Dreams of Flood

Dreams drive our lives. There is no respite from the constant barrage of either the self-appointed goals or from those forced upon us by the people around us. Always, I had believed in a system of dreams: as long as someone had something--anything--to strive for, then he would feel content with those little achievements along the way. Now I must say that that belief is lost.
If I could have one story to tell, it would be that of the pact. An ideal dream, we thought it would never fail. Friends, forever, is what we’d be, and we would never surrender any of the hopes we had as individuals, nor as a group. It was the most thrilling of all the prospects we had imagined or followed, and had the best moral of them all. It had made us happier than all our other plans at the time of induction, and showed us, for the first time in that period of our lives, what we may have wanted out of our future. This pact was a dream just like any other, determined to drive all our choices.
So, with that thought I shall take you back to the pact’s humble beginnings. I will try my best to narrate it well; to make it flow like a novel. I will also attempt to limit my personal input, so that I can merely be the vessel of the narration instead of the physical manifestation of my feelings at the time. To properly illustrate the times I’d had, I must take you to a very specific time and place. The time is the summer immediately subsequent to my last and senior year at Cherokee High; the place is a location known to us only as “The Point,” where I lay asleep in a ’68 Mustang, aside a girl.

I have always revered the dreamless sleep. Waking up from such a rest has the effect of clearing the mind, which, through the night, had cleared itself. This had always bewildered me, and through that had always demanded my utmost respect. It was that way by which I awoke said morning, aside a girl, and my taxes and worries had been completely suppressed. Through my mind’s own expurgation I rose completely refreshed, with none of the absent concerns of the morning to hamper my thoughts.
When I peeked through my heavy eyelids it was as if I had never woken up, for the transition between being inattentive and alert faded so quickly it seemed as if I had been awake forever, merely deprived of memories in my sleepy amnesia. So, I sat and stared, my gaze drifting over the moseying shadows of those moseying clouds that floated lazily over those lazy fields. I noticed the cows had also woken, and they, too, seemed to be hesitant in their walk for food as they slowly plodded towards ungrazed grass, the only discernible difference between their sleepy gait and that of the clouds being the apparent purpose within the herd’s. Over the mountains, the sun peeked its weary head over the blue horizon, turning it brilliant shades of orange and red as it began its tired ascent to the heavens, dragging at the leisurely pace of summer. Above, the colorful symphony of the horizon met the pale blue sky, mixing brilliantly and merging as if washed with water and left to run. Clouds, still being wafted across the landscape by the wind, would drift occasionally across the splendid scene, dying themselves temporarily with the floating color, then reviving anew their shade of vibrant white.
And as the sun returned the light to the sky, my memories came back to me. I began to recall the girl beside me, still dozing peacefully in either dreamless slumber or, possibly, in drowsy reverie. Also, then, I remember the fine array of friends that had felt so inclined to join me at The Point that previous night. Some had high hopes of superficial satisfaction, while others merely wanted a chance to appreciate the sincerity within the beauty of time in progress. We had graduated, and thus fate had given us a very magnificent something through which we could realize just how quickly years escape. That night at The Point was a testament to our years together as we prepared to bid them farewell.
I opened the door of the car and stepped out, greeting the pristine air of the morning with a deep, purging breath. Closing my eyes, I pulled in more, hoping to utilize it before it could take flight from the coming day and vanish until it was dawn once again. Looking around, I could see the horizon cede to the morning star, letting it rise farther above, gladly free of the bonds of night. As it rose I turned, ignoring the scene which awoke again before me and pivoting towards the friends at my back.
Grant sat at our table, which stood on The Point under the aging oak, and peered over the same scene that roused me. His eyes, brown as the wood, scanned over he sight of the blue peaks where they joined the sky in a cloudy marriage, awing at the hesitant, yet content, amalgamation. Nathaniel slouched above him, on the table itself, looking over the churning plains which stretched from the sharp rise of the peaks to the far horizon, absorbing the feeling that a world was in motion all around him. This span was interrupted only by the rare trees, fences, and roads which, accompanied by The Point, made up the island of brown and black that dotted the sea of endless green. Joe was opposite them, sitting to allow himself to rest his chin atop his palms, which were in turn supported by his table-steadied elbows. His eyes stared, too, but distantly. It was as if the scene before him were hardly relevant to his thoughts, which, like the clouds to his gaze, darted flimsily around his mind as he tried to tame them and put them to rest.
I approached. causing Grant to have a start. I hadn’t meant to have surprised him with my sudden advance, but still I stopped and smiled to speak.
“Hey,” I said quietly. My eyes ran over the three friends, and I noticed Nathaniel had turned now, too, facing me with sleepy eyes.
“Hey, man,” said Grant. “You scared the shit out of me.” He cocked his head, his gaze darting towards the car for a moment before returning to mine. “When did you wake up?”
I shrugged, my eyes drifting to the cars they had parked on the other side of The Point. “Where’re Kendra and Danielle?”
Nathaniel’s eyes perked up at the mention of his partner, his interest wrested by the name. He raised his shoulders in a slight shrug and looked over at Joe, who merely shrugged as well. Nate glanced at his car, which was parked to face the road and the spanning fields. “They’re still sleeping,” he responded, “we didn’t want to wake them up.”
I nodded and turned to Joe, tilting my head in concerned interest. “You alright?”
He shrugged for a second time before finally turning towards me, his brown eyes meeting mine. “Yeah,” he said “I’ve just got some things on my mind.” He turned back towards the peaks, trying to regain his dreamy focus.
I rounded the table, intent on sitting down near Joe to converse with him easier and possibly see what was wrong. As I moved around the edge of the table, Joe’s voice tolled again.
“I had a dream,” he said, his voice hoarse from dryness, “and it sort of bothers me a bit.”
I paused my approach a bit, but resumed and sat down. Resting my elbows on the table, I scratched my cheek before asking, “What sort of dream?”
He shrugged, taking a sip from a plastic water bottle he’d had in his lap, “Just the kind to make you think, I guess.”
I smirked a bit, slightly amused at the time by the almost teasingly way he hid the dream from us. Unfazed, I opened my lips, asking very objectively, “Then what was it about?”
His eyes shifted a bit, somewhat nervously, before his voice said, “There was a flood.” He turned his head from the horizon, and fixed his eyes intensely upon mine, “There was a flood in town.”
I nodded, acting enthralled but really just duly interested, and stared back. Joe swallowed, took another swig of his water, and then recalled more.
“There was water everywhere, and we were all stuck in it,” he looked around at the group, “You, me, Grant and Nate.” He looked down at the table, playing with his hands for a split second before continuing, “Even Jake and Justin were there, and they were stuck, too.” He brought his head back up to stare at the horizon, and said, “We were all outside of the Wallace house,” he surveyed everyone’s eyes, “You know, right outside of town?” He shook his head, “We were there, but we weren’t together; the closest two of us had to be me and Matt, and you were still a good fifty feet away.” I nodded at my name, but resumed my attention as he laid his hands out on the table, palms down, “We were all separated and when we tried to reach each other, all we did was drown.”
By now he had interested me enough to be enthralled, and I stared deep into his hazel eyes, fascinated by the dream.
“I got to thinking,” he said, “That’s what I was doing before, I was thinking.” He nodded, “Well, what I thought was,” he shook his head, “It’ll sound dumb, but what I thought was that that flood was life.”
Grant cocked his head, giving a blatant look of confusion before exclaiming, “We’re drowning in life?”
Joe shook his head, his face one of impatience, before saying, “No. I am saying we all could if we’re not together.” He again scanned everybody’s eyes, speaking, “I figured that we were all downing in it because we were all going at it alone.”
After that everyone sat in silence, awakened eyes browsing the landscape and thoughtful minds pondering over their thoughts. Following what we observed as an eon of this, and after many thoughts of my own, I opened the cooler at the foot of the bench. Brought up full of sodas the previous night, it was now nearly empty save the five glistening cokes that remained. Grabbing them, and inciting looks from my friends, I said, “A toast, then?”
Nate turned first and asked abruptly, “To what?”
I shrugged, handing them each a drink, “To a pact.”
This time it was Joe’s interest whose I piqued, and he turned to face me, saying, “What sort of pact?”
I smiled and said, “One to act as a sort of raft in the flood. To hold all of us, and take us where we want to go.”
Joe cocked his head, as if interested but confused. The other two had similar looks upon their faces, but Nate’s had a hint of annoyance.
“Care to be less metaphorical?” Grant asked, turning his face into a confused grimace.
“Well,” I said, “We all just graduated, and we’re all going off to college.” My friends nodded, and I said, “Well, think about how huge all our hopes and dreams are.” Again a round of nods, “I think Joe’s right, if we all pursue life alone, without any help, we may not succeed.” My comrades forgot to nod this time, a solemn look crossing their faces. I took notice, and raised my glass, “So, to a pact: We’ll help each other through life, and try our best to help each other attain our dreams.”
My friends pondered it for a bit before they all nodded and, with a smile, we clinked our bottles together. “I’ll stand by that,” said Joe.
Grant nodded and stated, “Yeah, and me too.”
Nate smiled, “If it helps us keep in touch.”
With another clink, we all took a gulp, closing the deal between us.