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And now you see me here, at this damn sanitorium, being grilled by these flitty-looking “feelings doctors” probably making sure I don’t kill myself or something. The women in head-to-toe white plaster these fake-looking grins on their face and force me to take these drugs every day and call them my “happy pills”. Funny thing is, these drugs just seem to remind me about all my issues and how far my life has fallen. Where did it start? I guess it all began after Allie died. Like I said, I bet you would have liked him. Everybody did. He was the golden child, while I was the one who couldn’t possibly sink any further underground. I bet you’re tired of me bitchin’ and moaning about this, but it’s true. His death killed me.
I had a dream last night. The doc tells me that there’s more to come, induced by the new meds. Explained all’a that sciencey-shit to me like I’d understand.
I stood in that damn field. The one I remembered when talking to Phoebe. Delicate pink clouds swirled softly in the dewy orange gradient up above, the spiky golden strands of rye poking my shins. See, I can do that stupid imagery shit. I didn’t fail English. I could see children playing in the distance, mere meters away from the crag’s drop. The wind whistled the same familiar tune, almost like a chant:
If a body meet a body comin’ thro the rye…
A strawberry-haired child came running’ right past me, nearing the cliffside. Allie. I yelled to him, but no sound came out. Chasing after him, I extended my arms, yelling once more, in a futile attempt to break through to him. Useless. I watched him run right over the cliff. Right in front of my eyes.
What else could I do? My mother always told me that an older brother had to take care of his younger brothers and sisters. You could see how well that turned out. There was nothing for me to do in this lucid dream. I could only stand there and watch. I never heard the sound of Allie’s limp body touching the bottom. I just dropped to my knees and weeped.