Poet Anderson ...Of Nightmares

by Tom DeLonge

  “Thank you for protecting my academic integrity, Miss Birnam-Wood,” Jonas replied.

  Samantha’s mouth curved, but she quickly tried to cover her smile, tugging on her bottom lip as her gaze swept over him once again. “You’re very welcome, Mr. Anderson.” Her cheeks flushed and then, without another word, she turned and directed her friends out of the room.

  Jonas slipped the pen into his back pocket, watching her leave. Well, fuck, he thought. Maybe I don’t hate English that much after all. He waited a beat, and then smiled to himself. He grabbed his umbrella that he’d left at his desk and swung it around by the handle before heading to his next class.

  Chapter Four

  Although he had a pen, Jonas’s lack of textbooks was of particular annoyance to his teachers. By the end of the day he’d earned three zeros and one detention, which he happily skipped. He left the building to find the other students fleeing after the last bell. The rain had stopped, at least momentarily. While everyone else was climbing into cars and laughing with friends, Jonas stuffed the notebook papers he’d collected into his pocket and flipped up his hood so as not to be noticed.

  He cut through the parking lot, avoiding the hordes of students as he took the back streets toward the hospital. His hands were clenched into fists in his pockets, his anxiety growing the closer he got to his brother. Just like every day since the accident, he let himself hope that he’d walk into the room and find Alan sitting up in bed, eating the orange Jell-O.

  Jonas swung open the hospital room door, smiling widely just in case. Just in case Alan was waiting for him. But the smile faded a moment later.

  Alan’s heartbeat was a steady, constant beat on a machine. His eyes were closed. His body lay motionless as a ventilator breathed for him. Jonas cracked his neck, fighting to keep the disappointment from overwhelming him. He hooked the handle of the umbrella on the end of the bed, and collapsed into the chair nearest the monitor. “Hey, man,” he said to Alan. Jonas reached out and knocked his fist into his brother’s hand as if Alan were awake, waiting to hear about his day.

  “School sucks,” Jonas continued, stretching his long legs in front of him. “And it turns out my science teacher is a total asshole, but he probably would have liked you.” He glanced at his brother. “You would have been all, ‘Yes, sir’ and he would have gotten a teacher-boner and held you up as the example for the rest of us.”

  Alan had been a great student before he had to drop out to get a full-time job. He was smart, though maybe not as smart as Jonas. But with Alan, it was all about his delivery. He always told Jonas that manners and good attitude could get him out of anything.

  Jonas smiled to himself. “I met a girl.” He laughed and sat forward in the chair, his arms dangling between his legs. “And before you say anything,” he said, “she’s not my type. In fact, she’s more your type. Pretty and rich.” Jonas waited for Alan to smile, sure it would happen. It didn’t. Jonas just shrugged, pretending it was fine. “You always like the rich ones,” he added. “Anyway, she probably won’t remember me tomorrow, but I swear she checked me out. Who knows, right? She could be—”

  The hospital room door opened and Jonas sat up straighter, trying not to look too comfortable. A doctor with salt-and-pepper hair and a stiff white coat paused when he saw Jonas, and then quietly closed the door behind him.

  “Oh, good,” the doctor said. “I was hoping to catch you. You’re…” He glanced at the chart in his hand, “Jonas Anderson. The patient’s brother?”

  “Yeah,” Jonas replied, taking note of the false calm in the doctor’s voice.

  The doctor ran his finger down the paper, and glanced up.

  “Both parents are deceased?”

  Jonas tightened his jaw. “Yes.”

  The doctor nodded, and then slipped the chart into a clear file holder at the end of Alan’s bed. He took Alan’s vitals, a heavy silence falling in the room the whole time. When he was done, the doctor hung his stethoscope around his neck and pulled the other chair around the bed so that he could sit facing Jonas.

  “I’m Doctor Bishop,” he said. “Can we talk for a moment?”

  Jonas tried to harden himself against the bad news he was sure this man was about to deliver. The doctor had the same look the police did when they showed up four years ago and told him and Alan that their parents were both dead. It was the look the funeral director had when he asked how the brothers planned to pay for the burial costs. And, of course, it was the same look he saw in Alan’s eyes every time he thought about Jonas growing up without a mom and dad.

  “He’s going to be fine,” Jonas said immediately, staring the doctor straight in the eyes. “The swelling is gone and the CT said there were no fractures.”

  “The testing has not indicated any further problems, you’re correct,” Doctor Bishop said as he leaned forward. “But there is no way to tell the long-term effect of the damage from the impact and consequent swelling. The truth is, your brother may never wake up, Jonas. But if there are no improvements soon, well…without insurance, your treatment options are limited.”

  Sickness bubbled up in Jonas’s stomach. “What?” he asked in a strangled voice. “Are you…are you threatening to kill him?”

  “No, no,” Doctor Bishop said quickly, holding up his hands in apology. “I’m laying out your choices. Alan is on a ventilator. There’s a good chance that if he were taken off of it, he would die. Of course, we don’t know for sure. But it becomes a matter of quality of life. Is this what your brother would want?”

  Jonas jumped up from the chair, knocking it back into the monitor with a clang. “What the fuck?” Jonas said. “Alan is going to wake up. You’re not pulling any plugs. He’s my brother.” Angry tears welled up in his eyes. “I’m not going to let you murder him.”

  Dr. Bishop winced, stood, and backed away. “I understand you’re upset, Jonas,” he said. “I can send in a grief counselor to help you sort through this. It’s my job to keep you informed.”

  Jonas saw the hint of annoyance in his posture, as if fighting for his brother’s life were inconvenient for the doctor. Jonas was incensed, and he began to pace next to his brother’s bed. His mind started working through the possible scenarios of how he could wake Alan, prove this bastard wrong.

  The doctor opened the door, but then paused and looked back. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but you’ll have to find another place to stay the night. One of the nurses filed a complaint. If you want, I can—”

  “I’ll be fine,” Jonas said coldly, not letting on how terrified he truly was. He was lost without Alan. Doctor Bishop nodded, looking reluctant, and then left the room. Overcome, Jonas fell back into the chair and leaned onto Alan’s bed, crying into the sheets.

  Back before their parents died, back when Jonas could still remember his dreams, he and Alan would spend nearly every night (and some Saturday afternoons) testing their abilities in the dreamscape, where anything could happen.

  Brian and Eve Anderson were loving and devoted parents, but the family always struggled financially. Brian drove a limo while Eve worked as a maid at the Eden Hotel. The family spent their summers on the windy Washington coast because Disneyland was out of the budget. But the Anderson boys never minded. In their dreams, they could do anything they wanted.

  Once, on a rainy summer night, the boys fell asleep on the back porch of their house. Their parents were flying to New York City after the death of their grandfather—a cruel man they’d never actually met—so the brothers were left alone at home, just for a weekend. Jonas had been hoping his mother would receive a large inheritance, something to improve the family’s station in life, but his mother assured him that her father had promised her nothing—and he always kept his promises.

  Despite the usual crappy Washington weather, it was a clear day in the dreamscape, just the way Jonas liked it. Both boys felt peaceful in this shared dream, their bodies l
eft behind on the back porch.

  “I love this old tree,” Alan said, running his hand over the twisted bark of its trunk as he stood at a striking tree that had sprouted in a field of tall grass. It was a tree they’d discovered one time while camping on the coast. Alan had brought it into the dreamscape because it was gnarled and crooked in the most imperfect and beautiful way.

  “I wonder if I can make it rain here,” Alan said, side-eying Jonas. He was always testing the limits of lucid dreaming.

  “I’ll punch you in the throat if you do,” Jonas responded, taking a spot on the grass. “You should try to make a couple of beers instead.”

  Alan laughed. “Yeah, maybe next time, little brother.”

  Both boys watched the sky, and the clouds starting to gather as if Alan really had conjured them up. But in reality, the day this memory came from had been cloudy, so it transferred into their dream along with the tree. That’s the thing Jonas noticed with their dreams: they were mostly from their memories of places. There was no sense of time; the place lasted forever.

  As Lucid Dreamers, Jonas and Alan might be able to adjust things, small details here and there. Hell, Alan told him that in one study, a guy learned to fly. Now that was some badass dream shit.

  Alan chuckled. “Look,” he said, pointing to a cloud above them. “It looks like the 1968 Ford Mustang. Before you dented it.”

  “Weak,” Jonas replied. “And you weren’t answering your phone and I had to pull up the driveway with the lights off so Dad wouldn’t see. So really you dented it.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t have stolen it, then. So was it Sophie Dunham?” Alan asked with a grin, knowing that Jonas wished it were Sophie, a girl he had been pining after for years.

  “Naw,” Jonas said, running his hands through his hair. “It was Laurie Masterson.”

  Alan coughed out a laugh at the mention of his girlfriend, but then turned to his brother like he was slightly worried that Jonas had indeed hooked up with her. Jonas rolled his eyes.

  “I’m kidding,” Jonas said. “It was the girl from the mall.”

  Alan nodded, and Jonas could see the relief in his expression. “You and girls, man,” Alan said. “They just love your tortured soul.”

  Jonas’s mouth curved with a smile. “Yeah, that’s the part they love.”

  Alan laughed again at Jonas’s confidence, but Jonas knew it wasn’t confidence at all.

  You were born lonely, his mother would say. Just like your father. She would smile lovingly and brush her hand over Jonas’s hair before he swatted it away, embarrassed. Of course, she was right. But when Brian Anderson had met Eve Correy, his loneliness abated. That was the connection Jonas was searching for.

  “Okay, I’ve got it,” Jonas said, leaning forward and pointing at a cluster of clouds. “That looks like…” The sky darkened, and then there was a sudden flash of lightning. Thunder clapped overhead, booming loud enough to shake the ground. Leaves fell, cascading around Jonas and he backed away from the tree, watching the sky.

  Another flash of lightning, blue with a trail of red. Boom.

  The world went suddenly silent. Alan stepped up to Jonas and took his arm. His touch was ice cold, and Jonas looked down to where Alan held him.

  “You’re freezing,” Jonas said, alarmed. Moisture began to collect on Alan’s skin, like rain. Only it wasn’t raining. Not here. Jonas looked up and Alan’s eyes were wide, brimming with tears.

  “Wake up, Jonas,” he said in a strangled whisper. “Wake up.”

  Jonas shot awake on the porch of his house, his sneakers hitting the slats of wood with a thud. He found Alan rain-soaked in front of him, clutching his arm. In the driveway, Jonas saw the swirling lights of two police cars, a uniformed officer on the phone near the edge of the steps, the other still in his cruiser. It was raining, of course it was raining, and the thunder clapped again, but this time it didn’t seem so loud. Nothing could have been as loud as what Alan said next.

  “They’re gone, Jonas,” he told him. “Mom and Dad are gone.”

  Chapter Five

  The door of the hospital room opened and Jonas sat up quickly, dragging his forearm across his face to clear the tears. He heard the footsteps move closer and Jonas stood, gaining his composure before turning to find Nurse Morgan paused at the end of Alan’s bed.

  “You doing okay?” she asked kindly.

  “No,” Jonas answered in a hoarse voice. The nurse nodded, and Jonas gathered by her expression that she was aware of his current situation.

  Jonas would have to find another place to stay, but that was near-impossible without Alan. Besides, he wouldn’t leave him. He would never leave his brother.

  Tears threatened to break through once again, and Jonas moved quickly to adjust Alan’s blankets, tucking them neatly into the corners of the bed to distract himself. He felt Nurse Morgan watching him, and when he looked over, she leaned in closer.

  “There might be someone who can help you,” she whispered, tossing a cautious glance at the door. “I’m not supposed to offer referrals, but this is for a medical trial. They specialize in cases like your brother’s.”

  Hope quickly bubbled up, but Jonas fought to keep it in check. He wouldn’t be able to stand the disappointment. “They help coma patients?” he asked, clenching his jaw as he inched closer to her. Nurse Morgan smiled.

  “Doctor Moss is renowned for her sleep studies,” she said. “I’ve seen her wake a patient after a ten-year coma. But her treatments are experimental, and because of that, insurance doesn’t cover them.”

  Jonas felt himself deflate. “Then why are you telling me?” he snapped at the nurse. “I don’t have any money.” Jonas started to round the bed toward Alan’s head when Nurse Morgan reached out to grab him by the wrist, startling him.

  “If she thinks she can help Alan,” she said, “there is no charge. It’s a study. You’d only have to sign over his care to the Sleep Center and the research grant would pay all the expenses.”

  Jonas shook off the nurse’s hand, uncomfortable with how tightly she gripped him. He felt unsettled. Unsure. What exactly would it mean to sign over his brother’s care? What if this was just a ruse in order to get him off the ventilator? Several conspiracy theories raced through Jonas’s head at once, all in the few seconds it took Nurse Morgan to pull a business card out of her uniform pocket.

  “Here,” she said. “This is her number. You can meet with her and decide for yourself. If you’d like her to examine Alan, I can help you arrange that as well. Medically speaking, there’s not much I can do for your brother here.” She looked at Alan’s unconscious body and pressed her lips together before turning back to Jonas. “But I hate not to try. I think you both deserve better than that.”

  Jonas took the card from her. Seattle Center for Sleep Sciences was typed neatly at the top with the name Dr. Madeline Moss below it, and an address and telephone number below that. Jonas tucked the card in the back pocket of his jeans and muttered a thank you, still unclear on how he felt about the nurse’s offer.

  “Should I bring dinner by early?” she asked. Jonas looked at her questioningly, but she waved her hand. “They won’t know. Do you have a place to stay tonight?”

  “Yeah,” Jonas lied quickly. Though Nurse Morgan could probably see he was lying, since she couldn’t let him stay the night, she told him she’d put in the order for dinner and check back in later. He thanked her again, and went to his seat next to Alan.

  The business card was in his pocket, but he didn’t take it out. Instead, he stared at Alan. His brother’s bandages covered his light eyebrows, and the skin around his blue eyes was swollen. There were still a few bruises, and he’d have a pretty tough scar on the side of his cheek where he’d needed five stitches.

  “What am I supposed to do now?” Jonas asked, willing him to wake up. “Hand you over for them to experiment on? Leave yo
u here to die? Just tell me what to do, Alan. I’ll listen this time. I promise. I’ll do whatever you want. You just have to wake up.” Jonas glared at him, his nose burning as the tears gathered in his eyes. Silence fell over the room.

  Jonas sniffled and swayed back against his chair. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said miserably. “I wouldn’t have listened anyway.” He stared over the room, lost, and then his gaze fell on the bag the nurse had dropped off this morning.

  A change of clothes, he thought gratefully. Jonas had been alternating between the clothes he and Alan had worn the day of the accident. The nurse would put them through the wash for him, but he’d need something new so he didn’t look like a total loser. Especially if he’d be living under a bridge somewhere, hiding out from the social worker until Alan came back.

  Jonas crossed the room and started to rummage through the bag. Nurse Morgan had taken the time to fold the clothes, and although it wasn’t everything they were missing, it did contain most of Jonas’s favorite shirts. He pulled out a black T-shirt and held it up to his nose, taking a deep sniff, and was comforted by the smell of hospital detergent. He pulled the shirt he was wearing over his head with one hand, and then yanked on the new one, immediately feeling better.

  He continued to search, but then paused when his fingers brushed the hatbox. Jonas stilled, thinking back on the moments in the car before the accident. He turned to look at Alan in the bed, thinking about how much he’d wanted that job. How responsible it would have made him feel. Jonas blinked rapidly, then he turned away and slipped off the top of the box, sure he’d find the hat in disrepair.

  He reached in and lifted out the black bowler hat, surprised to find it had a slight scent of mold from being damp, but otherwise was in good condition. “It’s a high-quality hat,” he murmured to his brother. “It would have held up nicely in the Seattle rain.”