Inspired by the following: Waking to the sound of church bells and finding a note on your pillow
The peal of bells insidiously worked their way into my slumber, pulling me out of the dark comfort of my dreams and back to the harsh reality of afternoon light. Last night, it had been amazing, something plucked out of my dizziest daydreams. I burrowed a little deeper into the blankets, refusing to give into the call of the bells and letting myself revel in the memory of events.
I'd walked the streets of Saint John's for hours, taking in the sights and the sounds. It was my first time in the city, my first time travelled alone anywhere, and I wanted to drink it in slowly. I savoured the tang of sea air, the smell of food wafting on the breeze as I made my way up George Street, looking for a quiet pub to grab a bite before heading back to the hotel. It was Saturday evening, and there was no way I was going to spend it in my room, alone, wondering what to do.
I found a place about halfway down the row that looked like it would have what I wanted; small, a little dark, but clean, with 3 piece Celtic band playing in the corner. I sat at the bar and ordered my meal, watching the other patrons come and go. As I waited, sipping a drink and watching the band, I felt and heard the seat beside me become occupied. "Care for some company?" A rich baritone inquired. Turning to the newcomer, I found myself facing a giant of a man, tall and broad in every sense, with a russet beard and eyes that sparked with curiosity and interest.
I paused for a moment before replying. My whole life, I'd been the cautious one, the planner, the thinker. I did all the right things, kept it on the straight and narrow. This was the first thing I'd dine for myself, by myself, in my life. I might as well take it all the way. I smiled at him. "I'd love some."
We spent the rest of the night there, talking about just about anything and everything. His name was Dermott; he was divorced, no children. The pub I was in belonged to him, along with two others on the street. I told him about my family, my friends back home. We talked so much, I didn't even realize that the bar had shut down around us, and the staff were waiting for him to lock them out. We walked out together; he held the door open for me to step out. As he locked the door, I checked my watch. 5:39am. "It'll be dawn soon," I said, shocked that I'd talked the night away with a perfect stranger.
He smiled at me, offering his arm. "Then I know the perfect spot to go," he replied. "Care to join me?" I slipped my arm in his without a word. We walked for almost an hour, up a hill in the centre of the city, until we were looking over the entire eastern side and the ocean. Sitting on a bench, he put his arm around me as I shivered slightly in the breeze. We sat there for an hour more, watching the sun rise on the edge of the world. Sometime between the first rays and full morning, the strain of being awake for the better part of two days caught up with me. I didn't remember falling asleep, just the feel of his strong, powerful arms and the smell of the ocean on the dawn breeze.
I shifted my head, hoping to hang onto the last of that thought, that fantasy, when a crinkle of paper caught my ear. I froze for a moment before my head jerked up, wide awake. I looked at my surroundings. Worn oak furniture, rich wool blankets, and a dark area rug on hardwood floors. Not my hotel room. I looked down, finding myself in the now rumpled jeans and tank that I had on the night before; my shirt, shoes and jacket were folded neatly on a chair near the window. I looked to the pillow and saw the note that had sparked my sudden dash out of reverie. I read it.
I didn't want to wake you to find out where you were staying, so I brought you back here. Come through to the pub when you wake up; I'll take you where you have to go after a bite to eat. Hope you slept we'll.
I smiled; nice to know daydreams can happen, on occasion.