Page 7 of Our Moon (JACT #1)

“Soon?” I ask.

“Soon,” he promises.

I wake from the dream in a peaceful state. How just two words spoken from deep within my subconscious can relax me so, I have no idea. I’ve been having random dreams since waking from the coma. Nothing that seems to mean anything, but many of them leave me feeling at peace, like this one.

There are a few different ones that seem to be on rotation.

One was the one I’ve just woken up from, two words, the same word really, only spoken differently…

soon. The second one is me in a dark hallway, there’s nothing else but I recall a feeling of anticipation.

Positive anticipation, if that makes sense.

Like being eager and excited or something.

The last one is a soothing melody. I often wonder if it’s the song I was caught humming a couple weeks ago, but I don’t dare ask.

I don’t tell my brothers anything about my dreams because I don’t know how they will react, and, well, I don’t really want to know either.

Things are going well between us, but that one day with the humming really shook things up for a little bit.

It took about a week before Trevor stopped feeling awful about it, no matter how many times I assured him I was over it.

I am over it, I just don’t desire a repeat performance.

I save my dream talk for my appointments with Dr. Moody. I’ve been seeing her weekly since I was released, and I actually enjoy our sessions. Funnily enough, I feel like I can talk to Dr. Moody without her psychoanalyzing everything I say, and yet that’s exactly what she’s being paid to do.

“So you had another dream?” is her opening remark.

We’re sitting in the office of her private practice.

It’s where our sessions are held now that I’m out of the facility.

I hadn’t realized at the time that she just consulted with the facility, I thought she was there all the time.

Her office there was a lot like this one.

It was set up like a living room with a sofa, armchairs, and a desk set off to the side.

There isn’t any overhead lighting, just lamps set around the room providing a soft glow, similar to what you’d find at home.

It’s comfortable, and I know that’s her goal.

“How did you know?” I ask, although I already know that she knows me better than I know me.

“You seem relaxed. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not insinuating that you’re always tense, but you’re always more at peace after you’ve had a dream.”

She hit the nail right on the head with that. “Yeah, I’ve actually had one every night for the past three nights.”

“Lucky you,” she smiles. “Which one?”

I’ve told her all about my dreams in hope that she can tell me what they mean.

She isn’t one of ‘those dream shrinks,’ and she told me just that when I first brought it up, but she is working with me to try to determine if the dreams are memories or just dreams. Sometimes dreams are just dreams. I have to remind myself of that almost daily to keep the anxiety, and hope, away.

“The one with the words,” I tell her.

“ Soon ,” she nods. “Did you feel any differently this time? Pick up on anything different? See anything, like the person you’re speaking to or your environment?”

I shake my head. “Nothing at all. ”

“Since you’ve been meeting some more people, have you been able to recognize the other voice?”

I shake my head again. “We were whispering. I can just barely pick up that it’s a male voice.”

“Well, as you know, it may or may not be a memory. Sometimes memories manifest themselves in dreams. I know we’ve been over all this already, and I’m sorry we can’t add anything new to that discussion. Do you want to talk about how you feel during and after the dream?”

“The same,” I shrug. “Content. Peaceful. It’s such a brief moment, though. I just wish I had a little more to work with.”

“I know you do,” she smiles. “We just have to be patient.”

I’m running out of patience.

“So what else is going on?” Dr. Moody asks. “Still not driving?”

“I’m scared.”

“It’s understandable, you don’t remember learning. Have you practiced at all?”

“Yeah, right. Trevor makes me nervous because he holds on to the side handle and the dashboard the entire time, stiff as a board, barking out commands. Then there’s Alex, who can’t take anything seriously and likes to crank the music up, scream randomly, and try to make me laugh, which doesn’t help me calm down, at all. ”

Dr. Moody laughs. “Yes, I suppose neither of those are ideal situations to learn in. What about someone else? A friend? A driving school?”

“I thought about it, but I guess I don’t feel I need to drive that badly, and I can just wait until the conditions are right.” Or until I miraculously remember how to do it.

“Do you think your indifference, or reluctance, about relearning to drive has anything to do with the accident?” she asks.

I hadn’t really thought about that. Perhaps it’s a subconscious thing.

Maybe somewhere deep inside of me remembers the accident and my lack of enthusiasm for the task stems from that.

Maybe it’s my body or mind’s way of protecting itself.

Though I wasn’t driving that night, and I’m not afraid to be in a car. So who really knows?

“Do you think that’s possible?”

“The mind is an amazing thing, and fear can be a very strong emotion. I like to think that anything is possible, and that seems to be very true when it comes to the mind.”

Well, that was clear as mud.

“I just wish my mind would throw me a bone.”

Dr. Moody smiles, “Indeed. ”

We move on to talk about how I’ve been spending my days and my future goals.

When I talk about how I love being in the kitchen, she suggests the possibility of culinary school, and a future in that field.

I worry about the expense, but she reminds me that my parents left behind a sizable estate, and I know my brothers aren’t broke either.

I still feel guilty taking money that I don’t feel is mine, and I tell her that, so she suggests I get a job but still consider accepting financial support from my family.

I leave with homework: research opportunities for a future in cooking or baking, and discuss it with my brothers. She assures me they will be supportive of whatever I want to do, as long as it makes me happy. I’m pretty sure culinary school will make me happy.

***

Trevor drops me off at home after my appointment.

He has to go meet the guys at the studio.

They’re working on recording their second album.

Apparently they put it on hold when I woke up, and now that I’m home and doing well, they’re moving along with it.

Fortunately for them, the head of the label they signed with has been very supportive of their situation, i.e.

me, and gave them some generous time off.

But it’s back to the grindstone for them now.

I welcome the peace and quiet at home and pull out my laptop to do some research.

My new Dell is just one of the many endless gifts my brothers have bestowed upon me.

I search for culinary schools in Charlotte and immediately come across The Art Institute.

They have a degree program in Culinary Arts and a Certificate program in Baking and Pastry.

I can do both, and I can do them close to home.

I’m sold. That was easier than I thought it would be.

I gather information and take notes on the programs and the cost. I also map out the distance between home and the school, building my case to present to Trevor and Alex.

I spend hours browsing the curriculum and course descriptions.

There are techniques they teach that I’ve never even heard of, not that I’m a culinary genius or anything.

But I’m getting excited. This is something I can do and something I will love. Something I can be passionate about.

When Trevor and Alex get home later that evening, they’re not alone. Chase is with them. Do I want to have this conversation with Chase present? I don’t know, but I’m practically vibrating with excitement so I can’t possibly put it off until their marathon XBOX session is over.

I walk to the doorway of what I affectionately call ‘the man room’ and ask, “Can I talk to you guys for a minute?” Trevor and Alex look over at me with alarm. I suppose I’ve never taken such a serious tone with them before.

Chase speaks up, “I can go. ”

“No, it’s okay,” I tell him. And I think that’s the first sentence I have actually spoken directly to Chase since I’ve been home. “It’s nothing bad or personal.” Trevor and Alex visibly relax. As does Chase. Odd.

“What’s up, kid?” Trevor asks.

I am holding all my papers against my chest, and I can tell they’re all curious as to what I’ve got in my hands. “As you know,” I start out very formally, “I had my appointment with Dr. Moody today.” They all nod and wait for me to continue. “She encouraged me to make future plans.”

“What kind of plans?” Alex asks sharply.

He’s always had a love/hate relationship with Dr. Moody.

He wasn’t pleased that she kept them from me the first few days I was up out of the coma and was always worried she would talk me into staying at the facility or living in a group home or something.

But he could still appreciate the benefits of my sessions with her.

My progress has shown over the past few weeks.

“Chill out, bro. Let her talk.”

I smile my thanks to Trevor and continue. “I want to go to culinary school,” I blurt. I close my eyes tight so I that can’t see their reaction. I don’t know what I expect, but I’m nervous they’ll laugh at me or tell me no.

I jump as I feel a hand on my arm. I open my eyes and look up at Alex. I didn’t even hear him approach. And he’s smiling. “That’s awesome, little sis.”

“It is?” I ask, not feeling any of my earlier confidence.

“Yeah, it is,” he nods.

I look over to Trevor, “Do you think it’s awesome?”

His usual serious expression fades into a smile, “I think it’s a great idea. I think you’ll do awesome in culinary school.”

“You’d make a great chef, Ally,” Chase says.

I look down and blush from Chase’s praise.

“Thanks, guys. Your support means so much to me.” I show them the things I printed out and begin talking very animatedly.

“I found a school here in Charlotte, The Art Institute. They have a Culinary Arts degree program and a Baking and Pastry certificate program. I downloaded all this information, and I really think I can do both.” I continue to tell them all about the classes and how close the campus is. My excitement is palpable.

“That’s so great, Al,” Alex says, giving me a side hug. If I’m not mistaken, it looks like he has tears in his eyes. All the boys look a little somber.

“Are you guys okay? Is there something wrong? Do you not want me to go? ”

“Everything is fine,” Trevor says. “I promise. It’s just that, well, it kind of feels like we’re getting an old piece of you back is all.” The other two nod their agreement.

“What do you mean?” I ask, looking each of them in the eye before moving to the next.

“Culinary school was your dream,” Chase says. “Before.”

My eyes dart back to his. Culinary school had been my dream? This is a positive thing, right? I chose the same future as I had before. It definitely has to be my subconscious. “Why didn’t you guys tell me?”

“Dr. Moody didn’t want us to overload you with too much information,” Trevor says.

“I guess we were all afraid if you knew about your plans from before, then you might try too hard to want those same things again and that could cause setbacks, or it might influence your decisions. You might have started doing things because you thought they were what you should have been doing. She thought it would be better if you steered your path on your own so that you would be making choices as the person you are now, not based off the person you were before.”

“But I am the same person.” And Dr. Moody is the one who suggested culinary school. Practice what you preach much?

“Yeah, and this kind of proves that,” Alex smiles, then rolls his eyes. “But you know Dr. Moody, she fully believes in the ‘no pressure’ methodology.”

I nod, knowing he’s right. “So you guys kind of knew this all along, huh? I mean when I began to spend all my time in the kitchen, you had to have had a clue.”

Alex smirks. “Yep. We totally celebrated behind your back that first day when Trevor took you grocery shopping.”

“Y’all are so sneaky,” I laugh. “I can’t believe you didn’t invite me to the party.”

“We’ll invite you to the next one,” Alex retorts.

“So you’ll let me in on the secret if I do something else the old me would have done?”

“I guess so,” he says.

“I’ll help you out with the application for The Art Institute tomorrow,” Trevor offers. “I bet I can dig up a copy of your old application in dad’s office, or maybe the school still has it on file. You were accepted to the program already. Shouldn’t be too difficult to get back in.”

“Thanks,” I smile, genuinely happy now that I have a goal in mind and knowing that I have their support.

“Mom and Dad would be real proud of you, too, Al.” Trevor says quietly .

Tears come to my eyes as I nod in response.

“Wanna play with us?” Alex asks as he pulls out the controllers, thankfully breaking the somber moment.

“Nah,” I say. “I’m just going to head up to bed and read for a little bit.” I say my goodnights and go upstairs.

As I lay in my bed, I think about what just transpired.

I don’t know much about amnesia, aside from the few things Dr. Moody told me and what I read on the Internet, but I feel like this had to be a positive sign.

I’m gravitating towards things I had previous interests in. Somewhere deep down, I’m still me.