Page 3 of Inception

I rolled onto my back and looked up at the black cloth ceiling of my canopy bed as reality set in and wrenched me from my happy place.

Even though it had been almost a year since my father died, I still woke up expecting to be in my old room, in my old house, with my father downstairs waiting to fix us breakfast. It usually only took a few seconds to remember—to wake up from my daze, but in those fleeting moments, I was happy again.

It was hard to let go of that; to let go of the life I had before, but the truth was, it was harder for me to stay there inside the pain. I wasn’t strong enough to live there no matter how much I wanted to. At most, I could allow myself only a few minutes to cry for him—to grieve our lives, and then I had to push the memories away, burying them deep inside of me once again so that I could function. So that I could go on.

I kicked the covers off my legs and shivered as I tried to summon enough courage to pry myself from the warmth of my bed. The chill was unshakable. Even with the light of day, I could feel the bite in my bones, lingering and unwilling to thaw itself out. The cold would take some getting used to, I realized, as I walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains in search of the morning sun.

I stood there for a moment and watched as my new world roused itself from its slumber with silent promises of a new day—a new start. There was almost something hopeful about it, reassuring, like a forged whisper of hope telling me that everything was going to be okay.

Even if I didn’t believe it.

Even if I didn’t feel it inside.

The coils in my stomach tightened as thoughts about my day began to surface. Thoughts about myfirstday; in a new town; in a new school;Mid-semester. I hadn’t even left my room and already my day had taken a U-turn straight to hell.

After a hot shower, I dressed in a pair of fitted blue jeans and a plain white camisole, and made my way to the kitchen where my uncle was sitting by himself at the breakfast nook over by the large bay windows. He had the paper in front of him, but he wasn’t reading it. He was on the phone, deep in conversation.

The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was spacious and plump with contrasts—cathedral ceilings and arched doorways on one hand, warm taupe walls and granite counter tops on the other. It was a seamless blend of old-world and new.

I searched through the cabinets for a decent-sized bowl and filled it to the rim with the fruity cereal box that sat on the kitchen island. My uncle turned at the sudden commotion of tumbling sugar pebbles and held up his index finger to me as if to say, “just a minute,” even though I hadn’t actually said anything to him.

I took my bowl over to the table and dug in, pulling my uncle’s newspaper over to me in the process. Some fatal animal attack was plastered all over the front page, but I didn’t get a chance to read the details.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, hanging up the phone.

“Yeah,” I nodded through a mouth full. That is, unless we’re counting the four times I got up to investigate the balcony, or the nightmare that nearly drowned me in a cold sweat. I was keeping that part to myself, though. “I slept great.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He took a slow sip of his coffee, probably ransacking his brain for something else to talk to me about. “Are you looking forward to your first day of school?”

I gave him the kind of look that said, “Are you from this planet?” and he smiled knowingly, confirming that he was.

“You’ll be fine. I’m sure.”

“Well that makes one of us,” I grumbled, unable to hide my doubt. Things tended to go very wrong for me. My expectations were pretty low.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to make it a long week-end—start fresh on Monday?”

“I’m sure,” I answered easily. “I’m behind enough as it is. I just want to get it over with.” Besides, if it turned out to be half as bad as I’d been imagining it, I would have the entire week-end to plot my escape.

“I thought maybe you’d like to take a little time to settle in…or perhaps to talk.”

My face contorted.Talk about what? My extended stay at the hospital? My father’s murder? I had no desire to talk about either of those things. And definitely not with him. “That’s okay. I’m all set,” I said with extra fake-sauce on the smile.

“Very well. As you wish.”

“So, what’s the story with that animal attack?” I asked as he unfurled his newspaper. “Does that happen a lot around here?”

“It happens enough. Plenty of bears and wolves and such.”

My mind snagged on the ‘and such’part.

“That reminds me,” he said as he reached in his pocket and pulled out a sleek black device. “I picked this up for you last week. I hope it’s the right kind,” he said, pushing it across the table to me.

“You bought me a cell phone?” I fought back a smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s for me as much as it is for you.”

“Oh, okay.” I thought about that for a second. “Is this like a trust thing?” I wasn’t sure if I should be offended or not.

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