getting to work, trashing the snack wrappers, water bottles, and half empty soda cans littering nearly every flat surface available in my apartment. Let’s also take a moment to marvel at the fact that I somehow didn’t bring on some kind of infestation of ants or flies with how many sugary drinks and crumbs I was leaving totally unguarded. Honestly, I’ll take that as a win in itself.

Next, I pick up all my dirty clothes strewn about: shirts, pants, bras, underwear. It all goes into a laundry bin and by the time I can see the grey shag carpet of my bedroom floor again, that bin is crammed full. It’s a whole two to three trip kind of job, but I’ll let future Jordan hash that out. After all, I only promised Shay I’d clean… and shower… and eat some actual food.