Dream Big – Part II

Once again, inspired by La Fuente and the Shube of Write, Maniacs, Write! who have challenged themselves to write a short story a day (Monday through Friday) for the month of October, here is part two of my short story, “Dream Big.”

If you don’t have time to review Part I, here is a brief summary: Carly O’Keefe nee Capshaw meets Clem, the apparent gatekeeper of a foggy dream-realm. Before they can access her assigned out-of-body experience, they must find her name in a ledger. To her surprise, Carly is listed under an alias created by her estranged brother, Neil when they were children. Once she uncovers the correct nickname, Agatha Bentwhistle, Carly finds herself at a dilapidated carnival of Neil’s design. Because it’s a dream, Carly uses her imagination to spruce it up. The story continues with the pair standing side-by-side as Neil discovers her improvements.

Dream Big – Part II

By Aud Supplee

“You idiot!” He shoved her shoulder. “You ruined it!”

“I made it pretty.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be pretty, you little imbecile.” He pushed her again. “It was an art installation, depicting the futility of man!”

“How was I supposed to know that? It looked abandoned.”

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t recognize art, Agatha Bentwhistle.”

“Shut up, Barty McSnark-Buckle.”

“Pamela Snufflepunk.”

“Wally Whiffle-snout!”

“Poopdeck Polly!”

Carly, annoyed to be first to run out of nicknames, socked him in the arm. “No wonder we haven’t spoken in ten years!”

“Ten?” The anger in his voice morphed into bewilderment. “How old are we supposed to be?”

Carly rolled her eyes. “I’m 34. Do the math.”

“But, I …” Neil shook his head. “I don’t feel 37.”

“Which probably explains why you’re acting like a child.” A sudden memory flashed into her head. “Now I remember why we stopped talking. You called me a trophy wife. On my wedding day.”

“I honestly don’t remember that,” he said.

“I don’t care. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to that foggy place and forget this even happened. Clem!” she shouted to the sky. “Come get me!”

Neil gave her a gentle nudge. “Carls, if that’s what I said, I’m sorry. I didn’t bring you here to fight. I was hoping for a do-over.”

Carly folded her arms and tried to look tough, but the truth was she missed him. Not that she’d admit that. She settled for a half-hearted frown. “Well,” she said, drawing out the word. “I don’t know about doing it over, but I’ll accept an apology.”

“Can’t you do both?” he asked. “I just got pulled from a nightmare that might come true if things don’t change.”

“That makes about as much sense as calling a deserted carnival an art installation.”

Neil let out a defeated sigh. “Everybody’s fine with you being the ‘dreamer,’ but whenever Dad sees me with my sketch pad, I’m the slacker. Why can’t I be the artist?”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Dad is! That’s why I need you.” He gripped her arms. “Right now you’re in a position to make him change his mind. You have to help me.”

“Listen, Dwight D. Dinglehoffer-Buttmunch, you’re an adult. You don’t need Dad’s permission to do anything. You want to be an artist? Be an artist!”

“You’re not getting it. There’s a reality out there where I jump off a ten story building.”

Carly jolted. “Wait. What? You want to kill yourself?”

“The ‘me’ in the nightmare already did. That’s how much I abhor working in a mundane office.”

“Neeley, the topic just took a creepy turn. How did you make the leap, no pun intended, from grumping about Dad and your old sketch book to suicide?”

“I don’t know. I feel fractured right now, like I’m traveling on two paths. You are, too. That’s why I asked you here; to convince Dad where I belong.”

Carly squinted in confusion. “Huh?”

The ground shifted, almost as if the earth took a breath. The buildings began to fade.

“We’re running out of time,” Neil said. “When you wake up, you won’t be married.”

Carly’s insides quivered with uncertainty. “What will I be?”

“Whatever you want. Trust me; you don’t want to marry a rich dude. You’d die from the tedium. Get ready, you’re about to get your do-over wish.”

Her surroundings swirled, pulling Neil away. Then she blacked out.

When Carly regained consciousness, she felt a stiff mattress under her back. With effort, she opened her eyes and perceived a metal bed rail. In her groggy state, she guessed this was a hospital. So she really did have some kind of trauma in the dentist’s chair. Her mind grew alert enough to recognize, by the dim lighting, that it was nighttime. Under the covers she wiggled her toes. Next she twitched her mouth from side to side. For her final test to rule out a stroke, she peered at the ID band on her wrist to assess her reading abilities. She easily made out the name, Carla I. Capshaw.

That seemed wrong. Shouldn’t her married name be on the band? Carla I. O’… O’Connor? No, that wasn’t it. O’Hara? O’Brien? She huffed, annoyed with herself. How could she forget her own name? Not only that, when she tried to picture her husband’s face she drew another blank. Was this some weird form of spousal amnesia? She turned her head to the left, hoping to find him sitting by her bed. If she saw him, she’d remember. Maybe.

Hunched forward, hands clasped in prayer, sat a woman who resembled a younger version of her mom. Carly rolled her head to the right and peered through the bed rail bars at a boy, curled up asleep on the padded chair across the room. If her eyes could be believed, they showed her a scrawny, teenaged version of Neil.

She gaped at him. Then her dad, looking over twenty years younger than he should’ve been, entered the private room. He carried two take-out coffees but when his eyes focused on her, he quickly set them down. From her peripheral vision she saw her mom’s head snap up.

Instantly, Carly’s parents converged on her from both sides of the bed. They hugged her and kissed her cheeks, crying and laughing, lovingly whispering names they’d stopped using after she’d turned twelve: Doodle Bug. Darly-Carly. Sweedle-dee-dee.

The only response Carly could think of was, “This isn’t the dentist.”

It wasn’t meant as a joke, but her parents doubled over in a quiet laugh, presumably so as not to wake Neil. They snuffled and snickered way longer than they had any right to. Were they that glad to see her awake?

“So what happened?” she whispered.

“You had a bad reaction to the Novocain, Doodle Bug,” Mom said.

Dad bent close again, stroking her hair. “You have no idea how happy we are to see you awake.”

Mom grinned and pinched her cheek. “My iddley-widdley-piddley-poo. How do you feel?”

The words, super weird, came to mind, but the love glowing from their eyes stopped her from saying it out loud. The fact that she felt small and vulnerable made her appreciate the sappy nicknames.

“Can we get you anything, baby? A snack? Water? Soda?” Dad asked.

It probably wouldn’t last, but she suspected they would give her anything she wanted. Maybe not a car, she was clearly too young for that, but if she asked for a horse …

A niggling feeling at the back of her mind whispered that she was supposed to ask for something else. A fading memory drew her attention to Neil. Her gaze slid from her big brother to the sketch pad that lay on the chair’s arm. Even though he carried that notebook everywhere he went, he never showed anyone what he drew. Now, more than ever, Carly had to know what secrets it held. She felt the importance of it to the core of her being.

“I need …” she lifted her arm. Even as she pointed at the sketch pad she worried her parents would resist, maybe even give her a lecture on respecting other people’s privacy.

Without a word, her dad retrieved it. He held it up so all three could look together. Each page revealed a pencil sketch of different parts of an abandoned carnival. Carly blinked at the rumpled looking funhouse, the lopsided Ferris wheel. She’d never seen anything so sad, yet so familiar.

Her dad grunted. “What goes on inside that boy’s head?”

“Dad, this is art,” Carly whispered. “Neil’s an artist.”

“I don’t know, Doodle Bug,” Mom said. “It doesn’t seem … I don’t know, arty.”

Carly tapped a finger over the funhouse. “Look at all the detail. This is exact. It feels so real.”

“It is detailed,” Dad said. “I’ll give you that. But what’s the point of it?”

Just as he turned the page to an illustration of a broken-down carousel, Neil joined him at the right side of the bed.

“Hey, son,” Dad said gently. “Hope you don’t mind us taking a look.”

Neil just yawned and shrugged. Carly guessed he was pretending to not care. He did that sometimes.

“Neeley-deeley,” Mom said. “You’re so good. But why didn’t you make it pretty?”

“It’s symbolism,” he mumbled with another shrug.

“But honey, don’t you have any happy pictures?” Mom asked.

Neil eased the sketch pad out of Dad’s hands. He flipped to a back page and held up a sketched portrait of a dark skinned man with close cropped black hair. Carly gasped. She recognized the man’s serene smile.

Their mother reached for the pad. “Neil,” she breathed. “He’s beautiful. Who is he? A teacher?”

“Clem,” he said simply.

“Unusual name,” Mom murmured. “I’ve always wondered what that was short for.”

“Clemency,” Neil said in a solemn tone.

Carly remembered everything now; the queue, the fog, the kindhearted gatekeeper, the carnival, a much older Neil, and a promise. She struggled to say it out loud, let Neil be an artist, but her eyelids drooped closed, lulled back to sleep by the loving sounds of her family’s voices.

* * *

“Ms. Capshaw?”

A slender hand gently shook Carla’s shoulder.

Her eyes fluttered open, focusing on the dental hygienist’s smiling face. “Done?” Carla asked.

The hygienist chuckled. “Ten minutes ago. Either you’ve been working way too hard or I have a really light touch.”

Carla smiled back. “A little of both. Whenever I’m on a deadline I write best after midnight.”

“Where’s Little Katie going this time?”

Carla flashed a glistening grin. “The dentist.”

“I love it!”

At the scheduling counter, the receptionist held out an oversized picture book. “Before we forget,” she said.

The cover illustration showed a happy little girl, gripping the shiny pole of her pastel pink carousel horse. It was Carla’s and Neil’s first picture book, Katie Goes to the Carnival.

“My niece’s name is Katie,” said the receptionist. “We just love your books!”

Carla laughed and pulled out her signing-pen. “Is this one for her or for you?”

“Both! But make it out to Katie, please.”

Carla nodded as she wrote, To Katie, Always dream big!