I woke up in the middle of night, screaming. I was hollering for something more, although, I couldn’t put my mind around what was missing. Suddenly, about four seconds later, I just remembered that I had an extremely frightening nightmare. In the nightmare, there were these things called snappers, and they were block-shaped words that would bite at you. Hard. And I bled to death in the nightmare. I suppose there were a couple of good things, despite that part, because the words that the blocks made had an intriguing yet feeble message. If I remember correctly, it read, “No time left for you, to be stuck in the wrong generation. It’s snapping at you, and it’s driving you wild. Everything calls you to back in time, so why not get on it?”
My mother came rushing in, wondering why I was being so vigorously loud. I had just picked up my phone and went to Tumblr, and my mother looked flabbergasted for some reason.
“What in God’s name is going on in here?” She asked. “Michelle Anne Fonner! Young lady, are you having phone sex?” She assumingly added.
“No, I’m not. I had a nightmare! Plus, you know I’m nineteen years old, anyways.”
“Thank the Lord, Michelle. Just watch your tone, missy.”
“Okay, I’ll try,” I spoke; shakily.
“You know you have community college tomorrow, why are you on your phone this late? I know you just woke up from a nightmare, but gee, you could’ve done something else than going on that phone!”
Why do you expect to respect you when you’re criticizing me? Guess that’s just plain old mother-daughter stuff. It shouldn’t be the way though! I’m so fucking mad at her right now. Shit, is this for no reason? Damn it, Michelle.
I didn’t say anything. I just captured a look down at the floor of my chaotically messy bedroom. She didn’t seem to notice I was tumultuously upset with her, and then, I thought of hurting myself when she left the room. Seven seconds later, I picked my Android phone back up, searching for something on my Tumblr application to make me feel better. And there, it was. A picture of John Lennon and Yoko Ono.
I loved John Lennon like no other, and oddly, I was named after The Beatles’ song Michelle. More than once in a blue moon, I tell myself that John and I were meant to be because of that... but there’s faults to that. Number one, he’s dead. Number two, he was irrevocably in love with Yoko.
It made me somewhat jealous, but, all of my friends knew I thought she was the bomb, too. Yoko Ono is still alive today; gratefully! I admire her from afar, although it’s Mr. Lennon who I love the most.
I picked up my notebook, with my deliriously crazy yet perfectly beautiful bittersweet song. In this purple notebook, it contained some of the songs I wrote for my dream man. It’s John, obviously!
I began to sing to my song quietly. It was called John’s Song. I hope he would’ve loved it if I could’ve sang it to him, and I’d almost pass out to see his reaction. Yes, I would definitely; especially if he kissed me. I’m not sure it would be too bad if he gave me the quaint kiss on the cheek, though. To be honest, I would most likely want more than a kiss on the cheek. After I’ve woken up from my faint, of course!
“Tell me how to deal with the pain
Show me how to face the strain
How am I living without you in my life?”
After all of that thinking of fainting in John Lennon’s arms, I lied down on my bed with my phone on my stomach, and drifted off to sleep.