Vision of Amaya

Amaya woke suddenly, the ice cold grip of early morning air ripping her out of a nightmare.

All was quiet. The sun had not yet bathed the hills in its light. The birds were silent, waiting for the sunlight to reach across the world and warm their feathers. Dawn was still a couple hours away.

Amaya breathed in and out, her breath catching a little as the crisp air dried out her tongue and gums. The ceiling and walls of her room seemed closer, as if they had been closing in on her while she slept. Amid the dusty, stale air and early morning darkness, Amaya brushed off the images her mind had shown her in sleep.

She kicked off her covers and padded to the door, her nimble feet quiet as a mouse as she made her way to Pappy’s room.

She peeked inside, expecting the usual thunderous cacophony of deep snores, but instead found her Pappy sitting on the far side of his bed staring at the wall.

His breathing was harsh and urgent, the terrible congestion that had settled in his lungs making it sound like sucking rice pudding through a straw. He continued to sputter and hack for a few more moments, long enough for Amaya to make her way to the bed and sit beside him.

“Pappy?” Amaya cautiously whispered. "You okay?"

Her grandfather turned to her and smiled, pushing himself off the bed with a grunt.

“Right as rain, sweetheart. What is it?” He said quietly, kneeling down to her level. “Did you have your nightmare again?”

Amaya nodded, looking away before he could spot the tears starting to well up in her eyes. “I don't know what to do. It won't go away. I tried everything. Warm milk before bed, sleeping with bear. I even tried praying last night."

His eyes widened a little at that last one. That was a first. Amaya's mother Lucille—his daughter—was never the religious type. Really no one in their family ever was.

He sighed grimly, kissing her forehead. “Not sure praying will help, kiddo, but if it makes you feel better, try it. I used to have nightmares when I was your age too, you know. But there's really no surefire cure for 'em. Eventually, you just kinda grow up and they stop messin' with you."

Amaya glanced down at her cuticles, picked raw and bloody from stress. She sniffed, feeling the hot tears building up behind her eyes. “But you don't get scared like I do, Pappy. You're brave. These dreams, they're so real. I'm afraid something bad is gonna happen."

Pappy shook his head, scooping her up and carrying her back to her room. She was heavier than he remembered. He guessed the last time he carried her like this was when she was a toddler, just after Lucille passed. Maya was eight years old now.

His knees were weak and wobbly, but he managed to carry her back to her bed, lay her down and take a seat beside her.

“I used to have terrible dreams when I was your age, Maya. Terrible dreams. The kind that make you wake up sweaty and sick, your stomach just wanting to purge the awful feelings your mind fed you. I tried to be brave, but you’re wrong about one thing: I was, and still am to this day, scared of many, many things in this world. Everyone gets scared, but 'scared' doesn't mean 'weak'. You're an awful lot braver than me."

Amaya fiddled with the lace on the cuff of her nightgown as she listened, tracing its unique embroidery with her fingers. She did not want to talk about what scared Pappy. When she felt scared, she felt weak too. Never brave. What she needed was a way to make her nightmares stop. But Pappy didn't seem to have any other answer but time—something she was worried the two of them didn't have.

Her grandfather sighed, seeing the indifference to his words written all over his granddaughter's face. No comfort seemed to be reaching his beloved grandchild. He meant it when he said that he was scared. But he could never tell Maya what really scared him nowadays. The truth was, he was old, and getting older every day. Lucille had no siblings, and Maya's father was a drunk—a bum. The thought of Maya left alone chilled him to the bone.

“You okay, Pappy?”

He stiffened, noticing Maya staring at him. He patted her shoulder and looked at her sternly. “I'm fine, Maya. Really, I am, quit your worryin'. Go back to bed, I promise no more nightmares will bother you tonight. Leave your door open a crack so you can see the light from the kitchen. That should help keep them at bay. And don't forget bear.”

He reached for her stuffed teddy bear and made him a little nest in the blankets next to her. "He'll keep you safe."

Amaya let out a frustrated exhale but nodded, rubbing her tired eyes and wrapping her arm around bear. "See you in the mornin' Pappy. Love you."

He smiled, "I love you too, sweetheart. Try to get some sleep. We'll talk more in the mornin'."

Her Pappy watched her close her eyes then huffed to his feet, hobbling to the door. He hated himself for letting his troubled thoughts send her back to bed without better advice. From what she had admitted to him before, her nightmares were terrifying. Some of the worst he had ever heard. All he could really do was hope she'd grow out of them. Just a phase every child goes through, whether it's fair or not.

Listening to her Pappy's footsteps as they faded down the hall, Amaya cried silently to herself. She wrapped herself tighter in her thick covers, unwilling to risk even an inch of exposed skin to the darkness of her bedroom.

Despite her fatigue, she gazed thoughtfully out the window, wishing for the sun to rise so she would not have to sleep anymore. She couldn't stop thinking about her most recent nightmare. It was about her Pappy. It left a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was a vision that felt certain, even imminent. She couldn't shake the awful feeling she would never see him again.

***

Morning finally arrived and Amaya's grandfather awoke, hoisting himself out of his bed slowly. He breathed in deeply, rhythmic and deliberate. He stretched his limbs and swung his legs over the side of his bed.

There was a strange sensation as he stood up. The motion was fluid, smooth... Easy. His arthritis wasn't flaring, his joints working with him. Odd.

Taking advantage of his strength, he walked briskly to the door of his bedroom, pushing it open without any struggle. He made his way to the kitchen, and just as usual, there was Maya. Seated at the table, flipping through one of her picture books, waiting for breakfast. Chocolate chip pancakes today, her grandfather thought to himself. With extra chocolate chips, he chuckled.

He strolled past her, a smile painted across his face at the sight of her contentedness as he started gathering ingredients. The batter sizzled on the skillet as he coaxed it from the mixing bowl, sprinkling in chocolate chips and humming to himself. It was an old nursery rhyme Maya loved and would start singing with him the louder he hummed. It was just a matter of time.

But as he turned toward the breakfast table, expecting Maya to join in, she simply continued flipping through the pages of her book. Bear was seated beside her and a glass half-full of cold milk stood next to her place mat.

He shrugged, back to flipping and sprinkling. I guess no duet today, he thought. She must not have slept well, damnit. You're an idiot with advice.

After scolding himself, he finished up the flap jacks, shoveling the three most chocolatey onto a plate and carrying them over to Maya.

"Madame," he crooned, dramatically placing the plate before her, one hand tucked behind his back like a waiter at a fancy restaurant. "Your breakfast is served."

But Maya didn't move. In fact, she didn't even look up.

The smile drained from her grandfather's face, replaced with surprise. Sleepy or not, he couldn't believe Maya's manners this morning. Pretending he wasn't there. Was she mad at him?

"Maya, look at me," he demanded, keeping his voice gentle, but firm. "Enough pouting, just talk to me. I bet it'll make you feel better."

But Maya still didn't move or speak, still staring down at the colorful pages of her book. Her grandfather had enough.

"Maya, look at me," he said, a little louder this time, reaching out to lift her chin. But he missed, his hand passing through her face like it was made of smoke.

He shrieked, stumbling backwards and landing hard on the kitchen floor. The sound of his own body hitting the ground startled him again, and he shrieked a second time, shrill like a cat after having its tail trampled over.

"Goddamn it!" He screamed, cheeks flushed with hot blood. "What the hell? What the hell was that?"

He panted like a dog, gripping his chest. He expected a panic attack, a heart attack, some sort of physical reaction to his terror. But nothing happened.

"Maya," he cried, steadily climbing to his feet. "Maya, sweetheart, can you hear me?"

Maya didn't answer. Instead, she closed her book and glanced down the hall. He jumped a little as she finally spoke.

"Where is he?" She said to no one, getting up from her chair. "Pappy?" She called out, not looking her Pappy who stood just feet from her.

Without warning, she broke into a sprint, running down the hall.

"Maya!" Her grandfather tripped a little on the corner of the carpet as he started running after her. "Slow down, no running in the house!"

But Maya didn't acknowledge his words. She raced down the hall and burst through her grandfather's door.

"Pappy!" She called out again, giggling at the thought of waking him for breakfast. "Wake up!"

She ran up to the bed, jostling the covers. But she froze at the stiffness of the mass that lay under them. Maya ripped her hand away and clutched it tightly to her. Her eyes were wide, her body stone still.

"Pappy?" She asked, tears forming in her eyes. "Are you cold? Please wake up."

"No," her grandfather whispered, realization hitting him. "No. Oh please, God, no!"

He stumbled around the side of the bed so he could stand beside Maya, ripping the covers away. And there he was.

He covered his mouth to keep from gagging as he stared down at his own, rigid body, lifeless in his bed. His eyes were closed, his hair white as snow. And on his face, a soft smile—like death had come to him while he dreamed of sweet things.

The morning light streamed into the room, blanketing the three of them in its warmth. Pappy pretended to place a comforting hand on her shoulder as Maya hugged the physical part of him left behind forever.