u/Dapper_Cabinet_4572

Have you ever felt Déjà Vu? I'm not talking about a vague feeling that you've seen something before. I'm talking about waking up from a dream you remember vividly for days; Like all the other random dreams, it eventually fades into the back of your mind and rests its weary head under all of your thoughts. Days, months, years will pass, the memory staying dormant until you feel that slight, uneasy feeling in your stomach; It rises up into your throat and you start to feel nauseas. The memory clawing its way back through your subconscious, fighting against all common sense and showing you that you've done this before. You've felt these feelings, you've thought these thoughts and you've made these exact movements before.

Throughout the last few years, I've had a few moments like this. The first one I remember happened a few years ago, and it was somehow the most memorable yet boring event. I remember it vividly, as if it happened just a few days ago. I was in someone's basement putting the door back on its hinges. My grandpa and I had just finished painting and were in the process of putting everything back. He was upstairs letting the owner know we were finishing up when I tripped over my own feet and bumped the side of my head on her fridge. It stung like hell. I managed to catch myself on the door handle and eased myself down to the floor. That's where I felt it for the first time, that dizzying, gut wrenching feeling. I shot up from the floor, but that only worsened the feeling. I had done this before. The memory finally dragged its way into the front of my mind and I remembered it. Vividly would not come close to describing the memory; It was as if I was fully reliving it in my head with the clarity of a decade of hindsight. I managed to steady my stomach and downed the last of my Gatorade before I finally had the strength to get up. I heaved myself up the stairs, the confusion finally fading as I saw my grandpa peek down the stairs. He called out to me, the words hitting my ears with a light buzz.

My grandfather always worked hard. After moving from Northern Quebec to Southern Ontario at the ripe old age of 16 with his older sisters, he found a job working at a factory. He worked there damn near 50 years before he retired. Even after, it was as if he couldn't stand still. He worked odd jobs for anyone who needed them. He taught me to do anything and everything a man might need to do around the house. He taught me to frame walls, to build fences, to put in new flooring, you know the deal. I loved my grandpa. I still do.

His most prolific employer after retirement was a middle aged Chinese woman named Wen. She was sweet to my grandpa, she paid him well and she made sure he was always busy. She always called him Johnny which always made me chuckle. I grew up in a bilingual household, so French names were all around me, but to this woman and to many others, Jean-Yves became Johnny. He never cared either way. Him and I did all sorts of work for Wen. Never in the same building, rarely ever the same job. She came to the country with money, bought a few condo units around town and had my grandpa on speed-dial in case anything broke. They often did. That's probably why we were at her house.

The brutally hot summer was coming to a close and the breezy, stale September air filled my lungs. The trees were bare and the ground was covered in leaves, with broken branches and weeds filling the space in the empty yard.

"So, the rakes and shovels are in the garage, but the lawnmower is in the shed in the back. I left it unlocked for you guys, so don't worry about any of that. Johnny, do you still have the key to the house?"

My grandfather pulled the tangle of keys out of his pocket and flipped through them trying to find the key he had just put on.

"Maudite... I left them in the car."

He turned to me, flipping between English and French as if he only knew half of each language,

"Go grab the keys, je les ai laissée en-dessous de mon siège..."

"Under your seat, got it."

I turned my back on them as I walked back to his car. He drove a creamy-gold Dodge Grand Caravan. The two back rows of seats were down, with toolboxes and bags littering nearly every inch of the floor. Woodchips stuck to the carpet of the van, with boxes of screws and nails overturned, flooding onto the floor. Blades for his various saws sat underneath his ratchet set. A bundle of extension cords fell out onto the gravel of the secluded driveway. It never occurred to me that Mrs. Wen had been this well off. Surely she could afford a private landscaper instead of a 70 year old man and his grandson, right? As I reached under the seat to grab the key, avoiding my wallet and water bottle that I had placed under there for safe keeping, I felt a sharp pain rise from the tip of my ring finger all the way through to my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Fucking hell...", I whispered as I bit down on my lip to try to distract myself from the pain. I jerked my hand back, grazing it against the key that I still had not laid my eyes on. A sliver of wood had driven itself deep under my fingernail. I shuddered again, looking at the inch-long piece of wood sticking out from under the nail. I could see it pressing against the underside, leaving a small pool of blood. I bit down on my sleeve as I pulled it out. A chill drove itself up my arm as the warm blood leaked out from my finger. I reached into the glovebox, grabbed the first aid kit and put a bandage on the wound. By the time I had started making my way back, the pain had already started to subside, replaced by a soft pulsing.

"What happened?", my grandfather hollered as he saw my bandaged finger when I handed him the key.

"Just a little splinter", I said as I shrugged. "You really need to clean out your van."

He let out a small chuckle. It had been a running joke in the family that my grandpa couldn't keep his stuff neatly organized. When I was probably 8 years old, we even made an agreement that when I had kids, they'd help him get it cleaned up. "That'll be my next job", he would always say with a bit of a smirk.

Wen gave my grandpa a run down of what needed to be done over the weekend while I was playing doctor with the first aid kit. He relayed the plan to me, and by the time he was done Wen had just pulled out of the driveway. She rarely spoke directly to me. I'm not sure if it was a cultural thing or what, but I didn't mind. At the end of the day, I was a lonely 16 year old who had just gotten dumped by his first love, and I presented myself as such. I really was over her; She cheated, I got my stuff back and everything was in the past. Unfortunately, I look disheveled. My hair had grown out too long, my patchy sideburns were growing all too quickly into mutton chops and I had a bit of a neck beard starting. I kept telling myself that today was the day I'd clean myself up, but this time I meant it. I was tired of being alone, and schools were finally starting to open back up after being borderline shut down for a year due to that stupid virus. After work today, my grandpa would drop me off at the barber shop and I'd get cleaned up.

The sound of the leaf blower snapped me out of my trance. My grandpa had started blowing the leaves towards the front of the house, so I rushed over, grabbed a rake and got to work. When we had gotten there, the day was fresh; Dewdrops clung to each blade of grass and my work boots had become visibly damp. As the day progressed and the yard had been cleared of leaves, dark clouds filled the sky above. I had been so distracted on the drive over that I really wasn't sure where we were; I knew we had only driven a half hour or so, but with the light of the sun fading behind the clouds the surrounding woods looked so dense. The tree line began a few feet from the black metal fence that had been crudely put up by the previous tenants. Mrs. Wen complained openly about it to my grandfather, so I figured that we'd put up a new one eventually. My mind drifted between thoughts as I mindlessly finished cutting the grass. As I was appreciating my handiwork, hands on my waist with sweat forming on my brow, I heard a noise. It was a piercing shriek, nearly a howl coming from deep in the woods behind the house. I made my way to the fence and strained my eyes to try to see what it was. My eyes struggled to see through the thick bushes in the fading sunlight. The wind was starting to pick up, and the distinct, almost fishy smell of rain filled my nose. In the distance, all I could see were the trees struggling to stand. And then I saw something move. It was getting dark, and I started to feel the heavy raindrops hitting my shoulders. I strained my eyes a bit more to try to discern what I was seeing. It was a small, lone tree. It looked like a short white birch tree, with it's vaguely zebra-like pattern climbing its trunk.

"Hey! La pluie tombe! Let's go before you get to wet. Dinner on me today."

I turned back to see my grandpa hurriedly shoving the rakes back into the garage. I rushed over to the shed with the lawnmower, slid it back into place and locked it behind me. My grandpa was starting up his van when I heard the shriek again. I ran back to where I thought it came from and peered deep into the woods again. The blackened sky limited how far I could see, but through the blackness I saw it again. I don't really know how I saw it, but I know I did. I can still see it when I close my eyes. That damn white birch, deep in the woods. If I hadn't seen it in the first place, I never would have noticed it; But in the same way you may not initially notice a scratch on your car or a dead pixel on your phone, you know it's there and your eyes are attracted to it. The sun setting behind the clouds gave an eerie red glow to its otherwise pure white coloration. As I started to take a step towards the woods to get a better look, the rain started coming down in a sheet. I turned to jog towards the van, stopping every few feet along the way to see if I could still see that damn tree. I could see it up until the house obscured my view as we pulled out of the driveway. My grandpa kept his word, and we got burgers for dinner. I kept my own word too; My barber gave me a discount on a cut and a shave and I started to feel better. I got home, took a nice shower, laid on my bed and fell asleep earlier than usual.

That night was the first time I saw her face. I woke up around 2:30 am, covered in sweat from the outside heat. I got up to grab some water and saw that the bathroom window was open. I closed it, mumbled to myself about how my mom and sister need to stop leaving it open. I sat down on the toilet so that I could take a piss and wake myself up a bit. My mind was still in that foggy state after you get woken up, and it wasn't until I had finished washing my hands that I felt the clarity to remember my dream. It was vivid, and I can clearly remember almost every detail. I was out camping with some friends by the lake. I was taking a dip while my friends were chatting about whatever video games we had been playing when she walked up. To say she was my dream girl would somehow be hyperbolic yet spot on. She had shorter, black hair. She wore a flowy, white sundress with the most beautiful lotus necklace. She was very bubbly, whimsical in every sense of the word and a little bit cringe. When I say that I can remember this dream vividly, I really do mean it. I can still smell her subtly rose-scented perfume and I can still hear her giggling. The dream came to an end with her running off into the woods towards her cabin. I never got her name, but I'll never forget her face. After staring into the mirror, recounting the dream to myself, I felt compelled to write a poem for the girl in my dreams.

Her Hair Dark As Night

Her Eyes Lit By Moonlight

Her laugh, Her Smile, Her Kiss

Felt So Real, So Full of Bliss

I felt at peace with her in my arms

As I wished upon a shooting star

As I made my way back to bed, I felt that dizzying feeling, as if this wasn't the first time I've seen her. Surely I would remember someone who made me feel like this, right? I forced myself to bed, drowning out those thoughts with a podcast until I felt the sweet release of sleep.

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