A Peck of Gold

The Orchard

"I was sixteen years old when I had the first dream. I was walking through a pecan orchard at night, looking at a white columned house on a hill. Moonlight filtered through the barren tree branches, lighting my path to the house. The only sound was my boots crunching old pecan shells as I drew closer. I climbed the steps of the porch, and without pausing to knock, pushed open the heavy door, and strode up a flight of stairs. As I walked by, I peered into rooms and parlors, but I contintued without pause. My steps were steady and deliberate, and I knew the way to the room as if I'd walked it a thousand times. Soon, the sounds of my footsteps increased and quickened, until I realized it was no longer my steps, but the beat of my heart pounding in my ears. I finally reached the end of the hallway, and placed my hands on the cold wood of the door. Light flickered under the door, and I wrapped my shaking fingers around the old metal handle. All I had to do was twist... one simple flick of my wrist, and the door would be open. I stood, waiting for the dream to continue. Mesmirized by my part in this drama, I watched my hand turn the knob, and after a moment's hesitation, I pushed.

I felt the scream rising from my throat before I even heard it.

I knew this dream was different from my usual adolescant repertoire, which is precisely why I kept it to myself. Not that it really mattered, though. There was no one to tell even the mundane details of a normal dream, let alone one that left me drenched in sweat and shaking for hours. There never had been. Friends, I mean. I was lucky if I could find a lab partner and someone to eat lunch with. It wasn't that the kids at the school were uber elitist and found me unacceptable, although they certainly fit that criteria. The problem was that I simply didn't exist for them. Sarah Jenkins, no, I don't remember a Sarah in my biology class... oh, she sat beside me? I just don't recall... That was always the case. For as long as I can remember, I have lived this invisible life. Sometimes it was actually laughable, if it hadn't been so painful. People wouldn't notice me in a bus seat, and half sit on me before I made a little squeek of surprise. But, strangers weren't the only ones who saw straight through me. My parents, though biologically aware that they had produced an offspring, seemed oblivious of my presence on a daily basis. It was if the mute button had been permanently set on my life. I spoke, but there was no sound. I yelled, and clapped, and broke plates, and still lived the life of a ghost. So, I kept the dream to myself."

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