realized there was no way I could go to him. I couldn't move. Well, that wasn't exactly true. There was more to it than that. I just didn't have a body. I was an observer only, like the invisible camera I'd been with Roman and Jerome. This apparently was not a dream I was active in, and the realization of that drove home the terrible truth: this was still an Oneroi dream. I hadn't imagined them. I hadn't imagined Seth and me breaking up.
He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. It was such a familiar, nostalgic sight. Getting up was always hard for him, largely because of the bizarre writing hours he kept. He glanced over at the clock, which was near the direction from which I was "watching." His eyes passed right over where I would have been. Yes. I was just a ghost in this. But what was "this" exactly? Truth or lie?
The time on the clock - nine in the morning - must have been motivation enough for him to drag himself out of bed. Still in boxers, he stumbled into the bathroom, miraculously not walking into anything in his sleepy state. While brushing his teeth, he noticed a note on the counter. I immediately recognized the writing because I saw it all the time at the bookstore.
Went in early today to get a few things done and should be done by six. Bring Brandy by, if you can, to try on those shoes.
Love,
Maddie
Seeing Maddie's name jolted me out of the Seth Fantasyland I'd been living in as he went through his morning routine. Expanding my vision now, I saw changes to his bathroom - things that hadn't been there when we'd dated. Another toothbrush, for one thing. Makeup in the corner. A pink robe on the bathroom hook. On the books, Maddie was still sharing a place with Doug, but we all knew what the reality was. That pain that hadn't really left since my last dream grew tighter within my chest. She was all over this place. She had left her mark everywhere, everywhere in this space he and I had once shared together. I had been replaced.
Seth went through the rest of his routine, including a remarkably fast shower. He was notorious for staying in there forever while plotting some story line. I tried hard not to focus on the sight of him naked and wet and instead pondered where he might be going today. If it was just to write at the bookstore, he wouldn't have been moving so briskly.
He easily found clean boxers and jeans, but the hardest part of his day came next: what T-shirt to wear? When we'd been together, I'd loved watching this. I'd lie in bed - after all, I had no urgency to ever get ready - laughing while he deliberated and deliberated over his massive T-shirt collection. Each had its own hanger, displaying some bit of retro or pop culture novelty. Vanilla Ice. ALF. Mr. T cereal. He flipped through them all, studying each one carefully as his hand touched each sleeve.
Then, his fingers suddenly brushed against a sleeve longer than the others. His closet wasn't all T-shirts. There were a few sweaters and pullovers crammed into the sides. There was also a flannel shirt; it was what he'd stopped and noticed. Pushing the other shirts aside, he took the flannel off of its hanger and held it up, his motions almost reverent.
Even without physical form, I had the sensation of my heart going still. I knew this shirt. It was one he'd given me to wear a long time ago, the night I'd passed out at his place from too much alcohol. I'd met his family the next day, looking ridiculous with the flannel over my strappy party dress. Even while dating, I'd totally forgotten all about that shirt.
He held it there between his hands, and the look on his face...there was so much there, I didn't even know where to start. Seth was so good at keeping his expression neutral and could be extremely short-spoken when he chose. But here, alone, he was unguarded. There was sorrow on his face. Sorrow and regret. And when he held the shirt up and rested his head on it, I saw longing as well. The whole mood was rounded out with a sort of helpless resignation. He inhaled deeply and then hung the shirt back up. As he did, I caught the faintest whiff of