The Birth of Dystopia

by A. Q. Moser

  “I was eleven.” There was another link. “I’m three years older than you so we had these nightmares at the same time.”

  Billy nodded, struck by the timing connection.

  I could feel a new bond emerging between us. “How about the fact that we can recall all these nightmares in detail twenty years later? These nightmares feel so recent like I had them yesterday. I can recall virtually every detail of them.”

  “Same detailed dreams … Timink is the same … What’s goink on with us? … Are we linked telekinetically?” Billy’s voice skipped to a tone higher while uttering the word telekinetically.

  “I don’t know about telekinetics.” I shrugged doubtingly. “I never felt any special powers like this. All I know is that we’ve got to reach the two people from the email May Chao and W. T. Pauli.” I tapped the monitor for effect.

  Billy rose to his feet and retrieved a Scotch bottle stashed behind a monitor. He sipped the drink straight from the bottle and moved out to the corridor.

  Billy was being difficult. He lacked the ability to finish a simple task, e-mail. Was he giving a legitimate excuse or was he just scared to follow through and see what comes of it? I wanted to know more. I wanted to proceed forward. I would email them. I would be Billy for him and them. Resting my elbows by the keyboard, I must be Billy. I first deleted his half-hearted approach for an e-mail response to May and imagined how Billy would respond to a fan.

  Subject: (Re:) classmate looking for answers

  Hello May,

  I have read your email with great interest and I think we have a lot to talk about in regards to music and life. More importantly my music video was a recreation of a nightmare I had when I was a young boy. I decided to show it to the world in hopes of finding some answers. Please reply to this email as soon as possible, as I am eager to get together and discuss this with you.

  Rock Star Regards,

  Coax

  Amused by my rock star ending, for a split second I wanted to get Billy’s approval on it but instead decided to send the e-mail in case he had any second thoughts. I located the other e-mail and clicked Reply with instant e-mail notification enabled.

  Subject: (Re:) Five people under the lamppost, not three.

  Hello W. T. Pauli,

  Thank you for your email. I was so delighted by your interest in my music video that I knew I had to meet you in hopes of discussing this similarity. I too had a nightmare when I was a young boy and it has plagued me ever since. Please reply to this email as soon as possible, as I am eager to get together and discuss this with you.

  Rock Star Regards,

  Coax

  The e-mails to May and W. T. Pauli were done despite Billy’s abrupt withdrawal. The Outbox delivered two possible chances for an answer. Would they know something? Were we all in the same predicament—blind and without a guide? The answer was out there and we needed to find it.

  Billy re-entered, still sipping from the Scotch bottle as any dedicated drunk would.

  I swivelled around to face Billy. “Have you had any recent nightmares?” I expected to continue along this topic, regardless of the discomfort.

  “I haven’t been able to remember any dream so vividly as those that I had when I was younger,” Billy replied unevenly.

  Truth or not, I had more to say. “Mine haven’t stopped—” I attempted to explain myself as though the nightmares were foreign objects.

  “More dreams?” Billy interrupted frustrated, and sat in a swivel chair slouching back extending his legs as far out as possible. “I don’t dream anymore,” he murmured in boredom.

  A disturbing response, as if Billy was unwilling to discuss anything more about these nightmares. Maybe our connection was breaking apart? Maybe he was able to overcome the nightmares? The troubadour nightmare was recent and it had a lasting impression. Every detail frozen in my mind from the folding stars, the lone tree, and the frightful images of the chasing zombies.

  “These are nothink more than silly dreams,” Billy admitted in a spaced out trance.

  I disagreed. “You need to understand where I’m coming from. These things are frightening.” My patience was low but I wanted to know more; I wanted to know what Billy knew.

  “Enough about the dreams or nightmares or whatever you want to call them.” Billy childishly closed up, returning his attention to the ceiling.

  “Can we at least talk about the video?” I pleaded, trying to make sense of why a child would hide something like this. A truth covered by a pain; a truth that could benefit both of us.

  “Sure. I’ll tell you about the video.” The calm, mild-mannered Billy mutated into a disgruntle employee, full of bitter sarcasm. “The video caused a lot of friction in the band. I’d written a song for it a long time ago, a really long time ago. Basically I wrote it shortly after havink the dream. Writink was a good way to forget about it. Maybe it helped to release the stress of it all.”

  Very intriguing. An outlet to express and remove oneself from any physical and mental attachments, a release mechanism simplified through creativity.

  “J.V. I mean Joe Visac—” Billy paused to check to see if I knew the band’s guitarist and best bud.

  I understood and acknowledged with a nod. J.V. was his lead guitarist.

  “We had a big argument over the song and then a bigger one over the direction of the video,” Billy disclosed critically. “We couldn’t see eye to eye on the project. The album was delayed several times. I knew the fans wouldn’t like another delay of the album. Plus I felt it would be good to release it and thus free myself of its chains. J.V. thought it was too freaky and that the fans wouldn’t go for it. He called it sick. He then accused it of being a child’s song and that we had to move on and expand as artists. Somehow we managed to record it as a backup song. Then things got worse. We argued as to whether it should be included in the album, or release it as a single, or scrap the whole idea of it. We wouldn’t talk to each other for almost two months. We even stopped appearink in public together. The other band members were caught in the middle. It was not a pretty sight for two grown men fightink over a song. Can you believe that?”

  I nodded again to satisfy Billy. He looked irritated, as I may have given him the wrong impression. Maybe shaking my head in disbelief would have appeased him.

  “J.V. said the idea for the video was completely ridiculous. He also said the song wasn’t right. Right, I argued with him. Right is what I say. I didn’t care if people thought it was stupid. It was difficult to do but it helped me. It was therapeutic,” Billy continued, keeping a finger pointed at his chest, his needs were to be met.

  Billy was all over the place in his words but I did see his need for therapy. Expressing them through laborious work probably saved his life. I should have written down my nightmares as that may have helped me cope with them. Fear was a prominent problem for me. I was just too scared to face them again; it was easier to dismiss then maybe forget them. But in the end, they were always there. I closed my eyelids and inhaled deeply while gently massaging the back of my neck.

  “I’ll tell you one think, nobody messes with me. I made the band and I certainly have the power to break it.” Billy shouted loud and clear, expressing his contribution and control over the band.

  “Sorry Billy, sometimes I have a hard time focusing.” I attempted to excuse myself despite the fact I had no idea why he was getting angry with me.

  “Don’t worry about that, it happens to the best of us.” Billy attested to. “I won’t even begin to go through the problems with the filmink of the video.” Frowning, he shook his head in disbelief.

  The situation was getting too heated for me. Billy’s hospitality was below average but at least we accomplished a few things. We recounted old nightmares and noticed an age trend during the nightmares. But ultimately we attempted to contact May Chao and W. T. Pauli whom seemed to have shared the same steamboat nightmare.

  All I wanted was to go home and I was tired of hearing Billy’s rash w
ords while peering at his distrustful facade. I rose to my feet and extended my right hand. “Thank you for your generous hospitality. I need to go home. We’ll keep in touch.”

  Billy pulled himself up and shook my hand. “Do you want a ride home?” he offered graciously. “I can get one of the maids to drive you.”

  “I’ll just take a cab home,” I declined, enough of the hospitality.

  “Nonsense.” Billy pulled out a cell phone. “Judy, can you do me a favour and drive Joel home?”

  “I’ll be there in two minutes with the car,” a delicate sound called from the cell phone.

  “Million thanks, Judy.” Putting the cell phone away, Billy turned to me. “She’ll be in front.”

  I followed Billy out to the corridor, to the exquisite dining room, to the portrait ballroom to the marble front foyer. The double doors to the mansion were open.

  Billy patted me hard over the shoulder. “I’ll give you a shout later on today or tomorrow. We need to talk more.”

  I tensed up, uncomfortable by Billy’s display of camaraderie.

  “Hey Joel,” Billy called calmly. “Do you wanna know somethink?”

  Nodding, I acknowledged Billy’s question. It was blatantly obvious he wanted to volunteer personal information.

  “Drinkink is the only thing that helps me relax,” Billy admitted easily.

  Why Billy divulged this to me, I did not understand. Sadness for Billy pulsed through my mind but at least he could relax. I was envious. “I wish things were easier for me.” I left.

  More than ever, I owed Billy. Everything that happened to me was now falling in the we domain and sharing these dark nightmares made me feel closer to Billy. We were in this together. Before him, I had no idea how to deal with this issue. I was touching invisible air but now I could touch steam.

  18

  Chrome sparkling in the high noon sunlight, a jumbo, bronze Cadillac pulled to the front steps and the passenger door opened automatically. A young lady dressed in a conservative hotel maid outfit complete with the powder blue trim about the edges waved from behind the wheel.

  “Hey, Judy,” Billy shouted from the doorway with a strange pronunciation of ‘Judy’.

  “Thanks for everything.” I called back to Billy. I descended the stairs and climbed into the car.

  “Hello, I’m Judy,” Judy comfortably introduced herself.

  As I sat down the passenger door automatically closed. “I’m Joel.” We shook hands. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Always a pleasure. Where to?” Judy inquired, driving down the stone driveway the path of de-evolution—from Billy’s face to a single-celled organism.

  “Seventy-five Navrina Road. This saves me a lot of money on cab fare.” I appreciated the effort.

  The GPS beeped my address in. Loaded, it displayed the directions.

  “No trouble. I was going to the store to buy a few groceries anyways.” Judy tilted her head side to side as she spoke. “I know, I know. It’s early for groceries, but sometimes Billy gets these weird food cravings. Oops, I shouldn’t have told you that.”

  I smiled. “Doesn’t bother me—”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re a reporter?” Judy asked cautiously.

  My smile disappeared. “No, just an old high—”

  Judy turned to face me. “You don’t tell Billy I told you this and you don’t talk to the media,” she sternly warned, expecting me to sell secrets for cash to the tabloids.

  “I promise.” I held up my arms above my head as if I were surrendering.

  Judy gestured to say something else but instead returned her attention on the road. The mood in the Cadillac was spookily awkward. Having nothing else to add, I watched the road ahead. Leaving the chic Upper Toronto, I was comforted by the normal looking houses, stacked in close quarters. Hard working homes for hard working people.

  The sombreness of the silent ride escalated to the point where all I wanted was to be taken home as quickly as possible. We passed empty street corners and intersections with little traffic.

  Every so often Judy would check the GPS display unit ensuring she was on the right path. In the distance, my apartment rose above the houses. Relieved I was almost home, a wave of exhaustion flowed through me. Since it was a long day with Billy I resolved to do nothing other than watch television for the rest of the afternoon.

  Judy pulled up to the apartment. “I guess this is your building,” she commented.

  I yawned. “Thank you. Thank you for the ride,” I thanked twice out of uneasiness.

  Judy gleefully smiled. “My pleasure.”

  Once outside, the vehicle sped off. The warm air soothed my soul calling for a welcoming siesta. I stepped inside the building, crossed the foyer and headed straight for an awaiting elevator. Inside my place, there were seven messages on the answering machine. I was eager to see who called. There were three messages from Billy, one from Marie, one from my parents, and two from unknown callers.

  I skipped straight to Billy’s first message. “Hey, Joel. Guess what? … May and Wolfgang replied back. W. T. Pauli is Wolfgang. Crazy name if I say so myself. We better keep an eye on him. Looks like we’re meetink tonight … I guess at my place. Wolfgang is flyink in from New York and May kind of lives close to you. This could be good. Don’t forget. Later.”

  I was actually stunned by the messages—four people meeting together. This was incredible. It was actually happening. My email worked. I rubbed my forehead to remove some perspiration. The very concept of a group of strangers meeting was a weird reunion in the loosest sense—a definite mind-boggling situation over a common nightmare.

  I played Billy’s second message. “Oh, I forgot somethink … pass by my place around sevenish. You’re on the entry list. Funny email with the rock star regards. I got a chuckle out of it. Later.”

  I pressed onwards and played Billy’s third message. “Is this May who e-mailed me the same May Chao from the newspaper? ‘Cause if she is, she’s hot. Later.”

  May from the newspaper? Which newspaper was Billy talking about? His final message was extraordinary exciting. Someone else who was famous? What were the chances of this? Who would have thought of this? It was so exciting to have a common bond with these people. At that moment I was alive, each breath was invigorating.

  My parents could wait a few days and so could the other messages. Instead I washed up and devoured a few morsels of dried pita bread. The living room couch was a welcoming feeling, spread out staring at the television.

  “TV on.” The channel flashed a graphical musical note.

  —Let’s get to the entertainment news. In a surprise announcement today, Tank ‘n’ Wind has cancelled tonight’s concert in Buffalo. Lead singer Coax cited an undisclosed injury. Fans are outraged over the cancellation as questions arose over the band’s dedication to its fans.

  Yup, that’s going to be rough on the fans. It’s a definite low moment for them.

  Well let’s hope Coax recovers quickly. On other news, actor Mister Popular has—

  “TV off.” No more about Mister Popular please. I was trying to forget the whole episode. Anything more on Mister Popular was bothersome. Could the media just let the case die?

  Billy cancelled for us. He cancelled the show because of what I said. My meeting with him did something to him. How amazing? The impact of the common nightmare needed to be resolved. Stop everything. Good decision Billy. Your heart was in the right place.

  Sprawled across the snug couch, I gazed vigilantly at the ceiling. First the light fixture centred on the ceiling then the ceiling itself. Tiny plaster cracks migrated from the edge of the light fixture.

  What a world? People from different walk of life coming to meet—I smiled at the possibility. A common goal forged by a nightmare. Having only Billy as a teammate was not going to get me very far. Four heads was better than two. I hoped the two emails send to May Chao and W. T. Pauli were worth it and they were in it for the long haul.

  A restless nigh
t before and I needed a siesta to recover. Getting a few hours of sleep during the night, awaken by nightmares, who could live like this? Who could concentrate at work? Or worse, expected to testify for a hit-and-run trial? It was not my fault that I could not follow along and I could not provide coherent answers to the prosecutor’s questions. I forgot the date of the accident. It was not my fault.

  I closed my eyes tight to shut my mind. No more thoughts, only a blank page in search of a clear mind. Comforted by the conviction, my body loosened up. As I lay there but there was no point to nap. Despite the cravings from my body to take a nap and recover from a lost sleep, it never happened.

  19

  The grey sky dimmed the living room and the lack of sunlight had me feeling cold. So much so I was shivering. I looked over to my clock. Six-thirty P.M. I had to prepare to return to Billy’s place and I would be late. I stretched my arms out, trying to gather my senses.

  In a rush, I dialled *TAXI for a cab to my apartment.

  “The taxi will be there within five minutes,” a robotic female voice confirmed, acquiring my address through my phone number.

  The authorization worked for me, I headed to the washroom and darted out of the apartment with my keys, wallet and jacket in hand.

  Hunger pains reminded me I missed dinner but I was too excited and too late for anything substantial. Maybe grab some food on the way to Billy’s place. I waited about ten minutes for a taxi by the front foyer.

  Bouncing up off the main road to the apartment front entrance, the taxi peeled round landing a tire on the curb.

  I jumped back, fearing being run over.

  The side window of the taxi rolled down. “You waiting for a cab?” the unshaven driver blurted.