Nightmare

“But Mom I’m telling you, you need to stop teaching if it hurts that much,” I scold her, again, for the umpteenth time this week.

We’ve just found out she’s sick, and the pain won’t go away, but, stubborn as she is, she keeps teaching her classes. This dream, it seems, is more of a memory than anything.

“And I’m telling you,” my mom says, her raspy voice just barely reaching me over the running dishwasher, “that I’m telling you that I won’t stop teaching until I die.”

I freeze. “Don’t say that,” I tell her.

She sighs, leaning against the door. My mom’s always been young—she’s only twenty-nine—but in that moment she looks well beyond her years.

“I don’t know how else to say it, honey. I know it’s hard for you, but you have to be strong,” she’s been saying that since the first day—that I have to be strong.

I sit back against our worn couch, glaring at nothing.

I turn back to my mother, apologizing, but she’s not there. I call out her name, but she doesn’t answer. The dishwasher suddenly becomes a distant yet loud buzzing, and everything in the house seems a millions times farther away. I can barely see the doorway my mom was just leaning against, but even if I could I know she wouldn’t be there.

Mom!

MOM!

She answers me after a moment, her voice weak, “Ella, please…Help me…”

And I search everywhere, every corner of the house, until I find her where I‘d previously been sitting. I feel like I’ve been running for miles.

I watch her body shrivel before me, her cheeks caving in and hair falling and withering like flowers in winter. “Ella, help me…save me…”

“Mom!” I cry, falling to my knees, “Don’t leave me, please, don’t leave me! I’ll do anything if you’ll get better—stop!”

But she keeps shriveling, getting thinner and thinner until her skin starts peeling away. Her bones, even, look ill and porous.

“Please, Ella…”

Then her voice multiplies, “Ella!”

Ella. Ella. Ella. Ella. Ella. The whisper are loud, but still whispers, and are coming from every angle. Begging me to do something I know I can’t. EllaEllaEllaElla…

“ELLA!” It’s Key, shaking me harshly out of my dream. The other members are there as well, all with creases in their forehead and worried looks. They’re all in practice clothes, and I notice Minho’s shirt is covered in sweat.

I’m still lying down, but in a moment of distress I look at the clock.

3:13 AM. I went to bed three hours ago. I’m covered in a cold sweat, but I immediately sit up.

Key leans back. “Mianhae,” I whisper, still trying to get my bearings.

Taemin and I came home only to find that his schedule had been pushed up, and he had to get ready really fast, which he did. I’d spent the rest of my day watching SHINee shows and reading allkpop articles until midnight. The boys still hadn’t come home by then, so I figured they’d be too exhausted by the time they got back to eat or hangout anyway therefore I went to bed.

And had a nightmare. I’d gotten used to them, to waking up and being angry and sad. These past two nights were the first in months that I didn’t have a nightmare. Guess blessings only lasts so long.

“I’m so sorry,” I say again, choking as the tears find their way up my throat. Key wraps an arm around me, Onew pushing back my hair and rubbing my shoulder. Then I cry.

The others start talking amongst themselves, and finally Jonghyun kneels down in front of me, grabbing the hands I’ve pressed into my eyes and forcing me to look at him. His smile is easy and sweet, and he starts singing.

Gakkeum honjaseo gileun geotda

Jamshi meomchweo jooil hanbeon dooleoboda

Honjaraneun giboonae himi deul ddaen

Geuddaen nareul ddarahae, nareul nareul ddarahae, eh

His voice is sweet and his smile bright and I can feel the tears stop. Taemin and Minho begin clapping a rhythm as Key begins singing the next part, softly, as though singing too loudly will break something. Break me.

They get through the second verse before Minho grabs me. He twirls me up and the others begin making a fuss, clapping rhythms and making ‘body gags’ while watching my expression. Finally, when Minho dips me down so far I’m sure I’ll fall, I smile, and they clap and yell as though it’s an extreme accomplishment.

After a moment I stop them all, bowing and thanking the best I can under my pile of feelings.

We don’t say much, for more than just the obvious reasons; it’s unsaid that the silence is keeping me sane. So they slowly file out, wishing me a goodnight (in English, though I know the Korean way) and heading off to their own room for some well-deserved sleep.

“Are you okay now?” Key asks worriedly, evaluating me.

“Yes,” I lie with a smile.

And when I’m sure they’re all asleep, I creep out of my room and into the living room, turning on the television and muting the sound—not like I can understand it anyway.

It takes a total of three minutes for Taemin to come out. At first I am surprised, but then I decide that it is Taemin, the boy I’d spent the best morning ever with, and he must have known I wouldn’t go back to sleep.

He walks out and shuts the door quietly, nodding once at me before going into the kitchen and coming back out with two bottles of water in hand. He hands me one and opens the other, downing half.

Then Taemin sits next to me, arm thrown across the back of the couch, legs stretched. He doesn’t say a word, just grabs the remote and unmutes the television, watching with intent eyes.

He’s changed into a t-shirt and sleep pants, plain white socks on his feet. Despite his attempts at looking at ease, with the glasses and lack of makeup, I can tell that he’s exhausted.

Unsure of what to do, I bring my legs up, sitting ‘Indian style’ with the water bottle in my lap.

It takes me a few minutes to say what I want to say, but that’s mostly because I haven’t quite gotten my face back after what happened. Finally, I poke his thigh, and when he looks at me, his expression is blank, non-expectant. It’s supposed to make him approachable, but mostly it makes me anxious.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He smiles, ruffling my hair a bit, “Always.”

And together we watch the sun come up.