The Noodle Life

Three weeks after starting her job serving at the hip pan-Asian restaurant down the street, Fiona started dreaming about noodles. Noodles self-animating, snaking up her wrist like solid rivulets of sweat, sticky and hot. Noodles that split, opening mouths to speak, chirping like crickets or groaning like zombies. The worst dreams where those when the noodles started taking the place of people she knew, when during a conversation with her sister would crumble into horror as her hair, predictably, erupted into a stew of noodles.

"It's happening again," she said, propped up on one elbow as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "The dreams."

"The dreams?" Matt asked, swatting at the alarm clock. "Oh damn, not the work dreams."

"I should have known better. I mean, of course I'd start dreaming about noodles. The ink cartridges, that was weird, I wouldn't have called that, but damn, I should have known noodles would jump in. Quick."

"No, it didn't take long this time. Can't be good, Fiona. You're not going to quit, are you?" He swung his legs out of the bed and stretched.

"Nah, I can't, the tips are too good. And you know how hard it is for me to find a job ..." She quelled the temptation to shove her head back under the sheets.

"That's a girl." Matt patted her amiably on the hip and ambled towards the shower.

Fiona yawned and peeled herself away from the soft warmth of bed. Her shift didn't start for another six hours, so she was in no rush to clean herself up. She slipped her feet into her slippers, placed carefully next to her bed. Then she screamed.

Slick wetness curled around her toes. "Oh god oh god oh god!"

"Wake up, baby, wake up, it's just a dream." Matt's voice pulled her through the dark fog of sleep, his hand on her shoulder. "You've started the dreams again, haven't you?"

She nodded, silent. For a moment Fiona almost snapped at him, reminding him she'd just told him that, but then her dream world and waking world separated, oil and water dividing. She shook her head to clear the fog, and glanced at the clock.

"Damn, it's still early," she muttered. She pulled her legs out of bed and, after just a moment's hesitation, dipped her feet into her slippers. "I can't sleep," she explained to Matt and shuffled out of the room.

The sun in the office was bright, even through the green curtains. Fiona threw them open, hoping the rays would help resign her to wakefullness. Her late work hours threw her sleep off, and as Matt also burned the midnight oil at his bar, they rarely rose before ten. Blinking, she sat down at the computer.

"Clean up dreams," she typed. The search results made her laugh out loud. "Not that kind of dirty," she giggled. "Banish bad work dreams," she tried again. Nothing for that one, and she frowned. "Stop dreaming weird things," she searched. "Noo, I'm not pregnant," she told the computer. She sighed and pushed her chair back from the keyboard. Then, glancing at the mouse wire, she imagined a noodle, slithering into her computer, polluting it and frustrating her. She tensed her jaw and pulled toward the keyboard again.

Fiona spent the rest of the morning typing and clicking, leaping from thread of hope to whisper of solution.

At the end of her shift that evening, she pulled a leftover noodle from a customer's plate and slipped the detestable thing into her pocket. As she walked home in the warm night, she worked it with her hands, trying not to gag at the thick, cold, sliminess of it. She shaped it into something like a baloon and, when she got home, she carefully laid it onto the counter to dry. She waited, fighting off sleep. When it finally hardened, Fiona printed something from the computer and affixed the noodle to it.

"What on earth are you doing?" Matt asked.

"This is Duluth, MN," Fiona explained, pointing at the map. "No Duluth, Noo-dle, sounds the same, get it? So I'm sending the noodle home."

"If it's No Duluth, then I think the noodle doesn't want to be there."

"Exactly. That's why I'm sending it home. To banish it. No more terrifying dreams, no more noodles trying to eat my goldfish."

"Fiona, that sounds pretty damn crazy. You know, I hate to say it, but maybe that's not what these dreams are telling you."

"You mean they're telling me I shouldn't get a goldfish?" She laughed.

"No, you know that's not what I meant. Maybe you should get a job that doesn't give you nightmares instead."

"I've been having dreams about work for the past eight years! God, good thing you didn't know me during the lifeguarding time. Those awful dreams about the lanyard and whistle were driving me to suicide."

"But that's what I'm saying - maybe it's the jobs. What would be a job you'd want to do, something you might like?"

Fiona pulled a corner of her mouth back in thought. "Well, I used to want to be a vet. But since I bombed my college science classes, that went out the roof. So I don't know, maybe something with animals. Dog walking, or working at a zoo."

"Listen, I make enough with the bar to keep us above water for a while. Why not give it a try? Get out of the noodle business, do something you like."

"You cheeseball," she whispered and ruffled his hair. "You know it's hard for me to find a new job."

"Nah, come on. I'm not saying become an actress or that sort of cheesy follow-your-dreams crap. Just try something you like. I know you can."

Fiona nodded and thought for a moment before a smile settled in. "Maybe. Maybe you're on to something. Until then, I'm sleeping next to Duluth."