Grae Vision

Karli Lilley

Heartbreakingly innocent eyes returned Daelyn Grae’s stare. Dressed in a tiny blue onesie, the baby's vivid green eyes popped and demanded attention. With dusty blonde hair, the eight-month-old boy showed very little resemblance to his brown-haired, brown-eyed mother Daelyn. As she chased away last night’s unwanted visions and stared into the eyes of her f uture, Daelyn made f ish faces to the tune of her f avorite sound: the babe's laughter. With his high-pitched squeals, Noah Grae’s arrival was as unexpected as it was rewarding. Even though his appearance often challenged her in ways she did not understand, Noah brought joy to every inch of Daelyn’s lif e. “Are you ready to get dressed?” Daelyn inquired of the babe with a tone solely given to a mother’s f irstborn. “Are you ready to start the day?” Daelyn asked, even though her puf fy, red-rimmed eyes answered the question well enough f or herself. With little energy due to little rest, she was not ready to start the day as the night had been Even though his appearance often plagued with vicious dark green eyes challenged her in ways she did not and unwanted taunts. She f orced the understand, Noah brought joy to thoughts f rom her mind and every inch of Daelyn’s life. continued to rummage through Noah’s chest of drawers to f ind him something to wear. “Are we going to match today, baby? I think so,” she laughed as Noah continued to stare at her with wide-eyed curiosity. She dressed him in a plain white t-shirt and some comfortable black pants af ter changing his diaper. Noah squeaked and giggled as she tickled his stomach, making her smile despite the rough start to her morning. She placed him back on the queen-size bed and dressed herself in a white blouse and black jeans f or her workday. Daelyn worked as a clerk at the local craf ts store while she attempted to navigate her lif e now that it included her son, whom she so desired to give a pleasant upbringing. She just needed someone to tell her how to smoothly transition f rom a twenty-one-year-old college graduate to a twenty-two-year-old single mother. In the past eight months, Daelyn had adjusted quite nicely to becoming a mother to a young one, but she still f eared the day her son could speak f or himself. As ready as she was going to be f or the day ahead, she called her best f riend, Melissa, who was to watch Noah while she was at work. As she waited f or Melissa to arrive at her quaint one-bedroom apartment, Daelyn played with Noah and his spotted stuffed giraffe, Lewey. “Lewey is tall, isn’t he?” she asked Noah with a goof y smile on her f ace. No matter what happened she knew that Noah would continue to be her rock and her saf e place, whether he could talk or not. She loved him with every f iber of her being,

regardless of his origins. At the sound of a knock on the door, Daelyn cradled Noah to her side and carried him to the door. “I wonder who that is? Do you know?” she inquired in an exaggerated curious tone. She tried to toe the line between babying the boy and making him aware of normal conversations. Beginning at eight months old may be overkill, but Daelyn believed the practice might benef it him in the f uture. While she would not shy away f rom parenting advice, Daelyn f elt she was doing the best she could given that she was thrown into parenting quite suddenly. “Hey, girl!” Melissa said enthusiastically in greeting. To Noah, she said, “Are you ready f or a day f ull of cartoons and snuggles?” Melissa pinched his cheeks and blew raspberries on his stomach during the handover. They both knew he would not understand the complex words, but Daelyn liked to encourage intelligence through context clues. Once Noah was securely in Melissa’s arms, Melissa asked, “How are you doing? Really? You look a little f lustered.” “I’m okay. I had a pretty rough dream last night, but seeing him and doing our normal routine was pretty calming. He almost always helps settle the restlessness,” Daelyn responded tiredly, though she did not mention she had quickly f linched at the sight of Noah’s green eyes and blond hair when she woke. She f elt pathetic f or it, and not to mention, she f elt as if she were a horrible mother. Frustrated with herself, she thought, who f linches f rom making eye contact with their own eight-month-old? “I can see the dark circles, Dae. You need to agree to some sort of treatment.” “I’m already going to therapy once or twice a week. I am pretty sure I’m okay,” Daelyn stated, but she was beginning to understand her best f riend’s point, especially with the morning’s eye contact f iasco. That was a new development. In the negative direction. At least therapy will be interesting, she thought bitterly. “If you say so,” Melissa responded doubtfully. Sarcastically, she said, “Have a f un day telling people about crafts!” More seriously, she said, “I'll send you pictures and updates every f ew hours!” “Thank you! I actually don’t know what I would do without you,” Daelyn said gratefully. With a wave, a blown kiss, and one last glance in the pairs’ direction, Daelyn hopped in her gray Toyota Camry and drove twenty minutes to the two-story building that housed her job. Working at Craf tOp (short for Craft Opportunities), she of ten lamented that even as a college graduate with a business degree and an interest in art, she was stuck as a clerk at a place with a dumb name. However, Daelyn knew that once she discovered what she truly wanted f or herself and f or Noah, she would be able to move on to bigger and better (and better-paying) business ventures. With time to herself f or the f irst time today, she could piece together the night’s nightmare, and it lef t her with a sour taste in her mouth. She of ten was reacquainted with the worst experience of her lif e through night terrors, though they were not of ten as acutely detailed as this one was. Bef ore she could question if the dream should be a warning, she arrived at CraftOp f or her six-hour shift. Working f rom 9-3 of ten drained Daelyn as she was on her f eet all

day, but today, she viewed the constant standing as a way to expel some restless energy and keep her thoughts f rom drif ting too f ar f rom reality. “Hey, Dae! I didn’t know you had a shif t today,” one of her coworkers, Brandi, said. “Yeah, I’m covering f or Marks,” she responded with a f riendly smile. Af ter three hours of f ake smiles and numerous ‘Hi, how can I help you?’s, Daelyn was approached by a man in his mid-twenties. “Do you need help with anything, sir?” she questioned. She was already quite weary f rom the appreciative gleam in his blue eyes. She stayed saf ely a step behind the counter. “Some directions to the paint section. I am looking f or blue paint. Maybe you could direct me to the red, as well, and we could make purple,” the black-haired twentysomething responded slyly. Disgusted and apprehensive by his blunt remark, Daelyn f altered and took another step back f rom the counter that separated them. “All paint colors are in aisle nine. Turn around, take a lef t, and f ollow the aisle. Paints will be on your right,” she responded conf idently, though the rapid racing of her heart and sweaty palms contradicted her cool exterior.

“You sure you can’t show me there? I might get lost and need a guide with a cute ass to show me the way,” the man responded suggestively. “No, I’m sure you can f ind the way just f ine,” her f aux confidence fading rapidly at his persistence. He could not see anything below her waist f rom where she was standing. He winked and shrugged, turning around, but not bef ore adding, “Your loss, darlin’.” Her weak knees f inally gave out, and she leaned f ully against the wall. Counting to f if ty by f ive’s was not helping her. Brandi appeared behind the checkout counter and gave Daelyn’s shriveled posture a concerned look. “Are you okay, Daelyn?” Brandi questioned. Brandi had called her ‘Dae’ since the day they met. Since Brandi called her ‘Daelyn,’ she assumed she looked rather pitif ul sloped against the wall, red-faced and nearing hyperventilation. “I’m f ine,” Daelyn responded unconvincingly. “I just need a minute in the break room.” She stumbled to her f eet and shakily darted to the corresponding room to the lef t of the counter bef ore Brandi could respond. She sat in the back corner of the small room and succumbed to the tears, sharp inhales, and unavoidable f lashbacks

“You are okay; you are safe. One f or the next twenty minutes. nightmare and one sleazy guy are not Five…ten…fifteen...twenty, she tried going to ruin your life.” to count with rapid inhales. Her small f rame garnered several concerned and questioning glances though nobody knew what to do seeing their normally perfectly composed coworker reduced to something akin to a panic attack. Af ter her short stint in the break room, she unsteadily

rose to her f eet, took a deep breath, and walked into the bathroom to f reshen up and regain her composure enough to f inish the remaining hours of her shift. Staring in the mirror as she wiped her f ace clean of the makeup ruined f rom her tears, Daelyn whispered to herself, “You are okay; you are safe. One nightmare and one sleazy guy are not going to ruin your lif e.” She demanded of her reflection, “Brave face until the end of your shif t.” Surprisingly, Daelyn f elt marginally better after the talk with her mirror image. Looking at her melancholic brown eyes against tanned skin, she managed a weak smile. “Keep it together until Dr. Harper.” Brandi rushed to meet her when Daelyn stepped through the door, “Are you sure you're good?” “No, but I am okay,” Daelyn responded with a smile and a light laugh that she hoped would manage to calm Brandi’s concerns. I will be good one day, Daelyn thought. I will be a good mother to Noah, too, and tell him not to approach women in stores to discuss blending paint colors, she thought somewhat seriously. As she stepped back up to the counter, her phone chimed with a picture of Noah staring hypnotized at the TV screen where two animated dogs were chasing each other. Instantly, she smiled. Noah normally could bring brightness to the darkest of days. With a bye and thank you f or caring to Brandi, Daelyn walked to her car at the end of her shif t a f ew hours later. She had time to stop by the f ast-food joint to grab some caf feine and f ries f or what would undoubtedly be a draining therapy session. Fifteen minutes later, with her f ries and iced cof fee in hand, she entered the therapist’s office and shivered at the thoughts that she would have to share with Dr. Harper, her psychiatrist. She greeted the receptionist with a smile and a Daelyn Grae f or 4:15 with Dr. Harper.

“How was your day?” Dr. Harper greeted kindly. “Do you want the bullshit answer or the real one?” Daelyn responded dryly. “You know I want the real one,” Dr. Harper said. “Well, okay then,” she said. “I woke up f rom the recurring nightmare at f our in the morning. It was worse this time, somehow. My f riend, Melissa, thinks I need to do something more to help myself. I know she means well, but I am not really sure what else to do. Maybe you can help with that. Some guy tried to hit on me at Craf tOp, and I f reaked out and cried in the break room f or twenty minutes. How was your day, Dr. Harper?” “My day has been busy, but I’d like to talk about your encounter with the male. What happened, and why do you think it triggered such a reaction?” “With the dream in my mind, his comment about ‘blending paint colors,’ and his persistence, I guess I thought history was way too close to repeating itself ,” she responded unsurely, shrinking into her seat.

“Okay, I can see how those two events caused your reaction. How was your dream dif f erent f rom the rest? If you want to share,” Dr. Harper responded. Fighting tremors at the reminder, she told Dr. Harper how, in this dream, she could clearly see the cracks in the walls, the gray of the couch, and the spinning f an on the ceiling. She could see the f orest green of his eyes, the bright white of his teeth, and the dark red of his shirt. She could hear his slurred speech, her continuous pleas of stop, please, no and I don’t want this, and his response of well, I do. She could f eel his rough hands as they tore at the buttons on her jeans and slid down her legs, f eel his body cover hers as he lef t marks on her neck, and f eel her underwear being f orced into her mouth as her protests grew too loud. She could f eel his body on every inch of her skin as her hands were pinned above her head. She could f eel as his pleasure contradicted her pain, as he grinned against her collarbone while she writhed with pain, with terror, with f ear, with I am not giving up. Lost in the f eel of his skin on hers, she screamed as Dr. Harper attempted to calm her down. A simple touch on the hand f rom male hands on hers, and she f linched away. Hyperventilating, her recollections overwhelmed her, and she sunk f urther into the couch as her hands covered her f ace. When a f emale voice reached her ears, she calmed, saved f rom his torment. Daelyn’s eyes remained closed as the woman’s constant reassurances contradicted the gruff voice she remembered. Several minutes later when she seemed to be present in both mind and body, Dr. Harper spoke softly, still f rom a distance, “Is it okay f or me to come sit?” “Can you stay there? I’m sorry— ” “It is okay. Nothing to apologize f or,” he assured. “Do you want to talk about what just happened?” Instead of answering his question, she responded with one of her own in the voice of a weakened individual. “How pathetic is it that, af ter a nightmare, I f linch at my baby’s eyes? How f ucking stupid is it that I literally saw his eyes f lash as he laughed, and I was transported to a dif f erent time—different room—with a man three times his size? How dumb is it that af ter some creep suggests we ‘make purple,’ I f reak out in the breakroom? That I can’t even mention the nightmare without completely losing my mind?” With a scof f and a harsh swipe of her eyes, she f inished her interrogatory tirade. Dr. Harper thought f or a moment, then said, “I don’t think that you or others should think that you are weak, pathetic, dumb, or otherwise f or attempting to survive. With all you have told me about Noah, I can see that you are a mother to a son who is a light born f rom darkness. You are trying. You are here at this of fice with the hope to better yourself f or both you and your son. Yes, you may have f linched at your son’s eyes, but you immediately recovered and gave him your comfort as he cried. You have a job that puts you in the public. You may not be thriving, yet, but you are surviving. That is the opposite of weak, pathetic, or dumb.”

While Daelyn did not entirely believe every word the brown-haired man said, she understood his point. Since the one person who had heard every detail, she could bear to share of the night that changed her lif e did not believe her to be weak, she f elt better than she had in months. Daelyn knew she would not magically recover f rom the visions that scarred her, but with at least one person in her corner, she f elt more alive than she had in a long time. As she sat in the psychiatrist’s office and discussed with Dr. Harper ways in which she could move f orward, she f elt confident f or the f irst time that she could recover, that she could be the mother Noah deserved. Although he was born f rom her worst nightmare, he would continue to be her greatest joy. As she arrived home with a sheen of tears and a glimmer of hope in her eyes, she met her son’s excited squawks with a small smile that glowed brighter than the sun. “Hey, baby,” Daelyn greeted Noah enthusiastically. “I missed you so much today, bear!” she said as she tickled his stomach and kissed his cheeks. When her little boy sat up and put his hands on her cheeks and giggled as he pulled her cheeks apart, Daelyn laughed. Daelyn laughed with a lightness she thought she had lost. She was under no delusion that the nightmares were gone or that her son’s eyes would never again haunt her or that she would never f ind herself sobbing in the breakroom again. However, God had sent her an angel who brought calm amid a hurricane and joy amid mourning. For both Noah and herself , Daelyn would have hope f or a better f uture. Daelyn Grae would have hope f or a f uture a little less gray. 