Get Out of My Dreams

by Fernando Trujillo Sanz

  “Hi. I’m here to see Ivan,” I said, a little uneasy about the less-than-warm greeting.

  “He’s not doing well. That’s why he wasn’t at school,” he grumbled. “Why don’t you just go away?”

  “Wait!” I put my hand in the door to keep him from closing it. Ivan’s father gave me one of those looks you don’t forget for a long time to come. “I have to talk to him. I’m bringing him notes from today’s classes,” I added, thinking as fast as I could.

  “Well, you’ll have to give them to him some other day. I told you he’s sick.”

  I’d seen Ivan’s father on several occasions, and even though he’d never been especially nice to me, he’d always treated me okay—distant, but not rude. I’d understood his attitude because he saw me as the son of the guy who’d fired him.

  This wasn’t the same man. And I didn’t know how to convince him to let me in. He was really tense, like he was about to blow up.

  “Dad!” shouted Ivan from inside the house. “Let him in!”

  Ivan’s father scowled and then stepped back without saying another word. I waited a couple seconds before going in, to give him time to walk away.

  The inside of the house smelled strange, and it looked like it could use a good cleaning. As I walked through the living room, I couldn’t help but notice how different our lives were, Ivan’s and mine. My house was a temple of order and cleanliness—with the possible exception of my room, but it wasn’t like I exerted too much effort in keeping it picked up. My parents were a shining example of the perfect couple who shared a fairytale kind of love. Ivan’s house was small compared to mine, with cheap furniture that was old, worn, and neglected. Ivan’s parents were divorced. He’d told me that they’d fought quite often, shouting at and insulting one another. It was inconceivable to me that a man could insult his wife. If it hadn’t been for Ivan, I would’ve thought that stuff only happened in the movies.

  I noticed a half-empty bottle of wine sitting in the middle of the table next to an ashtray full of cigarette butts. The missing contents of the bottle explained the change in Ivan’s father.

  “I’m in my room!” Ivan called to me.

  I found him lying in his bed. He didn’t look well. Pale skin, bloodshot eyes. He looked . . . tired. And weak. For a moment, I forgot everything I wanted to say to him. I was worried.

  “How ya doin’?”

  “Close the door,” he said abruptly. I obeyed. “Sorry about my old man. He didn’t have to talk to you like that. He’s a dick.”

  “No big deal,” I reassured him.

  It struck me how he insulted his own father. I had my differences with mine, for very different reasons, and I’d occasionally hated him after a few of the multiple times he’d disappointed me—especially when I was little and felt like his business mattered to him more than I did. But I’d never insulted him; at the most I might have imagined doing that, but even so that was nothing more than childish fantasy. And I could never have insulted him in front of another person. I really didn’t feel the need to; down deep I always knew he loved me.

  Ivan had called his father a dick, and he’d meant it. And he’d said it in a way that oozed anger.

  “I’m so sick of him,” he said in disgust. “I can’t stand him anymore.”

  “What happened?”

  “He got fired. It was two weeks ago. He didn’t want to tell me why, but I know it’s because he’s useless. He’s not capable of holding down a job. Now he might not be able to make the house payment, and I don’t know what we’re gonna do. My sister is with my mom so she doesn’t have to put up with this crap.”

  I felt so sorry for him, but I had no idea how to console him. I wanted to tell him that I felt his pain, that he could count on me, but I just couldn’t. His predicament was way beyond me. Unemployment, a mortgage . . . those were problems that didn’t exist in my world. I considered those issues custom-made for adults since I knew nothing about any of it and couldn’t offer any sort of opinion or advice. My comments would be the comments of a naïve little rich boy.

  I understood now that was why Ivan had always been the more mature of the two of us; he’d lived in harsher conditions. And I had come to see him because I was angry he was seeing Claudia behind my back. How infantile.

  “It’s just a streak of bad luck,” I said to break the silence. “I’m sure he’ll find another job.”

  “No he won’t,” he answered callously. “Or he’ll lose it, too. I don’t even remember how many jobs he’s had in the last few years. Besides . . . he’s turned into a drunk.”

  “If there’s anything I can do . . .”

  “You’re doing it. You came to see me. You’re my friend; I don’t need anyone else.”

  It was touching to hear that. But then I realized it was a little strange that he didn’t mention Claudia. Normally you’d need your girlfriend too when you were feeling bad.

  “Well I need you to get better. We have to win our last game, otherwise the goalie’s gonna beat the crap out of us. No joke. He’s half out of his mind!”

  I was trying to cheer him up, to direct the conversation toward a lighter topic to distract him. But Ivan was in a really serious mood and wouldn’t have it.

  “The other day when we were arguing at school—”

  “I already forgot all about that.”

  “I wanna talk to you about it; it’s important to me.”

  Ivan sat up in bed. His tone of voice had me really worried now. It sounded like . . . like the tone people who are terminally ill use to say their farewells. I was probably overreacting, but I didn’t remember ever having seen him so serious.

  “I took my problems out on you and I had no right to do that. It’s just that I can’t keep skipping class. I have to pass—whatever it takes. And I was worried about the math test we’re having next week. I’ll totally bomb it. And I don’t want . . . I don’t want to end up like my father.”

  “That’s not going to happen. You’re not like him.” I couldn’t contain myself. “But dude, I gotta say, you look really bad. You can’t go on like this. If he laid a hand on you, I swear—”

  “No, it’s nothing like that.” A hint of a smile broke out on his lips. Even though I had no idea how to interpret his expression, I was glad I was wrong about my suspicions about his father. “What’s wrong with me has nothing to do with him.”

  “Then what the hell is going on with you? You look like crap.”

  “I’m exhausted. I’m not sleeping at all.”

  “That’s it? You had me scared, man!” I was breathing easier now. “So let’s go to the doctor. Maybe it’s just stress over what’s going on with your dad and the worries about the house. They’ll give you some pills and that’ll take care of it.”

  “It’s not like I’m sick,” he said, his voice breaking. He was avoiding making eye contact with me. “I haven’t slept for two nights straight.”

  I remembered that he’d mentioned something about that the day we’d had the argument, but I hadn’t paid much attention to it. I thought he’d just had a bad night.

  “Not a wink? Not even for an hour?”

  “Sometimes I sleep, or I think I’m sleeping, but hardly at all—only for, like, two minutes. I think I’m going crazy.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I hear voices. I see the look on your face, and I get it—I can’t even believe it myself, but it’s true. I hear them. Loud and clear.”

  “I’m taking you to the hospital right now. Get up!”

  “No! They won’t believe me! Let go of me!”

  “Okay, okay,” I said reluctantly. “So, do you hear them now? What do they say to you?”

  “I only hear them when I’m sleeping. I’m dogged by tons of horrible images—it’s indescribable. The worst stuff I’ve ever seen in my whole life. The voices whisper at me constantly and I wake up right away. Then I check my watch and only a few minutes have passed.”

  “That doesn’t mean you�
�re crazy. Crazy people hear voices when they’re awake.” I didn’t know where I’d gotten that idea from—probably from some movie, but it made sense to me. “Maybe we can fix this. What do the voices say to you?”

  “They keep repeating the same sentences, over and over. It never stops.”

  “What sentences?”

  ‘“Actions have consequences. Don’t ever forget it.”

  My legs felt weak. I had to sit down on his chair.

  “These voices . . . you talk about them in the plural. Are there two of them?”

  “Yes. How did you know that?”

  “Are they the voices of little girls?”

  “Yes!”

  “A blond and a brunette?”

  “Did Claudia tell you that?”

  Things were going from bad to worse.

  “Is she having nightmares, too?

  “Yeah, she is. At least that’s what she told me yesterday. I haven’t seen her today; I haven’t left the house.”

  So there was the explanation for why my friends were repeating those sentences. The twins were invading their dreams, too. It took me less than a split second to understand everything. I had assumed that they were only in my dreams, but if they had the ability to get into other people’s dreams, that cleared up a few things. Like, for example, how they knew we were going to have a history test the next day. The twins didn’t see the future like I’d thought. They’d gotten into the history teacher’s dreams and had seen he was thinking about giving us a surprise test. They might even have done it just to impress me. That was exactly how they’d found out that Eloy had an injured knee, and that he hated me. And that was how they’d informed me about how to easily take him down.

  So, I could finally discard one of my original theories, and that was that the twins were a manifestation of my subconscious. If they could interact with other people besides me, they were their own entity.

  “Tell me what Claudia told you.”

  “I heard her say those same words and I asked her about it. Turned out she’d also had a bad night— full of nightmares where the girls would wake her up and constantly repeat those words. She thought it had something to do with you because she kept hearing your name. I didn’t believe her, and told her to talk to you but she refused. I think she’s afraid of you.”

  Well, that explained the conversation the parrot had repeated to me. Ivan and Claudia weren’t trying to hide from me that they were going out; they were comparing their nightmares. I couldn’t be completely sure, but I suspected that the things the parrot repeated to me were not chosen randomly, and were probably even meant to be misunderstood and misconstrued. The parrot wanted me to question Ivan and Claudia and discover the truth. Maybe it was only the handiwork of the snotty girl; her hair was the same color as the parrot . . . maybe that meant something . . . but that was just conjecture. What I knew for sure was that the twins were threatening me with harming my friends if I didn’t keep “playing” with them.

  “Did the girls give you anything during the nightmares?”

  “No,” Ivan answered, a confused look coming over his face. “But if Claudia didn’t tell you anything, how did you know to ask that?”

  “Because I’m dreaming about them too,” I responded. “They’re twins, right? Petite girls, with a small black stick.”

  “That’s them, all right! Those little bi—”

  “Ivan, look at me. You’re not crazy. You have to trust me. I can fix this.”

  “You really think so? This is so messed up. What are those girls?”

  “I don’t know. But I know where to find answers. Do you trust me?”

  The color was coming back to his face. “Of course I do,” he said, a tinge of optimism in his voice.

  “Then listen to me carefully. You have to stay awake until I get back—that’s really important. You understand? You absolutely cannot sleep. Not even a minute.”

  “Where are you going? I don’t wanna be alone.”

  “I’ll go as fast as I can, I promise, but I can’t tell you where I’m going. If you fall asleep, the girls will know. They’ll also know we’ve talked. They’ll see it in your dreams. And the less they know, the better.”

  “I’m telling you, I’m the son of the owner of this company,” I repeated emphatically.

  The doorman sighed impatiently. “And I’m telling you I’m the son of the owner of a clothing store,” he said, imitating my voice. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you have no authorization to get in here.”

  I thought once I announced who I was it would be enough to get me into my father’s company and up to his office. But I hadn’t counted on a cynical, blustering fool of a doorman. I didn’t really even know there was this much security in an office building. Regardless, I needed to speak with my father as soon as possible so I could ask him about the twins since I was sure he’d also dreamt about them. My father had been the first to say the sentences about actions having consequences. My hope was that he knew something about how to handle the twins or Ivan would end up losing his mind for sure.

  A lot of people in suits were silently shuffling toward the turnstiles located in the security area of the lobby, swiping some kind of card and then passing through. Just like in the subway, I’d have to jump over one and take off running for the elevator. The problem was, I’d have a hard time blending in. It wasn’t just my age that made me not fit in; my sloppy dress stuck out like a sore thumb amidst all those suits.

  I’d never before been in the inside of the building which, if I wasn’t mistaken, was the main offices of the business, though the company had a lot of different properties and branches. I’d always imagined it as my father’s general headquarters. Any time I’d come here with my mother, he’d been waiting for us outside and then we’d go out together somewhere. I was always glad we didn’t go in since seeing so many men in ties made me uncomfortable. Imagining the scenarios that played out on a daily basis in that twenty-story heap of metal just increased my distaste for the life my father had chosen. It must have been the workplace of thousands of people, all closed up inside, discussing matters that didn’t interest me in the least. And it must have been a living hell to be spending their days there.

  Just the same, I now regretted not having learned more about the business—anything that would help me sneak inside and up to my father’s office. I didn’t even know where it was located, but I guessed it would be the top floor. In the movies, the bigwigs always hung out in spectacular offices on the top floor, surrounded by panoramic views of the city and all kinds of priceless knick-knacks.

  “I told you my name,” I insisted to the stubborn doorman. “Doesn’t my last name mean anything to you?”

  He begrudgingly gave me a fleeting glance. “Not bad. At least your last name begins with the same letter as the owner’s.”

  “What do you mean, the same letter?”

  “Just what I said. Besides, if the owner were really your father, you’d know he never comes in to the office.”

  “That’s a lie!”

  “Look, buddy, I don’t have the patience for any more of this nonsense. Get outta here and let us get on with this party. And, anyways, shouldn’t you be in class?

  A security guard came over to us, crossed his arms over his chest and stared at me. I didn’t let him get to me. No one was going to keep me from seeing my father. My problems might have been insignificant compared to their big financial business dealings, but they were mine and I had to resolve them before nightfall.

  “Now you listen to me,” I said to the doorman. “I’m going through right now and if you try to stop me, I’ll have you fired.”

  I didn’t even think about what I was saying when I threw out such an infantile threat, but my words were coming from a place of rage and desperation.

  The doorman pointed at me and the security guard grabbed me with both hands. I swear they felt like massive pliers squeezing into me.

  “I will accompany you to the exit.”<
br />
  “Let go of me, you goon!” I squirmed as I threw a few more choice insults at him and promised he’d soon be without a job, but it was no use. He held onto me like I was nothing more than a bag of trash.

  “Let him go,” ordered another man’s voice. “I can vouch for him.”

  It was my father’s lawyer. He frequently stopped by the house to bring documents when my father wasn’t there. He’d deliver them to my mother and she’d put them in the office. He was a serious man of few words, but he didn’t seem like a bad guy.

  “Are you sure?” the security guard asked.

  “Of course,” replied the lawyer.

  I thanked him once the guard let me go and immediately began explaining to him what had happened. Employees were hovering around us and, though they were keeping their distance, they seemed to be waiting to see how the little scandal I’d provoked would turn out.

  “Did you say you came to see your father?” the lawyer asked me.

  “Yes, but that guy wouldn’t let me through.”

  “Come with me.” He looked daggers at the employees, which got them moving again. I made sure the doorman got a good look at my middle finger as we walked away.

  The elevator was massive. Several people got on, everyone of them glancing at me as inconspicuously as they could. I was kind of surprised that my clothes and my age were drawing that much attention to me. When we got off the elevator, the lawyer led me to a room in which there was nothing but a big, wooden desk surrounded by a bunch of chairs.

  “Where’s my father?” I asked. “I want to see him right now.”

  “Is everything okay with you? Why are you asking about your father?”

  “It’s a family matter.”

  The lawyer’s expression darkened.

  “If this is some kind of joke I don’t understand it. Is your mother all right? Nothing’s going on with you two, is there?”