Episode Twelve: A Disastrous Dinner
Precision, reliability, order, predictability, these were the things that Constance Lawson strove to live by. And in many respects, she thrived in their company. A perfect family with pristine grades in school and an impressive list of extracurricular activities chosen specifically to impress future collegiate admissions officers and in the distant future, job recruiters. Almost all of her peers ignored these important factors, these building blocks for a successful and important life after the frivolity of childhood passed and the real work of living began, but not Constance. Imagine then the surprise she must have felt as her semester long group project that should have been about fiduciary responsibility ended up derailing into some silly nonsense about dreams.
Percival:It was just silly nonsense. Right? After the events of class earlier today and against all logic, reason, and common sense, Constance was no longer sure. What would happen tonight as she'd laid the metallic feather shard on her pillow? She had no idea.
Percival:All she did know was that she was truly not ready to find out. But first things first, before she would have a chance to sleep with the feather on her pillow, she had to get through another dinner with her mother and father. And those had been anything but usual lately.
Percival:Episode 12, A Disastrous Dinner.
Paula:Constance dear, would you please pass potatoes?
Constance:Mom asked from the far end of our rectangular oak dining table, the one with six identical chairs, despite only ever using three. I sat in the exact geometric middle with Mom and Dad sitting on opposite ends. We used to switch seats around for fun. As of late, we always ended up in this configuration. Mom and dad on opposite ends of the table with me in the middle, acting as if I were a referee in a volleyball match.
Constance:I grabbed the steaming bowl of delicious garlic mashed potatoes and passed it her way. I made a mental note to compliment Mom on the garlic to potato ratio later. The flavor was well balanced tonight. Not too sharp, not too bland, just perfect.
Paula:Thank you, sweetheart,
Constance:she said, plopping a big spoonful on her plate.
Constance:She held the bowl across the table.
Paula:Craig?
Constance:Dad didn't answer. Instead, he just kept on chewing his food the way a cow chews its cud. He must have concluded that if he focused entirely on this single piece of chicken, the rest of the conversation wouldn't exist.
Constance:Mom smiled politely anyway, the kind of polite smile that never reached her eyes. She placed the potatoes back in the exact center of the table in front of me, in neutral territory.
Paula:So how was school today, darling? Mom asked.
Constance:She was always the one trying to cut through the silence.
Constance:School went well, I responded. In language arts, Mrs. McDermott assigned us a group project that is turning out to be interesting.
Paula:That sounds wonderful, dear. What sort of group project is it?
Constance:Well, that's the interesting part. Mrs. McDermott let us choose our own topics. The requirements were remarkably simple and open ended. It had to be something interesting, something important, something that makes you ask, What Is It All About?
Paula:That seems like quite an ambitious project. What topic did your group choose?
Constance:We've decided to do our project about... I collected myself, knowing the next word out of my mouth wasn't going to go over well. Dreams.
Craig:Dreams,
Constance:dad said, right on cue. He finally deemed the conversation worthy enough to swallow his chicken for.
Craig:I thought you said it was supposed to be about something important.
Constance:Mom set her fork down hard enough that it claimed against her dinner plate. That's what I said at first, I interjected, hoping to diffuse the situation before it spiraled out of control. My idea was about the importance of fiduciary responsibility starting at a young age. You're always telling me that our generation needs to learn sound financial habits. I tried to explain it to the rest of the group, but...
Craig:But instead, you let them drag you into a project about dreams,
Constance:Dad said, focusing more on the contents of his dinner plate than his child. I did try to talk them out of it, I said, but they outvoted me.
Craig:Part of being a good leader is knowing when to correct people around you when they're wrong, Con.
Paula:Well, I think it sounds like a wonderful idea for a group project, honey,
Constance:Mom said, picking up her plate and heading toward the kitchen.
Paula:I know you'll make the most of it.
Constance:She didn't say that last part to me. Dad paused mid chew long enough to glare at Mom, grunt disapprovingly, then went back to eating. I gently arranged the peas and corn on my plate so they were on separate sides of my mound of perfectly scooped potatoes. 20 on one side, 20 on the other, arranged in neat rows of 5. At least the food on my plate wouldn't fight.
Constance:I didn't want to have to pick sides. I just wanted dinner to be normal again. Now that it was just the two of us, the tension in Dad's shoulders eased up. He set his fork down and spoke.
Craig:Constance, I won't be here tomorrow morning when you're getting ready for school. I need to go out of town again for a couple of days. This season has been extra busy for the firm. I know you understand.
Constance:The bags under his eyes were darker and heavier than they'd ever been. The firm had to be slammed if they were sending Dad out of town again. That must be it. No wonder he came off so tired and grouchy these days. I wished that Dad could find a different job, one that wouldn't take him away from me and Mom all the time.
Constance:I didn't tell him any of that. I just put on my best fake smile.
Constance:Of course, Dad. I understand.
Constance:Dad and I sat at the table in silence, neither of us eating.
Constance:Mom was rinsing off her plate and the kitchen sink. The food in front of me lost all appeal.
Constance:Dad, may I please be excused? I have quite a bit of homework to finish before bedtime. He didn't need to know that this homework happened to be dream related.
Craig:Yes, you may.
Constance:He replied, finishing off the last piece of chicken left on his plate. I stacked my silverware neatly on my plate and excused myself from the dinner table. As I placed my plate on the kitchen counter, I caught Mom dabbing the corner of her eye with a tissue. Dad being gone all the time was hard on her too. This was my opportunity.
Constance:Dinner was delicious, Mom. Thank you. I presented her with a genuine smile. The garlic potatoes were amazing. Not too garlicky, not too potatoey, just perfect.
Constance:Mom hid the tissue behind her back and stuffed it into her pants pocket. I knew better than to point it out or the fact that her mascara was smudged below her left eye.
Paula:Thank you, darling,
Constance:she said.
Paula:I'm glad you enjoyed them.
Constance:Why don't you let me load the dishwasher? I offered. You did call that other repair service to come fix it. Right? Mom chuckled.
Paula:Sure did. I made sure to hire the guy with the perfect five star online review this time. Just like you said, lesson learned. He came and fixed it while you were at school.
Constance:When I reached over to turn on the sink faucet, Mom put up her hand.
Paula:I'll take care of it. I heard you say you had a lot of homework. You should focus on that. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine.
Constance:She had that look again, smiling but not, pretending to be strong so I wouldn't worry. But that only made it worse. It wasn't her fault, of course. She was trying. We all were.
Constance:Are you sure, Mom?
Paula:You go on. I've got it all under control here.
Constance:There was one more thing I had in mind to cheer her up. I wrapped my arms around her waist in a tight warm hug. With that, I headed up to my room. Halfway up the stairs, I heard Dad's chair slide roughly across the hardwood dining room floor.
Constance:I reached the top step, a few feet from my bedroom door, but curiosity compelled me to stop. I pressed my back against the wall so no one downstairs would see me if they looked up and remained deathly silent. There was a silence coming from downstairs apart from my Dad's heavy footsteps walking in the direction of the kitchen. Then I heard a loud clang as a plate and set of silverware hit the bottom of the sink. Mom spoke first in a failed whisper.
Paula:Craig, we can't keep doing this. Not in front of Constance.
Craig:Doing what, Paula? What exactly am I doing?
Paula:Leaving on business again? We've talked about this. She's going to...
Constance:Mom lowered her voice to the point where I could barely hear.
Paula:She's smart. She is going to figure out the real reason you aren't around sooner or later.
Constance:What? The real reason? A guilty pit formed in my stomach. I wasn't supposed to hear any of that. But then again, I also wasn't supposed to notice the tone Mom used to talk to Dad every day or how many seconds it took dad to respond or the looks they failed to hide during dinner when the other person was talking.
Constance:But I did. I had been taking mental notes of every single solitary thing they said to or at each other for a while now. And not just what they said, but how they said it, how they looked at each other, or more often than not, didn't look at each other, that they talked to each other only when they needed to, not because they wanted to. It all added up to a single gut wrenching conclusion. I couldn't fix any of this.
Constance:How could I? I didn't even know what it was that I was trying to fix. But I could do the next best thing. I tiptoed to the end of the hall and opened my bedroom door without a sound, crept inside, and carefully closed the door behind me. Mom and Dad's talking, or whatever you wanted to call it faded away.
Constance:Focus on the project. Focus on something I could control. Focus on the dream, Constance. My bedroom clock told me I had more than enough time before bed to get everything ready. At least, I thought I did.
Constance:But what if I wasn't ready? I fetched the pencil case from my backpack as I sat down on the edge of my bed. With a deep breath, I unzipped the pencil case. I slipped my hand inside and felt the cool bronze feather against my palm. None of this made any logical sense.
Constance:I was still half convinced that Zorah and Garren had orchestrated some kind of elaborate prank. Perhaps they'd bought the feather at a toy store, split it into pieces, and coerced Timmy to play along (he seemed impressionable enough.) And pretend he woke up with it on his pillow just to mess with me. But how did they get it on my pillow? There was no way.
Constance:I checked the latch of the window above my bed, locked, tight. Okay. So this wasn't a practical joke. That somehow made things worse. If Group Two would be dream journaling...
Constance:Wait. If The Archivers were to be logging our dreams into our official Dream Archives, then I needed to be at my absolute best. We couldn't be basing our entire project off bad data. Timmy clearly took this subject very seriously. In a way, I respected that kind of sincerity.
Constance:Somehow, that sincerity had already rubbed off on Zorah, and shockingly, even simple minded Garren had bought in. Then there was me, the girl who wanted to do a group project on financial responsibility for seventh graders and was now in bed holding Sleepifacts and planning on Archiving her dreams. I certainly wasn't about to be shown up on a group project of such importance by those three slackers. I'd never be able to show my face at student council ever again. No.
Constance:I had to, despite my better judgment, treat this assignment with the same diligence as any other. A soft chime rose from my alarm clock. 7:55PM. Time to double check my morning checklist for tomorrow. Most days, I merely added or removed an item or two.
Constance:Mornings don't change much. This time, however, I needed to make room for something new, something important. Right after Morning Action Item number eight, brush my teeth, I made one significant addition. Morning Action Item number nine, Daily Entry into Dream Archive. But then, something that Garren, of all people, mentioned made me rethink my ordering.
Constance:Dreams, by their very nature, are difficult to recall because they fade the longer you're awake. Of course, Leaving the Dream Archive daily entry for the end of my morning checklist meant I would have forgotten the most interesting facts about my dreams by the time my pen hit the paper. I erased Morning Action Item number nine. I edited Morning Action Item number 1, Morning Stretch to say Morning Action Item number 1A. Beneath it, I added Morning Action Item number 1B, Daily Entry into Dream Archive.
Constance:There. Now I wouldn't forget, but it would have to at least wait until after my morning stretch. I wasn't about to completely throw away years of tradition. Much better. I liked having a solid plan in place, less things to go wrong that way.
Constance:That didn't mean I wasn't nervous about whatever was going to happen tonight. Timmy had explained that we each needed to put our sleep effect on her pillow tonight. Even though it sounded like an utter waste of time, Timmy's explanation sounded logical, as much as you could call dream magic logical. The point is I'd already decided to take this project seriously. Sometimes taking something seriously meant doing something ridiculous so long as you followed all the steps correctly.
Constance:Yes. That's what this was. We were following the scientific method. Nothing magical about that at all. Just data collection... in our sleep.
Constance:Today had taken a lot out of me. Between whatever it was that happened in class and surviving yet another pleasant evening with Mom and Dad, my body was done. I set my Morning Checklist clipboard on my nightstand and picked up the Sleepifact. I held it up to the lamp to take a closer look. It really was quite beautiful in a clean and mechanical sort of way.
Constance:I remembered the way it had linked together with Timmy's piece, how it had glowed and pulsed. There was a logical explanation for that. Right? There had to be. Too late to turn back now, I thought.
Constance:I set the feather piece on my pillow, carefully angled so that the gears were pointing toward the ceiling, just in case orientation mattered. I climbed under my blanket, clicked my lamp off, lay my head down, and closed my eyes. Inhale for four counts. Hold. Exhale for four counts.
Constance:Just like we practice in the yoga class I attend with mom. Don't think about the weird nuts Zorah brings to school or Timmy's mismatched socks or the fact that Garren is more worried about a PONY than our group project. Just focus. The Checklist was ready. The feather was in place.
Constance:The lights were on. Wait. On? I opened one eye. Hadn't I turned off the lamp already?
Constance:I reached for the switch, but my hand hit something smooth. A clear clipboard, an empty sheet of paper, a freshly sharpened number two pencil. I had already filled out my Morning Checklist, hadn't I? Yes. Yes.
Constance:I did. I know I did. Why was it all gone? I blinked. The pink walls in my room were gone.
Constance:Bland white walls stretched down a long hallway filled with doors with engraved bronze nameplates. Strange. None of this was on my checklist.
Percival:An unpleasant and thoroughly confusing evening with her parents mercifully comes to an end. And now, already feeling unsure and thrown off course before her head had even hit the pillow, Constance drifts off to an uncertain night's sleep. What will she find there in her innermost thoughts and dreams? Or perhaps the more appropriate question to ask would be, who will she find there?
Announcer:Thank you for listening.
Announcer:If you'd like to support the show and help bring the story to life, please consider joining us on Patreon at patreon.com/epicbedheadsaga. Patrons receive episodes one week early and exclusive behind the scenes content. You can also find us at epicbedheadsaga.com and on Instagram, TikTok, and Facebook. And if you're enjoying the show, please follow us on your podcast app of choice. It helps more than you know.
Announcer:The Epic Bedhead Saga is written, produced, and directed by Tyler Michael Jonsson. Episode 12 features Tyler Michael Jonsson as Percival and Craig Lawson and Erin Culpepper as Constance and Paula Lawson. This episode was made possible with the support of our Dreamtender tier patrons, Nancy and Grant Jonsson. We'll see you next time. Until then, keep dreaming.
