When I was little I used to miss him at my birthday parties and other important events. My friends would ask where he was, and I got so tired of repeating that he wasn’t able to come because he was working. By the time I was about fourteen, I didn’t need him there anymore; in fact, I was glad my father wasn’t there with me and my friends because he was no fun. And if he wasn’t there, there was no risk of him embarrassing me in front of my friends—like their parents would do to them. They all openly admitted their parents didn’t understand them. I bragged about my freedom and boasted that my father never bothered me, but down deep I envied my friends’ relationships with their fathers. Maybe it was from a need that had been hidden there all my life and, now that I was older, I was just now beginning to feel it when I’d see other kids playing with their fathers or going to the movies together.
“And did everything go all right with that important deal?”
“Very well.” My father put the tea infuser in the cup and started swishing it around. “From what I saw of the match, it looked like you did well. You anticipate plays. That’s why you’re a good defensive player; you know how to read your opponents’ intentions.”
My father, of course, also knew all about soccer.
“It’s not that hard,” I said, losing interest in the conversation.
My mind was already on getting to my room to look for that little black plastic wheel I’d planned to hunt for the minute I got home.
“I thought it was kind of odd that you cut off the play by kicking it out of bounds.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t think you were in such a forced spot that you shouldn’t have been able to control the ball.”
“It’s better to play it safe and kick the ball out.” I couldn’t believe I was having to discuss soccer in such minute detail with my father, much less about a completely irrelevant play. “If I fail to control it and the forward takes it from me, I’ve screwed up big time.”
“I suppose that’s what you thought at the time,” my father continued as I searched for some way out of the conversation. “And that’s why you kicked it so hard. And by the way, it landed suspiciously close to the teachers.”
Now I saw where my father was heading with all this. It made me angry—more for the fact that he’d guessed my true intentions than for anything else.
“What are you insinuating?”
“Nothing. I prefer to ask you straight out. From where I was, it seemed like you may have taken advantage of that play to try to hit the teachers with the ball. Is that what happened?”
My father had every right in the world to ask that question. I’d been nailed for worse things I had done in the private school. And the psychologist had made the recommendation to my parents—in front of me—that they should keep an eye on my behavior since my tendency to challenge authority could get worse if I didn’t learn how to control it. But in this case, no one could know what was going through my head, not even my father, so I decided to deny it.
“Unbelievable, Dad. Is that why you came to the match? To see if I was behaving myself? I can’t believe it.”
“I prefer to ask before jumping to any conclusions.”
“Well, it was an accident. I wasn’t aiming anywhere in particular when I cleared the ball. The last thing I need is for you to send me to that shrink again. Or . . . wait a minute; are you maybe just using this so you have an excuse to stick me in those accounting classes?”
“Now you’re the one who’s thinking the worst of me. This has nothing to do with the tutoring in accounting. If you say you didn’t do it on purpose, I believe you. I just want you to understand something important, Son; something that will be useful throughout your whole life.”
Ah, another great piece of advice was headed my way. I prepared to nod, demonstrating that I fully agreed with whatever he was saying.
He pulled the infuser out of the cup, looked straight at me, and said, “Actions have consequences. Don’t ever forget it.”
I about fell over. It was the same, exact phrase that the dark-haired twin had used when she told me off at the base of Big Ben. Even his intonation was the same.
“What did you say?”
My father looked down, and his expression suddenly changed. I followed his gaze, which was directed at my hands. They were trembling.
“Is everything all right, Son?”
“What you said about the consequences of my actions . . .” I wasn’t about to believe this was a coincidence. “Why did you say that?”
“Is that why you’re so nervous? I’m just trying to explain to you that—”
A blood-curdling scream cut him off mid-sentence. My father and I looked at each other. There was another scream, more shrill, more desperate than the first . . . Mom! We took off running down the hallway, tripping over each other. When we got to the bathroom, my mother was lying naked on the floor, her eyes wide with fear.
“Mom!”
“What happened?” my father asked.
She pointed at the bathtub, her hand trembling. Then, embarrassed, she pulled a towel off the rack and covered herself. I helped her, knowing she was especially sensitive about keeping the burn marks on her skin covered up . . . but one towel wasn’t enough. As I placed the towel over her I could see the whole left side of my mother’s chest was marred by burns, as well as her ribs, her hips and her thigh. She grabbed another towel and covered her arm; it bore the worst of the scars and she was always careful to keep it covered.
“Mom, are you all right?”
“Get back, Son. Stay back from the bathtub and take care of your mother.”
My father rushed out of the bathroom. I didn’t know what the problem was, but my mother was terribly shaken. I held her and told her everything would be okay; I rocked her gently and then gave her a kiss. My father was wearing a rubber dishwashing glove when he returned. I watched as he grabbed a black cord, unplugged it, then pulled on it, lifting a small space heater out of the tub.
“You’re safe now,” he said. “Thank God you’re all right.”
“I alm-almost electrocuted my-myself,” my mother stammered. “I was about to get in . . . then lost my balance and slipped . . . I tried to catch myself and . . . If I had fallen in . . . My God, my baby girls . . .”
She held her hand on her belly as she cried. I traded places with my father so he could hold her and try to calm her down. Just thinking about her lying electrocuted in the bathtub made my heart race.
“I thought that piece of crap was attached to the shelf and couldn’t fall!”
“We all need to calm down,” said my father. “Come here, Son. Help me get your mother to her bed.”
We each took one of her arms as she walked along slowly, crying quietly. After we put her in bed, my father gave her a drink of water and we left her alone to rest.
“Let’s go get that stupid heater out of the bathroom, Dad. I’m not going to be able to rest easy until we do.”
“Me either.” He began to examine the heater. “I don’t understand how it could have fallen . . . It has to be . . . Aha! Here’s the problem.”
“What is it, Dad?”
“It’s missing the lock nut. That’s why it came loose and fell. Your mother must have bumped into the shelf without realizing it. You see how there’s just a screw poking out? It’s missing the little round black piece that holds it in place.” A look of concern came over my father’s face when he looked into mine. “Are you all right, Son? You suddenly look awfully pale.”
I was anything but all right. I knew where the missing little round black piece was, but I still couldn’t believe my eyes. My father was holding the heater so I could see the bottom of it. Sticking out of it was a small black screw—but no black plastic lock nut . . . like the one I’d been holding in my hand when I’d woken up that morning. The missing lock nut I’d thought was some kind of wheel for a toy car was somewhere in my room.
I felt sick to my stomach as I tried to take in
what was happening. The twins . . . my mother’s pregnancy . . . the stuff I was bringing out of my dreams . . . the surprise test . . . the phrase that both the brunette twin and my father had used . . . It was all connected somehow. There was no way this was a matter of simple coincidences. But I still had no idea how all those details fit together. There were only two things I was sure of. One was that I wasn’t crazy. This was really happening; it was real, and it was affecting my family—including the two members yet to be born. The second thing I was clear on was that the confirmation of my suspicions would be found in my room.
“I don’t feel well, Dad. I’m going to my room to lie down for awhile.”
“Okay. I’ll come up in a bit to check on you,” he said. He sounded concerned.
I found the plastic lock nut under my bed among a bunch of comic books, pens, slippers, and a t-shirt. It was most definitely the one that was missing from the heater—the one I’d woken up with that morning. I also found the explanation for the red stain I’d seen on the leg of my desk. I pulled up my pant leg, uncovering the scrape I’d gotten during my dream in the factory. I put my leg next to the stain on the leg of the desk and could see they were at the same height. The stain was my own blood.
The answer was glaringly obvious: I was a sleepwalker.
FOURTH DREAM
This time the twins had outdone themselves in their creation of bizarre scenarios.
There was an enormous silvery wall that extended out on both sides until it appeared to become one with the mountains. Rising up from behind the wall was an impressive-looking city. Not only were the designs of its buildings so unique they defied imagination, but they were also floating—just hanging there, suspended in mid air with nothing holding them up. But even that wasn’t the strangest detail. The most incredible feature that told me this was definitely a dream was that there were no shadows—not a single one. Light was emanating from everywhere, so shadows couldn’t form anywhere.
Up high I saw something dark moving in circles that got increasingly smaller. It looked bigger and bigger as it descended, and then I could finally make out that this dark mass was some kind of bird. It disappeared among the city’s floating structures before I could identify it.
I went into the city, trying to follow the bird, and was immediately taken aback by the complete silence. I encountered no one as I walked up a wide street, and eventually was able to make out two figures in the distance. They were quite far from me, but I had the impression they were tall men—so they couldn’t be the twins. I hesitated a moment, but seeing nothing else of interest about my surroundings I headed toward the silhouettes. They had long hair, but it was evident from their build they were definitely men; they had broad shoulders and muscular arms. The two strangers turned and started running in my direction, their hair cascading over their shoulders. They moved in complete unison, down to the last detail. When they got closer to me I could see they were twins—tall, blond, strong, and . . . surreally beautiful. These guys were exactly alike, even in the way they moved. It was almost as if they were just one person, with an invisible mirror that reflected back the exact image of himself.
They stopped a few yards from me and stood back-to-back, intently scrutinizing their surroundings.
“Hi, guys.” I guess I was starting to get comfortable with not understanding the absurd situations and scenarios in which I found myself during my dreams. “Excuse me for bothering you. I’m looking for twin girls, and one of them is probably holding a stick. Maybe they’re your little sisters?”
I let out a little chuckle at the thought of that—then immediately stifled it when the blond twins locked onto me with a severe stare.
“Quiet, minor. You shouldn’t—” said the one on the right.
“Be here,” finished the one on the left. “Get out of here while you still can.”
I was going to make some sort of sarcastic reply, but I shut my mouth when the two men each took out a sword and held it up with both hands. The swords were made of fire, ablaze with flames that danced all along the blades. Then out of each of the men’s backs emerged two immense white wings. I surmised they were angels, and that this shadowless place I was in must be some warped version from my subconscious of what Heaven would be like.
The two blond angels changed position, turning to face a woman that hadn’t been there a second before. She had black hair and was the most stunning woman I’d ever laid eyes on—so singularly beautiful that I knew I’d never again in my life see anyone as striking as she was. The twins studied her intently. She looked quite relaxed, but she never took her eyes off them. Two wings surged forth from her back, smaller than those of the twins and as black as night. In her hands glowed two daggers. Pretty easy to guess she was a demon. The woman demon smiled. The twins remained still. For a few long seconds, they measured one another up. And then the battle began.
The three figures danced, jumped, dodged, executed parries, and blocked thrusts. Their weapons left trails of flames in the air that formed strange symbols and did not dissipate.
“Did you like my plant?”
There were the girls, suddenly appearing at my side out of nowhere—as always. Luckily, the blond had the stick. Her sister stuck her tongue out at me, then flipped me off.
“You gave me a seed, not a plant,” I pointed out, distracted by the sword fight.
“Just let them keep fighting,” the little girl requested. “You’re not paying attention to me.” She angrily crossed her arms over her chest.
The battle between the angels and the demon was fierce; they were destroying everything within reach of their fiery swords. I couldn’t say for sure who was winning, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the extraordinary sight.
“Just a second—I want to see the fight before I wake up.”
“No! It’s dangerous!”
“Your plant is very pretty,” I said, hoping it would keep her quiet a while longer.
“Really? You planted it?”
“Uh . . . yeah, of course.”
“Well, you’ll see how big it will grow. C’mon, let’s play. I’ll show you how to take care of it.”
“In a little while.”
At that very moment the angels cut through the air with their swords and an arc of flames shot out. The demon woman dodged it with a feint. The semicircle of fire flew through the air until it collided with a wall less than six feet from where I was standing. The wall collapsed.
I felt something hit me in the back of the knee, and I yelled out. For a split second I though a chunk of the rubble might have hit me—but, no.
“You scream like a little girl,” the brunette snapped at me. She was holding the stick with both hands, like it was a baseball bat. “Don’t make that face; I didn’t hit you that hard.”
“You are sick in the head,” I grumbled.
“My sister told you to come. So get moving; we don’t have a whole dream to be here.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
The girl pursed her lips as she placed one end of the stick on the ground and leaned on the top of it in an exaggerated show of annoyance.
“Seriously? What’s wrong with you? Can’t you see it’s dangerous to be near this fight? You are such an idiot.”
“What’s wrong with me is that I know what you’re up to. I don’t trust you two. Well, her, maybe,” I added when I saw the sad look on the little blond girl’s face. “But not you.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. Okay, smart guy. Tell me, just what am I up to? Dazzle me with your brilliance.”
Having foreseen this moment, I’d prepared myself for this conversation. I wanted to clear up everything I didn’t know about the girls but, even still, I felt momentarily paralyzed. I hesitated.
“Well, I don’t know exactly what, but you’re up to something. I figured out that when you make me move in a dream I move in real life, too.”
“So, in other words, you figured out that you’re a sleepwalker. Bravo! You want an
award? Now you just need to figure out you’re an idiot and you’ll have made all kinds of progress.”
Another building came crumbling down. It must have been one of the ones that had been floating in mid air because it fell from above us and smashed to the ground. Shards shot out in all directions. One came so close to me that I felt the rush of air as it blew past me. I stood completely still.
“Don’t give me any of your attitude, you little brat,” I replied. “You use my movements here in the dreams so you can make me do things in real life. When you made me unscrew that lightbulb before climbing Big Ben I unscrewed the lock nut on the heater that was in our bathroom.”
“You mean I’m to blame because you’re sleepwalking? That’s your grand deduction?”
It was. I was convinced of it, at least until that moment. It honestly hadn’t crossed my mind that maybe I’d been a sleepwalker even before I started dreaming about the twins and I just didn’t know it.
“Are you insinuating this is just a coincidence?”
“I’m insinuating that you’re an idiot.”
The blond girl took the stick from her sister’s hands but, as usual, the brunette resisted giving it up.
“Don’t pay any attention to her. She’s mad at you right now, but she really likes you.”
“You sure can’t tell that.”
“But you really do have to move now. You’re going to get hurt if you stay here.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry.” It was hard for me to deny the blond twin anything. No matter what she asked me to do, she always asked so sweetly. She was so . . . little. “Even though I don’t know what your sister is up to, I’m not budging. My mother had an accident and—”
“Is your mom all right?”
The girl went so pale she was almost transparent. And her sister’s expression, surprisingly, also changed dramatically. Her defiant, contemptuous scowl evaporated and was replaced by a look of fearful surprise. I was sure she didn’t realize her mouth was hanging open. She came and stood next to the blond girl, never taking her eyes off me, her face still displaying a look of incredulity that could not possibly be feigned. Finally, she elbowed her sister.
Get Out of My Dreams Page 11