A Friend.

Illustration by Tim C. Abraham

This story is about a young woman who encounters a man from her childhood fantasies. But the more she gets to know him, the more she realizes something is amiss. 

She was wearing a long skirt and an oversized shirt. Her hair was tied into a messy bun. She forgot her sunglasses. The sun was blasting, she was squinting. Her leather slip-ons were too hot. She really wasn’t dressed for the beach.

This morning she had woken up with the feeling that she was in the wrong place. Her sheets were damp, it was muggy and quiet outside. She went into the kitchen and couldn’t find any coffee. Coffee was really the thing that started all of this. She grabbed a shirt that hung by the door. It was a man’s denim shirt. It probably belonged to the owner of the house. She wore her long silky skirt because it was on top of her bag. She decided for once she was going to go for what she wanted, without interruptions and unnecessary ruminations. She put on her white leather slip-ons, thinking they were going to get wet, but again, this wasn’t going to stop her. She grabbed her purse and got into her car. 

This much-needed break from civilization was a very bad idea. Just awful. It was too quiet. It was too dark at night. The house was too big. 

She drove into the village. They must have coffee down there. 

The only street with any kind of shops looked as if no one had lived there for years. Everything seemed closed, either permanently or just today, out of spite. She kept driving. A gas station surfaced a few hundred feet ahead. Gas station coffee is the worst, she thought.

She turned on the radio. The announcer was babbling away. She really wanted music, but focusing on the twirly road while browsing stations wasn’t her forte. She kept driving for a while until she realized she was back onto the road that had brought her to the house. That meant she was going back to the city. Oh gosh, dang it.  

“This honestly was the best coffee I had ever tried in my life! It was simply sublime…” - the announcer’s voice broke through her thoughts. She turned up the volume.

“Well, girl, you gotta tell us the name of that coffee shop now.” 

 “Oh yeah, this is my buddy’s shop down in Sarasota, Mike’s Coffee! There, I said it!”

This was how she wound up at the airport and later that afternoon -  at the beach. 

Mike’s coffee was nothing special. Mike was a nice guy; tall, broad-shouldered with a deep voice. The coffee was good enough to walk a couple blocks for, but driving two hours and then taking a plane - not so much. Well, I wanted  a change of scenery, and there I have it.

But if she had to be honest, she felt rather stupid. She was in a place with no suitable clothes for the weather, she did not know anyone and couldn’t afford a decent hotel. This “follow your heart” thing was not working out the way the Internet claimed it would.

She let her eyes wander further down the beach, assessing whether she should go find a bathing suit and flip-flops, or just keep walking and breathing the salty air. 

A strange white construction in the distance caught her eye. It must have been a house, but the shape of it was rather unusual. It was cylindrical, with a ribbon of a white balcony wrapping all around. How crazy. From here, this looks exactly like that house I used to fantasize about. 

A drop of sweat ran down her back. Suddenly, she felt as if her feet were on fire. She kicked them off and approached the water. It’s gentle, cool caress sent pleasant shivers down her spine and without further thought, she walked in.

A few minutes later, she lay on the sand, the denim shirt and silk skirt clinging to her body, her nose crinkled a little at the thought of her wet hair on the sand. She smiled at how wonderfully courageous and impulsive she had been.  

A memory of a perfect room with light, transparent curtains blown by the wind emerged. She was lying on a perfectly comfortable bed with a window giving onto a beautiful beach in front of her. A stark contrast to her current, cheap hotel room with the bland dark curtains and a parking lot behind them. 

She sat up with a start. The white house on the beach was from her childhood fantasy. The man named Garron, her imaginary friend, lived in that airy house with a wrap-around balcony. The house had indeed been on the beach and her room inside it had been the one with the light curtains and a comfortable bed. 

She twisted her neck to look back at the house. It was still there, ephemeral and sparkling-white, just like in her fantasy. She needed to see it from up close. 

It was still hot. The kind of heat the sun sends when it’s nearing the horizon, like a last hooray. The house burnt a bright white spot some three hundred feet away. She kept walking. 

She realized she had nothing but one cup of unremarkable coffee all day. An idea of a perfect, little, sweet bun, like the ones she had in that Chinese restaurant that had closed years ago, made her salivate. She certainly wasn’t going to fly to China for it this time.

The house was now closer and she laughed a little thinking how silly the whole endeavor was. Soon enough she would see that the house looked nothing like the construction in her fantasy. It just seemed a certain way from afar. She decided to look at the setting sun for now, and only turn towards the house when it was really in front of her. 

It must be about here now, she thought and turned around. A quick sharp quiver went through her body. 

The building was definitely the one from her dreams. In her imagination, however, they were certain details that she could never make out. But the dreamed-up house was now right there and she could take in everything. She eyed it hungrily, forgetting to breathe. I wonder what year it was built… She reasoned that she must have seen a picture of it somewhere, and then her imagination “appropriated” it. 

“Would you like to go in?”

The voice came from behind her. She looked back and there he was. Garron. She now saw him right in front of her, and just like the house, his face revealed details she could never see clearly in her imagination: laughing, green eyes, shoulder-length, blonde hair, broad shoulders, a kind smile. 

She figured hunger must have messed with her head. 

“To go inside the house, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Oh.” “Garron” seemed disappointed.

“You have been looking at the house for a while. Please, feel free to go in if you like.”

Her curiosity took over. It was certainly unreasonable to go inside a stranger’s house after dark. But the man looked very friendly and she could not shake off the feeling that she actually knew him. 

When she entered, everything was as she expected: the bookshelves, the staircase. There was a perfect Chinese bun on a white plate on the table. She turned to look at the man.

“I’m sorry. I am having a terrible case of deja vu. I haven’t eaten all day… not that it’s your problem, I just… I had a hectic day…”

“The bun is for you.”

“What?”

“You said you haven’t eaten…”

She paused and stared at the bun. “Right.”

She went to grab it. It was soft and still warm. She had a bite and nearly hummed as the chocolate spilled into her mouth. She headed towards the stairs as if enchanted. She paused again, thinking that it was, perhaps, rude to go upstairs without asking. 

“You can go,” she heard his voice again. 

She went up without further hesitation. 

The room upstairs was filled with fresh air. Her room. The curtains moved slightly in the wind. She sat on the bed and stared out the window. The moon shone upon the ocean now. She had imagined this so many times. When she had come back from school, tired and frustrated, when her parents had been yelling at each other on the other side of the wall, she would just close her eyes and go meet her friend at the white house on the beach. 

She lay down and spread her arms. The silken sheets felt deliciously cool. She felt a different kind of fabric to her right. Of course: this was the dress she had worn when she had come here. It was flowy and comfortable. It made her feel beautiful and free. 

“I am ready for our walk when you change,” Garron announced without a trace of impatience in his voice.

She changed into her dress. As she ran down the stairs, she finally felt she was right where she belonged. 

Back in her childhood dreams, they had their routine. She would come and he would be there, waiting. She would go up to her room and lie down. She’d watch the curtain move in the wind. Then, she would change into her dress. He would wait patiently. Then, they would go for a walk on the beach.

This time they did the same thing. Everything felt so familiar and yet - it was not a dream. She followed Garron to the beach, looking at his wide shoulders, and muscular arms wrapped into the thin fabric of his white shirt, his long blonde hair silvered by the moonlight. Everything had a color, a texture. She chuckled as the cool, gentle wave licked her toes. 

“What is your name?” she heard herself ask.

He turned around sharply and looked into her eyes.

“You know my name.”

She felt a dryness in her throat.

“Garron?..”

“Yes.”

“But it’s impossible. Your name couldn’t be the same as...”

“I understand. You don’t recognize me. I guess this sort of thing happens. I thought you’d never come back. It’s been a long time since you last visited. Do you remember nothing of me?”

She only widened her eyes in response.

“Then let me tell you,” he offered.

They started down the beach. 

“I fell asleep and woke up in a strange place once. I was about your age then,” he began.

Garron looked not a day older than twenty seven. 

“Are you now older than me?”

“Oh, much older. So, when I woke up, I didn’t recognize anything around me. I was in that room upstairs. ”

“The one with the curtains?”

“Yes. I saw that my horse Kleo was on the other side of the house…”

“The white horse?”

“Yes. So, you do remember some things then?”

“I guess I do…”

“As far as I was concerned, my world was gone. I was all alone in this beautiful house. But I loved the ocean, and I loved my horse. So I figured, I could live here forever.”

“Wait, but the house must belong to someone?”

“Nobody has ever claimed it. I have never seen anyone even approach the house apart from you.”

“What about the village and all the people?”

“The village is far away. I have to take Kleo to reach it.”

“What do you mean? I walked here today.”

“Oh sure… You could walk, but not me. It is different for me.”

Garron’s story didn’t add up in any way. He lived in a fancy house on the beach near a posh, little town. And yet he insisted that the house was his even though he never bought it, and he needed a horse to get around. Perhaps, this is some wild coincidence. Perhaps, this man is mad. Perhaps, I somehow sensed his existence way back when I was thirteen and made up a bunch of fairy tales. There has to be an explanation for all of this.

“Would you like to go back?” Garron interrupted her thoughts. “You can sleep in your room.” 

“I can sleep here?”

“Of course. Tomorrow you can go back if you want to.”

The prospect of a long walk in the dark and a night in the itchy motel bed was not very inviting. But sleeping in that magical room with weightless curtains and a view of the ocean seemed like pure heaven. A real get-away. 

“I will stay. Thank you, Garron.”

The moment her head touched the cloud-like pillow, she fell asleep. She woke up exactly the way she had always imagined waking up in that room would be. A cool breeze touched her cheek, and the gentle splashing of the morning ocean whispered into her ears. She opened her eyes and smiled at the sparkling water behind the rippling curtain.

She peeked out of the room and smelled the most delicious coffee. Lured by the seductive aroma, she descended into the living room. A white cup was sitting on the dining table, steam curling over it. She didn’t spot any signs of a coffee maker, a kettle or anything that would point to where the coffee had come from… He must have taken that horse of his to a coffee shop in the village, she chuckled to herself. 

Assuming the cup was for her, she picked it up. The taste was all it promised to be. Wish Mike and that radio friend of his were here.

She drank the coffee slowly, watching the sea. 

Garron was on the shore. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. She approached him quietly and said, “Thank you for the coffee.”

“The coffee?”

“Oh… was it not for me?”

“Anything you find here is for you. But I didn’t make it happen. You did.”

“You mean I made the cup of coffee appear.”

“Yes.”

“Ok, listen, I don’t know what to say. If you’re joking it’s not that funny.”

“I understand. I hoped you’d remember more in the morning.”

“Remember what?”

“Nia…”

“What?!”

She turned around with a start. Her hand to her chest, her breath ragged, she almost collapsed. No one had called her by that name in years. This was some kind of a trap. She wanted to run. She needed to run back to that crappy motel, back to the ugly curtains, tourist shops, even the huge damp house in the muddy woods. 

She looked around and realized that now everything looked different: there was nothing around the white house. Only the beach, stretching for miles and miles in both directions. Just like in her dreams.

“What is this? Where am I?” she yelled out.

“Do you mean this place here? Some call it the in-between. I call it home.”

“In between what?”

“Worlds, realities, dimensions, I suppose.”

She took a deep breath. This man is clearly out of his mind. No use asking him anything… but where is that stupid town? I couldn’t have walked for that long yesterday! 

Garron spoke again, “You can walk out of here any time you want.”

She took off running. At first she felt hopeful. Anything could be explained. He probably put something into that coffee. But the sun was blinding. The beach seemed to be endless. She was out of breath. She stopped, in panic. Garron caught up with her.

“I’m sorry this time it is so different for you. It used to be a place of peace and quiet. You used to love it.”

“Yes, but that was in my imagination!!! Get it? It never actually happened, it was all in my head.” She slapped her forehead with her palms.

“If you believe what your mind creates is not real, you will never get out.” Garron pronounced the words simply, no veiled threat or menace in his tone.

“So how do I go back?” she whispered.

“To what?” Garron asked simply again, and yet she felt there was so much more to his question.

To what, indeed? The ugly motel room, the damp house in the woods, the job she didn’t care about, or the stale relationship she was too lazy to end? 

She let out a shaky sigh, looking helplessly out into the endless blue of the sky. Then, she walked back to the house, resigned. 

The room once again was inviting and peaceful. She collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep sleep.

A cheap tune from the radio woke her up. It must have been coming from the room next door… The room next door?! She jumped up and looked around. She was back at her motel room. A dream?! This was just a dream?

She felt relieved and disappointed at the same time. But the more she thought of her “dream,” the more anxious she felt. She could not recall her coming back to the motel room. She had never had a blackout in her life, and not having any memory of going back scared her. She needed to be around people, so she rushed out.

Down in the lobby, everything looked ordinary. She could see Mike’s coffee across the street. The cheery receptionist said ‘good morning’ with a smile. As she was exiting the hotel, the receptionist added, “Nice dress.” “Thanks,” she replied without stopping. The moment she was outside, she looked back at the still-smiling receptionist and then stared at her own reflection in the glass double doors. 

She was still wearing the dress from the white house. 

She drew a long breath. The important thing is not to rush. I will go get some breakfast first.

Mike was cheerful, just like yesterday (or was it two days ago?) He served her a cup of his unremarkable coffee and a scone with some butter. 

“Did you have time to enjoy the beach yesterday?” he asked.

She sat down and sipped the coffee slowly. She couldn’t help but remember how good the coffee at Garron’s house tasted.

“This dress is really unusual. Where did you get it?” a woman at the neighboring table asked.

“I… it was a gift. From a friend.”

It was decided. She would go there now. She wouldn't accept any food or drink from him, and would confront him about last night.

She walked down the familiar path along the beach. The house looked the same as when she had seen it the first time. She was walking with determination, without turning away this time. 

But as she got closer, the house started changing its shape. She realized that the wrap-around balcony was not a balcony at all, it was a piece of white fabric that was draping down from the second-floor windows; a leftover from some unfinished construction. The overall shape and look of the house were completely ordinary. What she had seen at a distance was just wishful thinking, a distortion. 

She walked up to the porch, looked through the windows. The door opened, a young girl threw “hey, come in,” and disappeared.

She entered. The living room looked nothing like that at Garron’s house. She crossed over to the backyard and was presented with a crowd of college kids having fun by the pool. 

“Hey, cool dress!” she heard someone say to her. 

She knew she couldn’t have been at the wrong house. All the other houses were gray or brown. This one was the only white one. 

I should at least take a look upstairs. Maybe I will recognize something. 

She went back inside and took the stairs to the second floor. The strangers’ house had every feature of a boring, beach rental. She went into the bathroom to splash some cold water onto her face. In the reflection of the mirror, she saw something familiar thrown over the laundry basket. It was her silk skirt and the denim shirt.

She grabbed the items and rushed downstairs. It took her a couple of minutes to figure out who the host was. It was the young girl who opened the door for her.

“Hey, whose clothes are these?” she asked without any polite introduction. 

“These? Oh… I was wondering about them actually. Found them last week, someone must have had an after-party here, you know what I mean...”

“Last week?”

“Yeah, there was a party here last Saturday. I found them the next day. Thanks for bringing them, I was gonna ask around about who they belonged to.”

“They’re mine.”

“Both things?”

“Yes.”

“Oh…” the girl cocked her head playfully, eyeing the silk skirt and the large, man’s denim shirt. “Well, glad you found’em!” she added mischievously. 

“Thanks…” she ignored the hostess’ playful hints. “Are you sure you found them a week ago?”

“Yeah.”

Someone called the girl’s name and she seemed happy to take herself out of the awkward conversation.

When the hostess was already a few steps away, she turned around and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Nia.”

The name came out of her mouth before she could think. She looked around distractedly, dropped her clothes onto a nearby chair, and left the house. 

She didn’t want to go back to the motel. She didn’t want to go back to the house in the woods. She didn’t want to go back to the city.  She didn’t  know where the right place for her was. Garron called the in-between his home. Nia was in the in-between with no home in sight. But at least she knew her name.