Nightmare

While I dreamt of coffee, magazines and pedestrians on unknown alleys, Sasha had a horrible nightmare for the second time in the same week.

She saw a brown haired girl with a bright red scarf crossing a road when she turns around to face Sasha suddenly in the middle of it. Sasha calls out to her but she says nothing. And then a big white bus appears out of nowhere and crushes her under its big tyres. Sasha not only screams in her dream, but also in reality.

Next morning, I walked to the second floor of my building and knocked on a cold door that felt like raw timber against my knuckles. When she opened it, I opened my folded, stained shirt for her to view; she looked perplexed as to what I was trying to show. I only needed to say the word 'coffee' when she let out her signature child-like laugh and motioned at me to come inside.

Her flat was more white and full of light as compared to mine. She had her tiny window open and had placed a full-length mirror against the wall opposite it that reflected even more sunlight into the room. She had very few articles in the room but they all were tidily placed in some corner; an old creaky bed, two lamps, fridge, a cupboard with pictures and posters, and some daily usage cutlery on the counter.

I hadn't come to see her flat, or to show her my shirt. I actually wanted to return her diary and ask her if she got in touch with some music director or company. Before I could say anything else, she handed me a cup of coffee and said: "Don't drop that on yourself, too!" I hardly smiled, and it wasn't really funny.

"Oh, come on, I proved myself right to you. You now know you get all that you think about," and laughed pleasantly again. "All right, I believe you. So when is your music career about to launch?" She screwed her face as if she had tasted something sour. "You know, I typed all my good poems and got them printed. Then I made a nice file of them and went to four different addresses. The more famous they were, the least interested they were in even letting me in. Then one of the assistants was walking out to his car when I asked him for an appointment. I didn't let him go until he handed me over his business card and asked me to see him the next day in the evening before his flight to Chicago."

I smirked a little and she understood what I was thinking.

"Yes, not anything like my perfect plan. You can laugh now. But if I continue believing, I shall succeed very soon." "Are you a grown up version of Cinderella?" "Well, that's what fairytales are for! We have to learn our lesson from them. Dreams do come true if we 'think' they will," and she raised her arms and started singing the ever-so-saccharine title song of the cartoon.

Then she came back to senses and asked: "Will you come with me tomorrow?" "Where will the assistant-director be?" "Well, he asked me to come to 'La Gala'! He'll be having his tea in there; rich people can afford a four hundred dollars evening tea in a day. By the way, I always dreamt of dining out at such fancy restaurants. This will be my first visit, but soon I'll be their frequent customer!"

Day dreaming, again! She continued telling me everything about the company, the singers that 'made it big' with them, how much their yearly turnover is and what she'd wear for the meeting. It was nice listening to her. She was pure of heart, innocent and engrossed in her own world. She was truly optimistic about the future. I was just thinking if the director would even remotely be paying attention to all of her excited details about songs, music and beats. She was a novice for sure, but quite an interesting novice.

After few minutes, Sasha told me about her nightmare. "Do you have nightmares?" I didn't know if I did. I hardly remember my dream. Sometimes I don't dream at all. But maybe that was when I was too tired. And what was weird, I was thinking in detail too, like her. My short thoughts are turning into long speeches. Soon enough, I'll be talking as much as Sasha if I stay more with her.

"Well, I have seen this one twice or thrice that nearly freaks me out. I don't like it. I see a girl, brown haired, with a red scarf or something, in a bus accident. I really hate car and bus accidents. I already feel sorry for my roommate whose family died when their car plunged into a river."

I thought about the nightmare and since I had nothing to say, I just replied with "nightmares are just nightmares" sort of answer.