Breakfast
by Reid Delehanty
Jeffery woke up to the smell of Jeanine’s savory pancakes. She put sour cream in the batter along with chives and bacon bites, a recipe she got from her mother. Jeffery preferred these over regular pancakes. They felt like a full meal, a perfect way to start the day and he liked them even more now because it meant that Jeanine was still alive. He hadn’t killed her.
Jeffery never had a dream as vivid as the one he woke up from. In it, he could feel, taste, and touch objects like he could when he was awake. He could think thoughts that connected in tangible ways, where in his normal dreams everything was scattershot, never following a pattern that he would remember when he woke up. He could retrace his steps if he had to: he got up like he did on Sunday morning a little later than Jeanine. She was an early riser, and he valued the time he could rest in bed until his body was ready for him to get up. He went to the bathroom, took a long piss, and grabbed a drink of water by pressing his mouth to the faucet head. Jeanine hated when he did it, but it made him feel like a kid again, made him appreciate the mornings growing up, awake before everyone else and climbing onto the sink, too afraid to wake up mom and dad to get him a cup.
In his dream his reflection was familiar, hair out of place, a few arrant wrinkles around the eyes and mouth, but overall happy he was in his 30s instead of his 20s or God forbid his teens. He met Jeanine when he was 29 and she was 28, the crummiest years of that crummy decade behind them and he was thankful for that. There had been a few times in early adulthood when killing himself, whether by a bullet to the head or jumping off the nearest bridge, seemed like the right, even noble thing to do, as easy as flicking on a light switch or turning the ignition in his car. If asked, which he wasn’t because he never told anybody, he could not tell you what stopped him. It wasn’t fear, regret, or guilt but simple, stupid timing. He’d plan it all out, to the smallest detail, and then something would come up and he’d forget all about it until they would inevitably come back, a pattern of sick downturns and graceful upswings that left him out of breath. Eventually, he met Jeanine, and those ideas went away, but they left a residue that strengthen during Jeffery’s vulnerable moments, like in his dreams, and this one was strongest of all. He carried it with him downstairs, along with the smell Jeanine’s pancakes.
He saw Jeanine washing the dishes, her tiny butt swaying to the sound of an unheard tune. He would come up behind her and wrap his arms around her stomach and kiss the back of her left ear, but in this dream, those hands moved up her body and closed around her neck where his grip tightened. There was no struggle. Jeanine knew this was going to happen, more than Jeffery did, who tried to pull away but like in most of his dreams, he lost control until Jeanine crumbled to the kitchen floor. Jeffery started to panic, moving in the dream like he would in real life, from room to room, searching for something he didn’t know he was looking for. Lastly, he opened the door into the basement and then he woke up.
Jeffery was too scared to get out of bed, staring at the ceiling, reaching toward it to make sure his hands were really his hands, that the clock read 8:57 because it was really 8:57. He could not be sure until he smelled the savory pancakes.
Jeffery got up slowly, heading to the bathroom to piss but keeping the lights off so he didn’t have to look at himself in the mirror If she saw nothing Jeffery would find that to be worse, like after all the years together she didn’t know him that well.
He looked outside at the dogwood tree, at the broken section of sidewalk. A car drove by and down the street a little an old lady was walking her dog. He’d have to go downstairs sometime. Jeanine would get worried, and no matter what, he’d have to tell her about the dream.
Jeffery made his way down and saw Jeanine, sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee. Across from her were the savory pancakes, topped with butter and a little bit of hollandaise sauce left over from earlier in the week.
He thanked her and wished her a good morning before taking a few bites. Before his third, Jeanine said that she wanted a divorce. She had to say it twice, Jeffery choosing not to hear it the first time. He asked why and Jeanine said she didn’t love him anymore. She was apologetic, holding his hand as she told him she would move out by tomorrow and would be staying at her sister’s place.
He wanted to ask if it was the dream that did it, so he could tell her he would never hurt her, but Jeffery knew there was no use.
When Jeffery was finished, Jeanine got up and took his plate to the sink and started washing the dishes. He moved to come up behind her, to grip her and kiss her ear, but backed off, knowing she wasn’t his to touch anymore. Jeffery sat back down, and that old feeling, ever prevalent in his teens and 20s prior to meeting Jeanine, came back in full force with no plans of letting him go. He stared at the basement door, wondering if this was a dream to, and he could walk through that open door and be back in his bed smelling Jeanine’s savory pancakes cooking downstairs.
Reid Delehanty lives and works in Indianapolis, Indiana. He is currently an MFA Candidate at Antioch University in Los Angles. He can be contacted at rdelehan@gmail.com for inquiries.