There was only blackness. He was dreaming, wasn’t he? This certainly wasn’t reality. He had thought you couldn’t feel anything in dreams, but he had been wrong. He was in pain. He was sick. Where was he? He opened his eyes. He saw a girl above him. He recognized her, but couldn’t think of her name. How did he know her? He couldn’t remember. Guinevere…it wasn’t her name, but it was a name, and it was somehow connected with her. He went with that. “Guinevere?” he asked. The girl smiled and whispered in a soothing tone, “Yes. Guinevere’s here. Don’t be afraid. She’s watching you.” Then it was black.

He woke up without a memory of his dream. He got dressed and looked at himself in the mirror. He had to go to school. With a groan he went out the door. That day at school everything was a blur. Only one thing stuck in his mind. When he got home he remembered a conversation he’d overheard. Antonia, a girl he’d known since elementary school, was in the hospital. This was a useless piece of information. He didn’t care about Antonia. He did his homework; stared blankly at the television for a few hours, not even conscious of what was on; and went to bed.

He was dreaming again. The pain was less intense then last time, but still brutal. He knew he wouldn’t be dreaming long, for he would be knocked out from the pain, as he realized he’d been last time. How long ago had the last dream been? It didn’t seem as if any time had passed at all. Almost as if he had been asleep…he opened his eyes. The girl was still there. He smiled weakly. “Guinevere.” he whispered. She smiled back and said, “Hello.”

“How long have I been asleep?” he asked. What an odd question…he had been awake, until just now. Hadn’t he? “About twenty-four hours.” she answered with a frown. “How long have I been sick?” he asked. “A couple of weeks,” she answered sadly. There was darkness again.

It was another day or another dream. He didn’t care which; he just wanted to go back to Guinevere. His day passed in a haze like his dreams used to, or still did. He remembered one clear fact. It was about Antonia again. She was in a coma and had been for a few weeks. That reminded him of something, but he wasn’t sure what. He didn’t bother with homework, but went straight to bed. He had no problem falling asleep…or waking up.

As soon as the familiar pain rushed back he opened his eyes to see her. “Hello,” he said gratefully. She smiled in delight. “Did you sleep well?” she asked. “No. I had a bad dream,” he answered honestly. She stroked his hair and gave him a sympathetic smile. “May I call you Arthur?” she inquired. He was confused, but nodded okay. She smiled in satisfaction. Darkness tried to come, but he pushed it off. Darkness was trying to tell him something…he was reminded of the story about King Arthur and his knights. He’d had a wife named Guinevere.

Another day or dream had arrived. He didn’t want it. All he wanted was to be with Guinevere. Why did he like her so much? He didn’t even remember her real name. What had pulled him away, again? Oh yes, Guinevere. He had called a girl who he’d liked that once. Who had it been? All these thoughts ran through his head during the day or night. Soon he was back at home and headed back to Guinevere.

“You’re waking up earlier and earlier lately. You need your sleep,” said the girl, concerned. “No it’s okay. I want to see you,” he said. The girl frowned and said, “You could see me there, too, if you remembered me.” Guinevere…the girl he’d like was named Antonia. She was wicked. She had been terrible and ignored him. That’s why he didn’t care if she was in the hospital. She deserved it. The pain grew worse. Darkness fell.

He woke up or started dreaming. The day went slowly. It went too slowly. He asked someone who was a close friend of Antonia’s what hospital she was at. The girl was surprised, but answered quickly as if that was the only thing on her mind. What was the friend’s name? He was having trouble remembering things both when he was awake and when he was dreaming, in whatever order those occurred, and this troubled him.

He thought for a while and started putting things together. Antonia had been unconscious for a few weeks. He had been sick a few weeks. He had once called Antonia Guinevere. He didn’t know Guinevere’s name. Antonia was Guinevere. He either fainted or woke up.

The pain was gone. “Antonia,” he whispered. She smiled down at him. “Yes?” she asked. “Why did you ignore me?” he wondered. She frowned and said, “I don’t know. I was crazy about you. I guess I was scared.” He then wondered, “How did you get yourself into a coma?” She told him, “I jumped from a bridge.” He was shocked. “Why would you do that?” he questioned. “You hated me.” She told him, a single tear falling down her cheek. “How do I fix it?” he asked. “Visit me,” she said. Darkness came because he willed it to.

He woke up. It was a Saturday. He got dressed, went outside, and hopped on his bike. He rode up to the hospital where Antonia was and, after asking at the front desk, ran to her room. He went to her bedside. She woke up. “I dreamed that I was taking care of a boy I called Arthur while he was sick,” she told him. “I dreamed that a girl named Guinevere took care of me while I was ill.” He told her. “That’s odd.” Guinevere observed.