Fresia (2022)
Somehow, you turn out just like me in a dream. In another time I would’ve thought it a bad dream, awful even, but now it’s just a dream.
BY PABLO PALACIOS
IMAGE BY JASMINE COWEN
Somehow, you turn out just like me in a dream. In another time I would’ve thought it a bad dream, awful even, but now it’s just a dream. What does it mean that my dream is about discovering that You, Him, Him, and I, turn out alike, for at least one night? It leaves me with many questions, but it started with a discovery.
You stumbled upon a new man. The reason I found out was Instagram. There you were, two lovers so enthralled that you made a silhouette of the sunset behind you rather than fading into it. The picture is of you with his arms wrapped around you at your stomach, your hair, short as it’s been for the last few years, and your smile, vivid as always. His head is on your shoulder, eyes closed so comfortably that I feel a little warmth coming through my screen. To officiate a relationship so explicitly and wordlessly feels characteristic of you, yet it also feels insincere being so upfront—even if only with your 24 followers. It reminds me of the way I pictured romance at 12 years old—with you, specifically—which means there is a lot I’d like to say, most of which would be bitter, or so specific only the two of you could make sense of it. But I’m not saying anything of my thoughts, which means I’ve grown up, to a degree.
Some days later, I hear another revelation—Luca too has found a man that’s more than just his match; he’s a missing puzzle piece reclaimed from a spot under the couch after an eternity lost. I only hear about this one because Luca isn’t as obvious as you. Eventually, I do see that he’s tagged him in his latest post: a full colour picture after a long monochrome theme. There he is, seated, looking a little above the camera with a small, strong, smile shaping his lips. Not everyone will realize exactly why he's smiling on a rock on the beach, but I think it's clear that someone notable was behind the lens. It’s actually much sweeter than your picture; he’s so caught up in his feelings that he can’t even look away and into the camera for long enough to have his picture taken. When I hop online, I see he’s online too, gaming as much as always, but not so alone anymore. If I didn’t pay as much attention, I might’ve completely missed it.
Then, probably most shocking, was jolly Saint Nick, our friend with the almost Christmas birthday. Somehow, he too had found his way from the full-chested arms of his ex to some sweet looking boy from his university. It had come up in a conversation that they were working on some mutual friend’s car, mutually of course. He posted some pictures of their progress, so in other words, a picture of his new date—working studiously on the car—then another that was almost the same, but with his own face half in the frame, from another angle—his eyes comfortably closed—and finally, a video of them side-by-side in front of their functioning final product which was purring away. They had their arms wrapped around each other; Nick was smiling with his teeth and his boyfriend smiled, sheepish, but proud, of both his work and himself.
I was seeing all this from a comfy little seat in a room, like my room, that I’d never seen before. It was a room made of four flat walls with cold white lights, four of them—all attached—shining down from above. It was quiet at first. I was definitely alone. I scrolled through the never-ending list of picture-posts, seeing all these little discoveries, albeit thankfully spaced out. I could feel the shape of something in my abdomen, like an empty hole that should’ve been ritually filled by tradition. I’m sure that there were a decent number of posts between you threes’, but I don’t remember a single one. I do remember, however, that I didn’t stop on any of you three’s posts for more than two seconds longer than I should have. I suppose that, too, is growth.
Around Luca’s post, some chatter began somewhere outside my room. By Nick’s post, it had become the voices of distinguishable family members gathered together, talking and laughing down a hallway. One or two scrolls after his post, I stopped scrolling completely to stare at the wall, to have some conscious thought in the aftermath of the should-have-been-emotional experience. But a dream is a dream, and all I remember now is that the chatter had gradually grown loud enough to command my focus.
It grew violently energetic and painfully loud in my ears as it came to consume, more and more, the space—all the space in my room—climbing the four walls, corner by corner and crevice by crevice, until it reached the four aching white lights and my eyes made contact with each one, popping in perfect pattern. For the exploration of the skin came four spiders, from each corner of the room, ready to examine the crevices between the fissures of dermis and epidermis—well prepared to interrogate the feeling that must lay there undiscovered and unnamed.
Then, I was finally awake again, in my real room of four walls and no windows. It was light inside, even with the four-bulbed light off. The almost translucent door let in the decently dimmed sunshine from down the hall. Eyes open, lying in bed, I saw the flashbacks of my false discoveries of you threes’ mutual realization of identity. I imagined the implications of such a group realization for a moment, before I heard the conversation. I couldn’t make it out at first, but sure enough, given some focus, I was able to.
“What do you think? It’s nice right?”
“Yeah! It looks so, so good, so far. Oh, and by the way, thanks for lending me the…”
Regular late-morning breakfast talk. I closed my eyes and saw you with your fictional boyfriend.
“Oh God,” I thought. “Did I just dream up some fanfiction?” Then I laughed to myself—this was a better reaction than I would have expected to be honest, given everything. We don’t even talk anymore, so I thought it’d be a rougher recovery. God, just the inclusion of “recovery” in my thought says it all. But I was fine. I’d even laughed within a couple of minutes of waking up. The day was continuing to go by and so I got up and went to join my family for breakfast.
“Oh finally,” said my dad. “Good morning. We started since we figured we wouldn’t be seeing you for a while.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I replied.
“Go grab a plate. There’s bread in the oven and it should still be warm just in case,” he smiled.
“Thanks,” I said. “So, what was that about…”
And I stepped over the suddenness of a night’s consideration, to join my family in conversation.
Pablo Palacios is a first-year student at Humber College. Now based in Toronto, he is working on completing his Bachelor’s degree in Creative and Professional Writing. You can find his work in the Humber Literary Review and on Wattpad, where he publishes monthly updates to his prose collection "Reader's Notes."
Image: Fresia (Jasmine Cowan, 2022)
Edited for publication by Olivia Fellin, as part of the Creative Book Publishing program.
HLR Spotlight is a collaboration between the Faculty of Media & Creative Arts and the Faculty of Liberal Arts & Sciences and Innovative Learning at Humber College in Toronto, Ontario. This project is funded by Humber’s Office of Research & Innovation.