Had a dream last night talking with some friends about getting back into my regular training regimen since I’ve been sick with the flu. // If you read all of this thank you! I usually journal my dreams when they’re cool, or memorable, but I want to be a strong writer again. I’ve been working the past two years on work I want published, but I miss fun writing. This basically ended up a softie power of friendship snapshot self-insert thing. Maybe I’ll turn it into something more someday, but mostly just want to share my dream while I remembered it. I think the gist though is lunch time in the dining hall and we’re about to graduate university.
“Gonna have to work towards being under 10 minutes for my mile and a half again. Even slower than I was before…” I grumbled into my sandwich.
Gretchen flicked my shoulder. “Don’t do that. You had the flu! There’s no need to martyr and put yourself down. You’re literally going to be a nurse, so I know you’re aware rest is more important than your three miles.”
A familiar large frame slides into the seat in front of us settling a tray of lemon pepper salmon, wild rice, and two bottles of CWENCH. He doesn’t make eye contact when setting one of the bottles onto my lunch tray, but the bruising underneath the inner corners of his eyes does nothing but showcase the bridge of his nose veering left more than usual.
“Who’s running three miles?” He questions while cutting into the salmon.
“Me and you, Nathan.” Sharp eyes cut to mine as he stops mid cut of his food. I can tell his small grimace stings and he’s quick to smooth his expression.
“Had land practice today, don’t know what good I’ll be to you in this endeavor. Plus the face…” Nathan gestures absently to his nose. He stabbed the fish taking a large bite. Our best friend, and his fiancée, Charlie and I had seen him leave the ice last night during the game both clutching each other’s hands when he looked up and the blood fell to the ice.
“I just don’t want to be a bump on a log anymore and a mile and a half to three isn’t-“
“You were sick!” Gretchen and Nate both exclaim. I huff and take a spiteful bite of my food again, a sad tomato sliding to the plate. The judgement on their faces makes me wiggle in my chair before I throw my hands up in defeat.
“Fine! No running yet, and I’ll get better food. Y’all are so judgy.” Griping I stand to make a beeline to the short side of the dining hall for the soup & salad bar, but large fingers catch mine. Soft blues hold me in place.
“We just love you, dude. I love you. It’s okay to rest. And I get it, this is basically pot calling the kettle black, but whatever. You do the same for me. For Charlie, Gretchen,” Nate gestures blasé. “It’s okay to chill out for a second to come back and be your best.” Gretchen nods in agreement. I sigh and squeeze I love you into his hand. A satisfied smirk settles on his face before letting go.
“Bring us all back potato and leek soup, please. Oh, and the chickpea pasta salad!” He calls over his shoulder. I hear an “Ow!” as a bottle cap clatters to the table. I catch the tail end of “that’s what you get,” from Gretchen and muffled teasing jabs ensue.
I smile. Some friends.
