The Birth of Dystopia

by A. Q. Moser

How interesting to learn that May was, after all, a journalist. Wolfgang also looked impressed with meeting May. He gave her the nod of approval for her successful career and then scratched his beard under the chin.

  May placed her hand over my knee but did not touch it. “I think the Mister Popular case is highly overrated. A rich and famous actor against the law, that’s old news. Let’s get to the real news. Scandals aren’t worth the time nor should they be anyone else’s. People who follow this stuff have nothing better to do.”

  The words exiting May’s mouth seemed to flow like a tranquil river. I was captivated by her persona so much so that I just wanted to listen to her talk more. Her deliverance was eloquent and she captivated my full attention. She was an intelligent person sensitive of others without being told what to think. Her radiance came through her beauty.

  “Listen, if Mister Popular wasn’t a famous actor, would we be talking about the case right now?” May preached to Billy and Wolfgang. Not getting a response, she turned to me. “Do you agree Joel?”

  May was pleasing to listen to. She exhibited the sensibility of free thought without borders. Who would have thought that the person I e-mailed with Billy’s account would be a voice of reason? I was happy to hear that she had the guts to stand up and mock the entire hype behind the Mister Popular trial that I so dreaded. Going against the popular hype and her eagerness about her work must have definitely been factors that made her successful.

  “Yeah. I mean no we wouldn’t,” I finally admitted.

  “Who cares, right?” Billy added. “What else do you do?”

  “About more important issues, I bake occasionally—just small things. I work out too but I prefer aerobic classes.” May continued down her list of hobbies. “I like to exercise more to music. You know sometimes they play your music.”

  “Cheers.” Billy raised his glass to May’s compliment. “Which songs in particular?”

  “Oh,” May seemed embarrassed by Billy’s follow-up question. “I like your recent song Dolphins know the way and that popular one with the dirty push-harder lyrics.”

  Billy smirked, the kind where his lower lip protruded over his upper lip. It was one of the sickest smiles I have ever seen.

  May crossed her legs, one on top of the other only to reveal a big tear in her black, net stocking over her calf muscle. “Oh, no,” she remarked with some discontent. She sighed and crossed over the right leg then shifting in her seat to adjust her skirt.

  I chuckled innocently without trying to offend May.

  May smiled back and perked up her small nose in an attempt to forget what had just occurred. She snuggled deeper into her seat.

  “I laughed because of the way you reacted,” I whispered, trying to draw as little attention to May’s torn stocking.

  My laugh offended May and despite her attempt at defending my integrity with the case. I did to her what I did not want people to do to me. I felt bad.

  The room went silent. The shadows from the chairs that stretched out behind us only reflected the qualms of the situation. We were all strangers. Trust was one of those shadows that no one wanted to mention but was one that could be easily read in each other’s face. At any moment, we could turn into a pack of hungry wolves, each wanting from the others but relinquishing very little. After all, this was not a joyous moment but one where an obscured truth laid dormant.

  With my attention to the fluorescent lighting above the billiard table, I imagined a million questions to be asked—all of them beginning with the word ‘why’. Why me? Why us? Why the nightmares? We were obviously connected somehow—assuming everyone was telling the truth. I wanted to ask away but I held my tongue due to the awkwardness of the situation, and instead watched everyone else.

  Billy finally sat down, next to the bar stand in the corner. Wolfgang leaned forward on his elbows for support on the billiard table anticipating some sort of deep intellectual conversation. It would be a scary ploy of constantly avoiding the topic, yet it was the easiest thing to do. Why the same nightmare? What did we know or have hidden? Who would start?

  “One day, I can give you the grand tour of my lab,” Wolfgang offered. “If you’re ever in New York.”

  “That would be interesting,” May acknowledged the gracious offer. She turned to me. “What do you do?”

  “I work downtown at a manufacturing computer company,” I responded humbled by Wolfgang’s greatness. “I basically assemble and package computers for customers.”

  “My work has a customer base too,” Billy explained, putting my job to shame.

  “I remember in high school you were known to be a wisecrack,” May reminisced.

  “Wisecrack? I spoke nothink but the truth.” Billy frowned in teasing disgust, still substituting his ing with ink.

  May waved a hand at Billy, sweeping away an imaginary fly. “My work is more applicable to today’s society. I try to investigate and report on stories where people take advantage of the system for personal gain. Big stories like drug smugglings, embezzlement, et cetera. I’m working on a story about the rampant use of steroids in sports, especially in universities and colleges. It’s typical for my stories to result in some sort change in the legal system. Now that’s influence.”

  Billy cleared his throat, drawing our full attention to him. “My music has inspired people to change their lives, all through a few minutes of sounds and lyrics.”

  “I’m researching the medical effects of hybrid cells for tissue and organ regeneration for the purpose of self-healing.” And not to be outdone, Wolfgang had to brag about his beneficial research for mankind.

  “Very exciting.” May looked with intrigue.

  “We’ve been able to perform these self-healing processes on earless rats. We’re also closely monitoring several extraordinary rats for prolonged liver regeneration. We’re very close with this one.” Chin high, Wolfgang showed some excitement and pride in his arduous challenges.

  I felt incredibly small in this room of giants. Comparing my humble work to their high power positions was like comparing sizes of an ant to an elephant. These people were more on the front battle lines of life than I could ever be in a thousand lifetimes.

  “Close means nothink,” Billy remarked disrespectfully. “Scientists always say they are close to thinks and then we have to wait another twenty years till we hear from them again. People want answers now.”

  “Your nescience of scientific research is unfortunately rather evident,” Wolfgang snarled back. “If I was you, and I don’t wish to be, I would try to understand the principles of someone else’s work before you criticize it.”

  In defiance, Billy rubbed his middle finger and thumb together out in the open. “Stop pretendink and do somethink.”

  May stood up and extended her hands out. “Children please,” she implored. “Enough, please?”

  “He started it.” Billy sucked up.

  “Let’s be adults about this. Agreed?” May turned to Wolfgang and then to Billy. “I take it by your silence that there will be no more from either of you.”

  With downcast eyes, Wolfgang and Billy graced the benefit of the attention to their shoes. May’s childish scolding was humorous to say the least.

  May turned to me. “Joel, aren’t you hot with your jacket on?” she probed.

  I motioned up and down with my shoulders. “I feel fine. Thanks for asking.” I sensed my face turn red as I observed the inquisitive stare of the group. To ease the tension cast upon me, I removed the jacket and hung it on the patio chair.

  “Would anyone like a drink or just some more ice to suck on?” Billy switched gears and turned to drinking.

  May confidently shook her head sideways. “I’m fine, thank you Billy.”

  “Please call me Coax,” Billy asserted, bordering on displeasure.

  “Sorry,” May laughed. “I’m so use to calling you Billy from our high school days.”

  “Do you three know each other?” Wolfgang asked suspicious by the informality.
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  “Billy and I attended the same high school,” May responded. “I guess you didn’t go to Toronto High?”

  “I attended a private high school, Church Pharess private school, about half an hour away from Toronto High,” Wolfgang replied.

  May pointed to Wolfgang. “How old are you? You look a bit young for a professor.”

  “Thanks. I’m actually twenty-five.” Wolfgang surprised me for he looked older and May was just being kind.

  “We’re the same age.” May noticed.

  “I went to Toronto High,” I said, joining the conversation so not to be ignored.

  “You attended Toronto High too?” Wolfgang wondered what was going on.

  I nodded with confidence. “Billy is three years younger than me so he was three grades below me.”

  “Sorry, I don’t remember seeing you.” May reached out for my arm. “Did you know Jeanine Giztero? She was in your grade.” she asked out of the blue, getting herself adjusted in the seat.

  Jeanine Giztero, I repeated the name in my head. “Nope. I don’t remember a girl by that name,” I replied. I was the oldest person in the room. It was a feeling of being out of my league.

  “Wait. You three know each other?” Wolfgang asked as an outsider.

  “Yeah, in some sense,” Billy answered.

  “Billy and I had a few classes together,” May recalled. “I remembered him always borrowing things from people including teachers. He borrowed pencils, rulers. He never ever carried any school supplies.”

  Billy chuckled as he reminisced too. “The good old days of school creativity and easy prey. Teachers were so gullible back then.”

  “Where did you live?” May asked of Wolfgang.

  “I lived in York West.” Wolfgang drew an imaginary map in the air.

  “Did our schools ever compete in sports?” May contemplated.

  Billy’s eyebrows shifted a notch higher on his forehead as he rolled his eyes clockwise. He was signalling that we were annoying him with our conversation. “I don’t think it ever happened.”

  “I think it’s because of the separate school boards,” Wolfgang suggested.

  “Yeah! You’re right,” I agreed, joining in on the conversation.

  Billy stood up and refilled his glass. “I guess there was no school brainwashink occurrink back then.”

  21

  The word brainwashing was not strange but the context to which it was assigned was. Were we brainwashed into having nightmares? The very thought seemed so foreign to me. I wanted to say Billy was right but how were we brainwashed? This was a topic we needed to discuss. I was glad he opened the discussion this way. I was pleased to back on track.

  “Do you think we were brainwashed?” Wolfgang hypothesised with the intrigue of a research scientist.

  “Before I answer that question, I want to know what dreams you had,” Billy commanded unyielding. “I know I can trust Joel. I need to know that people aren’t lyink here or pretendink they’re someone else. Understand?”

  “That’s fair, I’ll begin,” Wolfgang offered, wanting to prove himself. “I started having these dreams at five years old. These dreams were the strangest and freakiest things I have ever envisioned. I can remember every single one even at the age of five. The nights were countless to how it affected my sleep and my worried family.”

  “Me too since I was five years old. I was always crying not to be put to bed especially alone,” May added.

  “I couldn’t explain it to them,” Wolfgang continued. “There’s my first dream of the steamboat along the dock and the beach and the boardwalk and the crowd under the lamppost.”

  We all nodded. The steamboat nightmare was an obvious one, one that we were well aware of and that this nightmare had brought us here tonight. Billy needed more and so did I. Worth was only as deep as one could see. Right now, I could see only two inches ahead.

  “I guess I don’t need to describe that one.” Wolfgang realized he had said the obvious and rethought his words. “My second dream was about a mountainous quest for the elusive golden treasure chest.”

  “That’s my second dream too,” May admitted too quickly.

  “My third dream had vampires in black suits,” Wolfgang explained.

  “Oh yes, me too.” May shifted about her seat, excited by the similarity.

  Billy perked his head up looking suspicious over May’s admission. It was easier to agree once the deed was done but did it hold water. She was a great journalist but journalists were not exactly trustworthy people—renowned for playing along to obtain a sensational story.

  “May,” Billy called for her attention, “what other dreams have you had?”

  Good question. Billy was always thinking one step ahead. This should be interesting to examine May’s validity—test the grounds before revealing too much on our end.

  “I’m sorry to be so blunt but I can sympathize with some of your suspicions,” May acknowledged keenly. She tucked her skirt around her legs. “This is of course a touchy matter not only for you but for all of us.” She saw right through Billy, right through his question, and hit the nail right on the head. She was good.

  “Touchy is all a relative think,” Billy downplayed his concern and sipped his drink. “Trust me I know.”

  “Have you ever had the dream about a stalker man wearing a thick, grubby smock and brandying an axe across his shoulder?” May posed, expecting an immediate reaction.

  I turned to May and focused in on her eyes. “I had that nightmare when I was nine years old.”

  Wolfgang scratched his beard and glanced down at his lap. Billy rudely coughed disguising some sort of muffled word. Both guys continued to play the poker face, not willing to expose any details.

  “Okay. I was six.” Eyes widening, May grew so anxious she began to shift about in the chair. “How about the dream about an orange school bus … The bus driver is an unhappy, overweight man … The bad weather contributes to the bus crashing into a compact car. I was nine when I had this one.” She paused again, checking for a response.

  Everybody was silent in the room all attention was on May.

  I nodded despite the subdue atmosphere. “I know that one too. The bus driver becomes what he desired. I had it at twelve.”

  The nightmare was some sort of logic puzzle wrapped in a mystery. May proved herself. She really had the same nightmares as the rest of us.

  “Billy, do you know what happens in that one?” May turned to Billy.

  Billy took a long sip from his glass. “A muscle man was in the compact car.” He turned to Wolfgang. “What happened next?”

  Wolfgang cleared his throat. “The bus driver was killed but somehow regained his life back. The once fat man who longed to be thin had become what he wished for, thin. He became obese and thin at the same time, as he was also dead and alive. It was duality at once.”

  “Yeah, my sentiments exactly.” I reacted completely out of character.

  “Very strange how we can interpret this dream in the same manner,” May observed with intrigue.

  The enclosed room air was stuffy and I was scared at what was going on. We all had the same nightmares, a milestone indeed. A day ago I thought I was alone, by myself in a cruel world.

  “I remember a dream at thirteen about a miniscule school house existing on a cartoon landscape,” May recounted. “The school had a red roof peaking to a single point. The green lawn drawn out like a carpet and the bright sun stuck in the corner of a cartoon page. It was as if it were drawn by a child. Out of nowhere the school house shook like those carnival funhouses, the one where the floor shakes as you walk on it.”

  “At eleven, I remember a dream about the puny planet Earth rotating about the sun, happy as a sparrow with its morning breakfast. And then.” Wolfgang chin lowered fearful to describe what came next. “Like a ball hanging off the edge of a table, the Earth fell out of orbit, spiralling out into the dark universe.”

  Everything was the same. Despite what we shared, it
bothered me to hear them described as dreams rather than as nightmares. What were the implications for this? What did this all mean?

  There was a moment of silence as we pondered the implications of sharing nightmares.

  “I dreamt about a secluded waterfall overflowing an adjoining river,” Wolfgang recalled. “I could see the cascading white wash pour over the edge. In the distance, an airborne tarp drifts towards the current, swept in by the vacuum-like pull of the cascade. I was ten.”

  May agreed with a serious nod. “The steamboat, the treasure chest, the stalker, the cartoon house, the waterfall, the school bus accident, the Earth, the list goes on,” she summarized perplexed. “It’s all the same between us. All at the same time period. We’re linked together in our sleep. It’s definitely, a cosmic force. We belong to a higher level dimension than the common folks.”

  “Sorry but I find that any spiritual theory hard to believe. What we need is an interpretation to the dreams and maybe we can get real answers as to why we’re having them.” Wolfgang sat back in his chair, trying to think it through.

  “I don’t dream anymore,” Billy revealed.

  “Oddly, I stopped dreaming when I was nineteen,” Wolfgang admitted.

  May’s eyes widened. “Me too.”

  “Me too,” Billy teased.

  The three looked my way. I felt sadness because I was alone again. For them, their misery has ended. “I still have the nightmares.”

  May gently placed a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “Did you notice anything different at the age of nineteen or maybe it was at twenty-two since you’re three years older?”

  I shook my head. I was twenty-eight and still plagued by the nightmares. Nothing changed for me.

  Wolfgang tensed up. “I was nine years old when I dreamt of the bus accident. I can remember my age and exactly recall every small detail of that dream. The wet road, the wobbly traffic lights hung above the bus, the horns blazing prior to the accident. It’s all there in my mind like it was glued there,” he described, matching details perfectly to my nightmare.

  “The screaming children in the bus and the poor man in the car,” May continued without missing a cue. “And the dead bus driver.”