Get Out of My Dreams

by Fernando Trujillo Sanz

  That was no consolation.

  There was quite a bit of excitement in the crowd of people around the soccer field, maybe because classes were over and students didn’t have anything better to do. Even a few teachers had shown up. I refrained from making the disgusted face I wanted to make when I saw the Math Witch calmly chatting with a colleague.

  “You okay to play? I thought yesterday you said your leg hurt,” said Ivan as he did his warm ups. He was stretching his legs, doing lunges and hamstring stretches.

  “That was yesterday,” I answered. “Today I’m fine.”

  “Well I figured maybe that was why you’re not warming up.” Ivan crouched down, stretching one leg all the way out and flexing the other. Then he changed legs.

  I watched him disapprovingly. “I’m not warming up so the girls don’t see me doing those ridiculous poses.”

  Ivan jumped up, his face turning red as he tried to play it cool by running his hand through his hair. But he was so bad at playing it cool that he just drew more attention to himself.

  “Were girls watching me?”

  “I think so,” I said, sounding serious. “And they could see your little johnson when you were crouched down. Your boxers aren’t long enough, man.”

  “Seriously?” Ivan turned even redder. “Shit! Now I’m freaking out!”

  I amused myself with poor Ivan’s paranoia while the other team spread out on their side of the field. My amusement promptly faded when I saw the rival team’s forward go to the center of the field and arrogantly gesture for someone to come up for the toss.

  “Eloy is such a jerk,” grumbled Ivan. “He’s getting all cocky and impatient and they’re the ones who showed up late.”

  I was hoping not to have any contact with him during the match. Apparently his knee wasn’t injured as badly as they’d said it was the day before, which really didn’t surprise me since rumors spread around school are most often grossly exaggerated for effect. At least his little friends who were usually glued to his side and who’d done their best to help him steal my soccer ball weren’t here with him . . . those brainless half-wits. Even so, there’d be problems. I knew this for a fact when I caught sight of the dangerous gleam in his eyes.

  “I hope you’re ready,” I told Ivan as he took his position on defense. “This is by far the team I hate most. I don’t care how bad we are or how low we are in the standings. I just want to beat the crap out of this one team.”

  “I don’t like agreeing with you, but when you’re right, you’re right. Let’s crush ‘em! I can’t even remember what it feels like to win a match.”

  At times like this, Ivan was, in my opinion, the greatest guy in the world.

  Based on how the first five minutes went, it didn’t look like we were going to crush them, exactly. It looked more like we were going to make fools of ourselves. Ivan intercepted a pass by the other team by stretching his leg out as far as it would go and almost scored the first goal of the match—except that he almost scored it on our own goalie. We couldn’t seem to get the ball onto their side of the field for more than a few seconds. The only play of note was a sensational save on our goalie’s part that kept the other team from scoring the first goal.

  “What a great save!” Ivan congratulated the goalie. “You’re awesome!”

  The goalie saw it differently.

  “I wouldn’t have to be if you defended like you’re supposed to!” he pointed out. “You call that defense? There’s more holes out there than on a block of Swiss cheese. You guys couldn’t stop a bunch of drunks! Make some effort! Damn, you guys are an embarrassment!”

  “He seems motivated,” I said.

  “He has to be,” agreed Ivan. “If not, he wouldn’t dare put himself smack dab in the middle of the most scored-on goal box in the school.”

  “And RUN—it won’t hurt you guys to sweat a little! After all, you already stink!” the goalie added.

  “Actually, he’s right,” I said. “C’mon, let’s get moving!”

  We tried harder, maybe in part because of the untiring, effusive support the goalie was showering on us. And we played better. We started looking more evenly matched and made it to halftime with the score tied at zero.

  “How about you score a goal?” howled the goalie when we huddled up. We all were trying to catch our breath, so no one responded. Besides, we were used to his emphatically stated rhetorical questions. “Cuz that’s what this is all about! Scoring! Not just standing out there playing with your balls all over the field! Come on, guys! The goal box is big!”

  “I swear I don’t get how he doesn’t lose his voice,” muttered Ivan.

  “Don’t make me say it again! As soon as the second half starts I want to see a goal on our scoreboard! And make it fast!”

  “How about we take our time?” commented one of the forwards. “To make it more exciting.”

  “You better not! I said make it fast!”

  The goalie was so freaked out that no one else dared make a joke. He continued his rant, unleashing all his energy and soccer wisdom on us until the second half began.

  The other team again was dominating the match. I stopped one of their forwards when he tried to get past me on the outside, then stole the ball and passed it to a teammate with a strong leg. It was a pretty good pass—and the danger moved to the other side of the field so I could relax for a moment.

  “That’s more like it! Finally you’re doing something useful! But no going to sleep out there—you’re not finished yet!”

  I wasn’t even listening to him as I glanced over at the ever-increasing crowd of people watching the game. The teachers were still there. And just a few yards away from me, sitting with her friends, was Claudia. She was the only one in the group whose face was turned toward me. Without my glasses on I couldn’t be quite sure, but I could swear she winked at me and smiled. I loved that; it immediately made me feel better—then worse when I saw Claudia raise her arm up behind her friend’s head and point down at her without the girl noticing. And that friend was Ana, the one I was supposed to go to the movies with to see if anything would develop between us. The meaning behind the wink was now crystal clear.

  Then someone else caught my attention. It was a man who was waving at me, a little way off from the main group of spectators. I wondered if he was really waving at me, so I looked around and saw there was no one else around me. When I squinted my eyes to see better I got quite a shock.

  The man was my father and the waving was a sign of approval; he was giving me a thumbs up, cheering me on. I was shocked he’d come to see me in a soccer match. I returned his greeting so he’d know I’d seen him and appreciated his support. For a brief moment I felt close to him, and then immediately felt a pang of regret over the arguments we so often had.

  “You having fun?” barked Ivan. “Stop screwing around with the girls, macho man. We’ve got work to do here.”

  “You worry about your own zone instead of watching me or I’ll tell the goalie.”

  On the next attack the opposition’s forward set up a long pass to himself. It was the perfect opportunity for me to steal the ball before he could get to it, so I took off running. The forward was faster than I’d expected; I had a hard time getting to the ball first and didn’t have time to gain control of it. The only way to stop him was to send it out of bounds. And at that very moment I had an idea of how to make clearing the ball even more interesting. I kicked it with everything I had, a fraction of a second before the forward got to me, and I pretended to fall to the ground to add a touch of drama to the scene. The ball shot off in the direction I’d anticipated and landed near the Math Witch, just missing her. I was pleased to see it had scared her—she’d scrambled to jump out of the way. I made sure to apologize with an exaggerated smile when I went to get the ball back.

  Eloy came over for the ball to do the throw-in. “Pretty powerful clear for a wimp like you. Trying to impress the girls?”

  I threw the ball at him harder than nece
ssary. “Can’t control my own strength—that’s a real problem for me. How’s the knee, by the way?”

  “I haven’t forgotten about that,” Eloy warned. “I’ll be evening that score.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I shouted over my shoulder as I headed back toward my position.

  “Why the hell were you talking with Eloy?” the goalie screamed. “Get to your position! Defense, man! Run! You better not even let Jesus Christ himself get by you!”

  Jesus Christ didn’t get by me, but Eloy did. And two plays later he scored the first goal of the match with a low shot, tight to the post, followed by a smirk directed straight at me. Our goalie couldn’t do anything to stop it. He kicked the post, then loudly and publicly informed us that we all deserved each other. Next he pointed out all the things we should have done to keep the other team from scoring. His instructions included a series of blatant threats—made in great detail—about what we could expect if we screwed up again. And none of it would be pleasant.

  The team’s morale was fading fast. It took another nose dive when one of our guys missed a goal from right in front of their goalie. And it completely tanked when one of our forwards got ejected. The smell of defeat was overpowering.

  A combination of fast passes accompanied by a successful feint once again left two forwards from the other team deep in our territory with Ivan and me as the only obstacles between them and our goal box. Eloy was one of those forwards—the one with the ball—and he was moving like a runaway train.

  “Don’t just stand there, you half-wits! Break their legs if you have to!”

  I took off running directly toward Eloy, who didn’t adjust his trajectory in the least. We were heading straight for each other. I could feel every muscle in my legs, and I pushed them to the limit.

  Eloy took a bigger stride than normal. I figured out a little too late that it wasn’t to pick up speed or to pass the ball to his teammate. He was going to take a shot; his right foot was drawn back. But it didn’t make sense. He was too far away to put the goalie in danger, but that didn’t stop him.

  The kick Eloy delivered was brutal. The ball shot straight off his foot, streaking through the air like a cannonball. I had no time to duck. It hit me square in the face.

  I dropped to the ground.

  I heard no sounds other than a constant buzzing, and couldn’t see a thing. Lights and shadows were mixed together, forming imprecise shapes that danced all around me. I rubbed my eyes, moved my head, then called out in the darkness. My voice sounded distorted.

  I have no idea how much time passed before my senses began to function again. The first thing I made out a short distance from me was a small smile accompanied by another identical smile. And behind those smiles, something enormous was taking shape. As my vision got clearer, I was finally able to see that the smiles were on the faces of the twin sisters. The structure rising up behind them was Big Ben, wrapped in a creeping vine.

  “Am I dreaming again?”

  The brunette poked me with the stick, but I didn’t feel anything.

  “You should already know that by now, don’t you think? I swear, you’ll never learn.”

  The new dream seemed to be a continuation of the previous one.

  “My head hurts,” I murmured, dazed.

  “Don’t move!” the brown-haired girl ordered. Her sister gently elbowed her then tried to take the stick from her, but the brunette shook her sister off and kept a tight hold on the stick. “What did you expect? You practically bashed your head in. All you had to do was climb up the vine but of course you fell. Thankfully you didn’t split open that hollow head of yours. You’re so pathetic.”

  I had a hard time forming words to reply to that little brown-haired brat. And I couldn’t figure out why the twins’ hair was covering most of their faces—until I realized it was because they were leaning over to look at me. I was lying in the grass on my back, my view of the sky above me blocked by the imposing shape of Big Ben.

  “Shut your trap, brat,” I struggled to murmur. “I know you’ve been sucking me in with your so-called gifts.”

  “Just what I figured you’d say,” huffed the brunette, glancing at her sister with a disgruntled look. “Did you hear this twit?” The blond was trying desperately to get the stick, running in circles around her sister. “I told you not to help him. He’s too stupid to understand this. And now, on top of that, he’s whining. I said don’t move! Stay on the ground!”

  I had tried to sit up but the she’d forced me back down, pushing me with the stick.

  “Don’t lie to me,” I said slowly. “I know you’re up to something.”

  “Good God!” sighed the brunette in exasperation. “Let’s see, what are we up to? I’m dying to see what conclusions you’ve come to with that decrepit little brain of yours that seems to be little more than a decoration for the inside of your head.”

  “Well, I . . .” I hesitated. Somehow, the combination of the dark-haired twin’s bossy nature and the surreal situation I was in caused my determination to falter. But when I remembered what a fool I’d made of myself in history class I managed to pull together the strength to confront her.

  “It’s true I don’t understand where all this is headed, but your supposed help is actually hurting me. I couldn’t remember what you taught me about the Normandy Invasion and I got a fifty percent—not to mention how I made a fool of myself in front of everyone.”

  “Let’s break this down, shall we? First of all, my sister taught you that, not me. If you want, you can argue with her about that when I give her the stick. I already knew she was wasting her time, trying to teach you that. The second thing is that you’re too stupid to recognize a good thing when it’s right in front of you.”

  “It’s your fault the teacher thinks I cheated on the test.”

  “I see. But if I heard you correctly, you got a fifty percent. What grade would you have gotten if my sister hadn’t helped you? A big, fat zero. But you didn’t even thank her. So I guess we should forget about that because you screwed up today and made a fool of yourself—which doesn’t surprise me. Besides being stupid, you’re selfish.”

  “If you were a nice girl and not such an unbearable snot you would’ve warned me that the things I take out of my dreams don’t last long. That’s why I forgot the history lesson and why the glasses that translate stuff to English disappeared.”

  “You just keep on making demands! I can’t believe it!” The girl twirled the stick above her head and her eyes flashed with anger. Then she forcefully hit the stick on the ground no more than an inch from my head. “You are really making me mad. Did you ever stop to think this is all your fault? Nobody made you use the gifts my sister gave you. If you really want to blame someone, start with yourself. If you were a good student you wouldn’t need anything from us. Or haven’t you thought of that? But studying is boring. Better to dream about us and then throw a fit if things don’t go the way the little prince wants them to. I’m going to give the stick to my sister now because you disgust me more than I can stand.”

  She started to go, but then gestured to her sister to wait a minute. She came back over to me and, between clenched teeth, said, “Actions have consequences. Don’t ever forget it.” Then she walked away, leaving the stick on the ground.

  The feeling that I had really messed up washed over me, along with the sense that I was dealing with a situation that was really getting the better of me. My anger seemed misplaced after I’d heard what the dark-haired girl had to say. It was undeniable that, without their help, I would have done much worse on the history test. And it was true I wouldn’t need them if I studied every day. Did I have the right to demand anything from them?

  The blond twin picked the stick up off the floor and knelt down beside me.

  “She gets like that sometimes, but it’ll blow over,” she explained, nodding toward her sister.

  I sat up. “I should say something to her.”
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br />   “Don’t get up, please. She’ll get even madder.” The girl placed her hands on my chest and gently pushed me back, and I lay back down on the grass. “Your head hurts because you haven’t fixed the clock. I have a headache, too, thanks to those bells.”

  I didn’t hear anything except for the girls’ voices and my own voice. “Is that what it’s from? I thought it was from the ball smashing me in the face.”

  “What ball?”

  “Didn’t you see the match?

  “You didn’t dream about any match.”

  There was a certain logic to that. The twins only saw what happened in my dreams. But the idea that this was somehow logical immediately vanished when I reminded myself that I couldn’t dream about the question on a surprise history test I would have the following day.

  “I’m confused,” I admitted resignedly. “I suppose I’m an idiot for thinking I could reap some benefits from these dreams.”

  “Of course you can,” the girl agreed. “You’re special.”

  “But when I get something from a dream, it always disappears.”

  “You just need practice. Each time what you bring out will last longer—you’ll see. Here, try with this.” She took my hand, placed something small in it and closed my hand around it. “You just have to believe in yourself. Squeeze hard.”

  “What did you give me?”

  “A seed.”

  I could hardly feel it in my hand, but I squeezed, hanging on to the hope that the dreams would continue. I didn’t care anymore about what explanation there might be for them—if there were any. I didn’t want to give up this new ability I’d discovered, even if it meant I had to continue tolerating the dark-haired girl and ending up in bizarre situations every time I fell asleep.

  My thoughts were suddenly interrupted as my head snapped to the side; I now felt grass against the side of my face. “What happened?”

  The girl was looking at me strangely. She was too far away to have been the one who pushed my head, but something had done it. And now my cheek hurt.