Dreaming is Free

 Dreaming is Free

by Chidera Udeh

 

 

Life is littered with disappointment. No matter how infrequent, it manages to prop up in the most unfortunate ways, disrupting flow, and ultimately sobering you. With a world as big as ours, we are made to cherish the good things, the good people, because we know that deep down, hurt is always just a stone’s throw away. I am in no way a statistician, but I am certain that the ratio of great times to bad ones are unfavourable and does not mesh well with the life we want to live. Bleak, right? Oh, how it must feel to be perpetually happy, successfully avoiding all of life’s trials and tribulations. Okay, I’m done. I apologise for the doomy prelude, you did not need those feelings you have done so well to bury, being brought back up to surface. In life’s defence, the better times are genuinely euphoric. It nearly makes up for all the nonsense we regularly put up with. You could argue it is a total justification. Either way, they do exist. A favourite team (sigh), fulfilling hobbies, visits from him, visits from her, a good night sleep. The list is exhaustive. Allow me to let you into one of mine.

 

“Are you ready?” my brother asked. I shouted down to him telling him I just needed to do my hair, but I was actually buying myself an extra thirty minutes of preparation time. My head was stuck in my wardrobe with nothing to wear. We had a party to attend, and we were already running late, so I was under a real time constraint and had to make a decision sooner rather than later. Normally, my Plan A outfit and Plan B outfit are sorted out weeks before any event. It just so happens that after trying on both sets of clothes, I simply disliked them. My body rejected it. I know the ladies get it. Shame my brother didn’t. He swung my room door wide open. My brother met me stood in my dressing gown, with both hands placed firmly on my hips, portraying clear signs of confusion. His eyes told a story of rage, but it is too late to be angry. “Are you going to help me, or just stare?”, I pleaded. Reluctantly, he assists. Now, my brother is in my wardrobe, giving me options that I had already disregarded. “How about this? This would look good on you.” my brother questioned.

“I don’t doubt it would, but I’d rather not.” I arrogantly replied. A back and forth ensues and we are not getting anywhere. Until he gave me an ultimatum. If I failed to pick something to wear in the next sixty seconds, he will leave without me. My car was in the mechanics, so he hit me right where it would sting. Plan A it was. I have never felt so uncomfortable in my own purchases. I was sat in the passenger seat and in my peripheral, he is smiling to himself, like he had done a number on me. I laughed it off because to be fair, we were extremely late because of my dilly-dallying. Besides, he was right; it did look good on me. We were well and truly in party mode.

 

ID was checked and I am patted down by security as a formality before entry. My brother wants to do the rounds and greet everyone. So did I, but after I got my drink at the bar. We had just arrived and my tunnel vision had kicked in. Three tequila shots to get me started, coupled with a double whisky and Coke to carry me through the first quarter of the night. The only way. It was now time to acknowledge everyone. Handshakes and hugs are so exhausting but are indeed a social prerequisite, so they are all met with a smile, and some genuineness. That’s all done, so with my double cup and paper straw, me and my brother burrow ourselves into the corner of the venue. I was only halfway through my cup, but that tequila base meant I was in a state of drunkenness. Every song coming from the speaker just sounded that little bit better. My eyes were closed, and I am bellowing the lyrics to Lonely at the Top as loud as my voice would let me. Asake, man. In my head, I was in a concert gearing up for the chorus. However, my brother kept nudging me. Typically, I would have gone on an expletive rant, but the chorus was so close. Here it is. “…no be wetin I love o, wetin I love I go do am-WHAT DO YOU WANT?” I screamed at him. I could not even pretend that it wasn’t bothering me.  “She keeps staring at you, bro” he replied whilst discreetly pointing into her direction. I explained to him how it might be him she was looking at, but at heart, I was sure it was me. Who wouldn’t love a Chidera vocal display? I drank the remainder of what was left in my cup and decided - I was going to approach this lady at the climax of the song. Dutch courage is a marvellous thing. In and out of the sweaty bodies I go. Just before she was about to head another place, I softly tapped her. She turned around and let me please say; there is something so humbling when seeing beauty up close as opposed to a mere phone screen. The party is now a full ruckus, and it was going to be impossible for her to hear me. Onto the Notes app to type what I wanted to say. A greeting, my name and ‘outside for a quick chat?’ tacked onto the end. Love Island has taught me more than you would think. I nervously anticipated an answer. A grin and a nod. Success.

 

We are now in the smoker’s area and the air, as you would aspect, is filled with an amalgamation of fruity vape smoke. It starts getting a bit awkward. She asked me why I had approached her, and I was stunned silent. Alcohol gives you courage, but it will never give you sense. That was always going to be her first question and I had not come prepared. I bought myself time with a laugh. “Well, I don’t know you, but we find each other attractive so I guess we have that in common” I answered. For half a second I wanted the ground to swallow me up. Why would I say that? Luckily, before the cringe was able to set in, what followed was an endearing giggle that took all the weight off my burdened shoulders. Just like that, the sparks were flying. One arm rested on the side; I was comfy. Her friends kept calling her, but she repeatedly sent them to voicemail. Two strangers, enjoying new company. Distractions were not to be accommodated.

 

End of the party came, and my brother had just text me saying he was going to the car to wait for me. It was very late and indeed time to go. But not without leaving a lasting impression. Contact details were swapped early into the conversation, but it didn’t feel enough. Hugs and handshakes? Substandard. We both knew what we wanted. However, neither of us were willing to initiate without a sign. It was two minutes from my brother’s text and still we stood with our eyes locked onto each other. Come on, I just need is a sign. How would it manifest? She looked down and gave me a delicate, playful kick at the tip of my shoe. There it was. Mental countdown from five. Four. Three. Two. I am m set. With my left arm, I put it around her waist pulling her just a tad closer. She obliges. Still needed her to meet me halfway, though. Suddenly, she became perched on her tiptoes. This was it. The perfect send off. Our faces are slowly moving closer together. Until they weren’t.

 

Then I woke up. My alarm was set for 6:00 AM and it is now 6:27 AM. Oh well, such is life. I should probably start getting ready, the train leaves in just under an hour and I need to get into work.  That was fun, I cannot wait for tonight’s sleep to dream it all over again.