The Burning Bed

Sam and I were still tangled together in his bed. The kinetic energy of our love making was fading anyway to the nebulous tide of sleep and dark. I ran my fingers through his curly red hair as we made pillow talk in the nude, the sound of the city streets below us oblivious to our calm.

I can tell Sam is drifting deeper into sleep when he says

“I started a fire.”

I kissed his forehead and asked “What was that?”

“I started a fire,” He answered, his voice low as he mumbled half asleep, “I died in it. You die too.”

“Oh?” I humored him, “So are you a ghost?”

“No I’m dead. I ejaculated into the bed and now you’re pregnant. Our son lights the fire.”

“Sam what the fuck?!” I sat up in bed, “What the fuck are you saying?”

“What?” Sam snorted awake.

“You were talking in your sleep.” I scolded him, upset. In the dark I watch Sam’s outline sitting up sleepily, reaching for his phone.

“Hm? What did I say?”

“You told me I was pregnant and you lit us on fire.” I repeated.

“I said what?” Sam was bewildered, the sleepiness fading from his voice.

I repeated what he said, horrifying nonsense.

“Oh sorry babe, I was talking in my sleep.” He dismissed me with a kiss on my forehead before rolling back over.

I was still freaked out by what he said, embarrassingly so. I don’t know why I was so upset by it, knowing it was just sleepy rambling. A dream, a nightmare at worst. I did my best to sleep that night but I still woke up the next morning exhausted.

I had class the next day but what Sam’s sleep talk stuck with me. I was only a sophomore in college and getting pregnant would absolutely fuck up everything for me. Sam and I had only been having sex for a few weeks at that point, and always with condoms. I was sure I wasn’t pregnant, he was just sleep talking. But all the same I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

About a week later I was asleep alone and had a dream.

I was in my bed and in my dream I was awake. At the foot of my bed was a curly headed boy, who I knew in the dream to be my son. The boy and I were locked in a staring contest that I was terrified to lose. But all at once I broke eye contact and the bed around me was engulfed in flame. I screamed and kicked and cried as my skin blackened and peeled and my flesh began to boil. My son stood at the foot of my bed undisturbed, watching me burn.

I woke up in a cold sweat and went straight to the pharmacy for a pregnancy test. When results came back negative I felt no relief. I wasn’t pregnant but I remained on edge. Sam and I would continue to see each other for another couple months until we both split up for reasons unrelated to the dreams.

It’s weird to find myself, nearly a decade later thinking about Sam and his dreams. I’m married now, with two wonderful children and it’s been years since I thought about him. I only sort of remembered the dream now.

We are out in our yard by the pool, the four of us. My husband is trying to light the grill, a bottle of lighter fluid in his hand. My four year old splashing in the pool, her inflatable floaties around her arms. I’m supposed to be watching her, but instead I’m watching my son run around with the gas lighter.

He points it at his sister who wades deeper into the pool, yelling Bang! and then at me, shouting Bang! Bang! while pulling the lighter’s trigger like a gun. My husband is acting like he was the only man alive and couldn’t hear our son. He continues to splash the lighter fluid all over the grill, shaking the bottle with so much force as my son runs toward him with the lighter, now lit.

My daughter is drowning in the deep end of the pool while I try to remember the details of Sam’s dream.