She used to tell him her dreams. He seemed to understand them, so she would narrate every blurred memory and also add a few specific, excruciating details to make him see how her dreams were real. But you don't really remember everything when you dream. You never really remember everything, anyway. To every word he listened with his eyes closed while a tiny smile played on his lips. She read him well, and she understood his delight in her stories.
She misses him dearly, because someone else mulls over her dreams now. Someone else is getting in the middle of her thoughts. Someone else listens to her stories.
"How are you today, Lucia?" Vicky, the lady in the white collared blouse and long blue skirt, asked her. She had short black hair. Like Kuya’s. Her smile revealed a row of perfectly aligned white teeth.
Lucia yawned. "I'm sleepy."
"Didn't you sleep well last night?"
"No, I miss my Kuya. He's been gone for almost a year now."
“But you finally started attending school. Don’t you have new friends now?”
“I don’t like school. And I don’t like the people there. They all think I’m weird. And they all say that I’m crazy.”
“Do you miss being home-schooled?”
“Well, sometimes. I used to want to attend a real school because Kuya attended one. But now, I’d rather stay at home and lie down on my bed. It’s safer there.”
"Did you dream last night?" Vicky asked her that constantly. Why are my dreams relevant to a stranger?
"No." Lucia never enjoyed conversations with Vicky as much as she enjoyed the ones with her brother. "Not once since the last time," she added.
She does not dream anymore though she still vividly remembers the last time. It had been almost a year ago and it was also the last night her brother had spent at home. Her dreams were always vague, and her recollection only consisted of flashes of smiles and knees and arms and toes, but they always kept her company in the night. Despite the unfamiliar images they brought, she still took comfort in their presence.
That one night was different, though. Before she fell asleep, the last thing she saw was her brother sleeping beside her. She watched him for a few moments before she dozed off. He looked like an angel. And then, the images started playing. She had a dream that she was woken up by the creak of a door opening, followed immediately by the sound of a hushed scream.
She remembers the scream well. It was low and hoarse and full of hate she’d never encountered before. Its power came not from the volume but from the depth. Certainly, the scream came from a woman. It vaguely reminded her of how her mother erupted when she broke the antique vase when she was six, but that was less painful than the scream she heard in her dream.
She was sure she woke up and came across a quaint room with a familiar setting. The place undoubtedly resembled her room, but everything was either turned, torn or out of place. It's funny how dreams do that, they make you think you're in one place that isn't how you know it. But you definitely know exactly where you are. After a few unsettling moments, a mixed array of images started flashing. And from that moment on everything started moving faster and faster.
Kuya on top of her. Ouch! All his weight was on her chest.
Kuya being dragged by Dad.
Loud noise. The night table fell!
Glass breaking. Oh no! She looked to the left. The picture frame! Our family photo!
The floor had been covered by colors. My DVDs. And my books! How did they get there?
One, two, punch, one, two, punch. Her brother was on the floor. Over and over, one, two, punch!
Stop it, Daddy! Stop it! She couldn’t yell. She wanted to close her eyes and shut her ears to the deafening sound of silenced grunts and screams and cries. She hated her dreams for not always allowing her to have control. Why are dreams like that? Why can’t I move on my own?
She woke up. It was morning. She sat up with a blank memory of the last few moments of the dream she just escaped from, and tried to shrug it off. I never remember how they end. She looked to her side. Her brother was no longer beside her. He probably woke up before me.
She stood up and slowly walked around her room. Everything was how she remembered it before she fell asleep. Her bed sheets were white except for that red stain that had been there for days. Her television was on the table in its proper place and the DVDs were stacked in alphabetical order. Everything showed signs of a good sleep, although she didn't feel well rested. Her chest ached and her shoulders were tight.
Her dream confused her, so she decided to go downstairs and talk to her brother about it. She went to the nightstand to get her hairbrush from the drawer when she realized that the family photo in the picture frame, though containing the same faces and clothes, had been replaced.
"Mom!" she called out. Lucia rushed down the stairs and ran to the kitchen. Her mother was washing her hands in the sink.
"Did you replace my picture frame?"
"Yes," her mother answered without turning around. "You seemed to have had a bad dream last night, so you might have accidentally knocked it over."
"Oh." That makes sense.
Where's Kuya?"
"He's not at home."
"What time is he coming back?" Silence. She heard no reply.
That was how she remembered that night, and that dream. She hasn’t had a dream since.
"Do you really miss your Kuya?" Vicky tilted her head.
"Yes." Very much so.
“What changed after he left? Is there anything you miss in particular?” It’s always the same questions and I always give the same answers! A year of the same conversation every week. When will this stop?
Almost every morning before her brother left, he would creep into her white bed and settle next to her.
"How did you sleep last night?" He often asked. She gave different answers for different days. Unlike Vicky, her brother would respond differently to each one, and sometimes he would give cryptic replies. Once, she answered excitedly, "I had a dream that you were smiling at me. I made you happy in my dream, Kuya."
"Yes," he raised his fingers and played with her hair, "you really did." He smiled at her. She wondered how he knew, but quickly resigned herself to the idea that he probably heard her in her sleep.
"And how did he smile?" Vicky was busy writing when she asked this.
"He smiled like a little boy."
"Before the last one, what were the other dreams like?"
Her brother was there in almost all of them. Maybe because he slept next to me sometimes, or maybe because he was my best friend. They say that dreams are projections of our inner desires and fears, and to her he was both. He knew her so well, she couldn't trust anyone else. He knew where to touch her and hold her to calm her down and to make her feel safe. It scared her whenever these were magnified in her dreams, but somehow she liked them.
Her dreams always took place on her bed. He would hold her and smile. He would tickle her and she would laugh and she would tickle him and he would smile. She loved making him smile. He would kiss her neck very mildly and she would be tickled by his growing beard. Sometimes, he would suddenly shift and pretend to wrestle and squish her from on top of her. He would mount her and pin down her arms and sometimes she resisted, but other times she would just let him. Her dreams often gave her a chance to leave herself unguarded, because she knew he reveled in her surrender. He was always more daring in her dreams.
"My dreams have always been blurry. They would feel very real, but I believed that they were just dreams. They would get really rough sometimes, and I would wake up exhausted, but Kuya would always be there in the morning to listen to me. Since he left, I stopped dreaming." She sighed. "I miss my dreams sometimes."
Just then, the alarm clock started ringing.
"It's time for you to go. I'll see you next week, okay? Sleep well, Lucia. And have good dreams. And maybe you should start finding new things to dream of."
They left the room. Vicky walked a few paces behind her, escorting her out despite the fact that Lucia had been there weekly for almost a year now. Her parents received her in the waiting room. She always took comfort in exiting that room.
"Same time next week?" Vicky said to her parents.
Lucia's mother put her hands on her daughter's shoulders and kissed her on the forehead. "Let's go, darling." They left Dr. Victoria Natividad's clinic and headed to the parking lot.
“When’s Kuya coming back?”
Her parents looked at each other. Then her mother covered her eyes as silent tears started falling on her face. “He’s never coming back, baby,” her father answered.
That night she had a dream that her Kuya had returned. He held her and kissed her on the forehead, and then on the lips. He started to mount her, and she started to struggle. She wanted to struggle but her dream forced her to stay under him, to kiss him, to make him smile. She woke up sweating. She needed to talk to him and half-expected to see him beside her.
He wasn't.
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