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Dante and I are both in inflatable rafts, following a lazy current on a perfect summer afternoon. We hold hands, palms together, fingers skimming the water. No one is around.
I blink, and a fog is surrounding us. The current speeds up into rapids, and we careen down the river. I squeeze Dante’s fingers in mine, but our hands are too sweaty and wet from the river, and as we hit another crescendo of the rapids, we’re separated. I try to get back to him, desperately clawing toward his raft, but Dante just smiles at me like he did the first time we kissed, when I lied and told him it wasn’t right for me— sad, so sad, but not sad enough to cover up the love— as he disappears along the river until I can’t see him through the fog. I scream his name and struggle, trying to put my raft on a path to follow him, but all I do is capsize it, hitting the water.
When I can see again, I am in my mother’s church, but it’s all wrong. The rows of raised pews stretch farther than I can see, up past where the ceiling usually is and into the heavens. Everyone in the crowd has a picture-perfect toothpaste smile. I stand on the raised platform in the front. The doors in the back swing open, and a woman in a white gown who looks like Cassandra, but I know is not, walks toward me. We’re getting married. There’s river water along the aisle, and I search the crowd for Dante, anywhere, but he’s not in any of the rows of benches or pews. I look back to not-Cassandra. She’s gone, replaced by Dante, skin clammy and lips blue. He falls to the ground and I yell across the church to him. Standing next to me is one of the guys who beat up Dante and put him in the hospital during our senior year, the one I punched and broke the nose of near Mr. Rodriguez’s garage. He’s my best man. Both of us run toward Dante, but the aisle stretches in front of me and I’m running but the other guy gets to him first. He kicks Dante hard in the ribs, once, twice. The crowd of faceless onlookers do nothing to stop him. Some of them join in. I’m screaming. I hear a voice from above, so maybe it’s God’s will. The words are softly whispered, then become louder—
“‘And spirited from sleep, the astounded soul hangs for a moment, bodiless and simple as false dawn. Outside the open window, the morning air is all awash with angels.’”
God sounds worried.
“‘Some are in bed-sheets, some are in blouses, some are in smocks: but truly there they are.’”
God sounds close.
The dream fades until I can feel gentle fingers tracing along my hairline, combing through my hair and along my scalp. Dante figured out a long time ago that combing his fingers through my hair is the best way to wordlessly console me. I jolt awake, gasping for air and curling closer to his body next to me.
His hand moves from my hair to my cheek, brushing away tears I didn’t know were there.
“‘Now they are rising together in calm swells of halcyon feeling, filling whatever they wear with the deep joy of their breathing…’”
Dante’s brown eyes hover over my face. His upper arm sinks into the sheets, cushioning the back of my head. His other hand continues to caress my face. Seeing my eyes open, Dante pulls me closer into him and kisses my temple, then my cheek. Brushes my hair further from my sweaty forehead.
“I thought I’d try poetry this time. There’s nothing I can do except to keep holding you, I know, but my dad said once that a good poem can soothe an upset mind.” He cracks a half-smile. “Under circumstances more related to trying to get me to sleep as a kid, but still.”
I chuckle wetly. I notice my hands are clenched around the sheets, and slowly release my deathgrip to curl my arms around Dante’s middle, nuzzling into his soft sleep shirt.
“You were saying my name. Do you want to talk about it?”
Where, when we first started dating, I would have shaken my head or even physically pushed him away, now, I just clear my throat and wet my mouth. Dante waits, tracing shapes on my back.
“We were in a river. I lost you.”
Dante hums, rewarding me with a kiss on top of my head.
“I was at a wedding. A wedding that was supposed to be for me, but not— not with you. I looked for you everywhere. I couldn’t find you. And then you were there. Half drowned, d–dying, falling down. I ran. I— I couldn’t get to you. You were— they were—”
When I break off, softly, he soothes, “Hey, hey, I’m here baby.” The endearment slips out easily. At first, I fought it, but never very hard. Dante gently pushes my face so he can look at me. I can’t quite hold all of what I see in his eyes right now, so I look slightly above the outer side of his eyebrow. He can’t just ignore his worries, no matter how many nightmares I have. When I first wake up, his eyes are always dark, but they brighten the longer I can look.
“I didn’t drown. I’m a great swimmer,” he says, and when the sob that’s been lodged in my chest shakes out, he increases pressure as he rubs his hand down and up my back.
“Right now, you’re in my arms, and I love you. You’re my sun, I’m your moon. I’m still with you through the night.” He smooths my hair back.
I make a noncommittal noise into his chest.
“And you know I’m too stubborn to leave you. Not after all we’ve gone through together.” He holds me as close as possible. I still want to be closer.
This is what Dante does, every time I have a nightmare: he wakes me up, gently as possible, even though he knows I’m okay and he doesn’t have to. He gets me to laugh. Talk about my feelings. Then, he says the sweetest, softest words about love and loving me until my breathing goes back to normal. He kisses me, not as fiercely as he does at other times, but with just as much care. I think we calm each other, in each others’ arms, in these small numbered hours that belong to no one but us.