Dreambender

by Kidd, Ronald;

I said, “If you don’t see pictures, what do you see?”

  She shrugged and looked at the others. “Our eyes are closed. It’s black, that’s all.”

  Where I lived, everybody dreamed. Where Sal lived, nobody dreamed. What did it mean?

  Sal and his friends roamed the woods, and the dreambenders didn’t know where they were or if they were. The only way to meet them was in person, as I had. They had slipped off the dreamscape and between the cracks. They didn’t exist. They were ghosts.

  “How many of you are there?” I asked Sal.

  He looked around the circle. “Six.”

  “No, I mean living in the woods. Not dreaming.”

  Deb giggled. “You ask funny questions.”

  “Why does it matter?” asked Sal.

  Zack said, “We matter. This matters.”

  Sal got to his feet and disappeared inside the cave. He came out a moment later, holding a black thing that was wide and rounded at one end and narrow and straight at the other, the size of a child. Scratched and scuffed, it had a big dent on one side.

  I noticed a crack that ran along the edge of the black thing, all the way around. Along one side of the crack were some metal pieces that must have been shiny once.

  Sal tugged on one of them, and it flipped back with a snapping noise. He flipped the others, and the crack widened. The black thing was hollow. Something was in there.

  Slowly, carefully, Sal swung back the top. The black thing had been damaged, but it was just a holder to protect something else. It had done its job well.

  Inside was a gleaming object made of wood, with a thin neck at one end and a curved, rounded body at the other. Strings stretched down the neck and across a hole in the body. There were six of them. Sal plucked one, and a note rang out.

  Zack smiled. “Music matters.”

  I glanced around at the group. In my world, music wasn’t a word you mentioned openly. You whispered it behind closed doors. Yet here was Zack, saying it and smiling. What kind of place was this?

  Sal lifted the object out and set the black thing aside. Deb nodded toward the object.

  “It’s a sound box,” she told me.

  I asked Sal, “Where did you get it?”

  “I found it in a tree. It was hanging like fruit.”

  Deb explained, “It was a floater. When the waters rose, it stayed on top. When the waters went down, it stuck in a tree.”

  Sal sat down and brushed his fingers across the strings. A wonderful sound came out. He poked his tongue from the corner of his mouth and did it again. Sal brushed the strings for a long time, and I listened. The sounds reminded me of the Meadow and of people I knew—they were thoughtful like Phillip, funny like Hannah, doubtful like Gracie, sure like Leif. I heard Arthur’s encouragement and Dorothy’s harsh judgment swirling like smoke above the flames.

  “How do you do that?” I asked him.

  He shrugged. “I just do.”

  Someone said, “It’s a gift.”

  The voice was low and sweet. It rang like a gong. I looked around to see who had spoken.

  It was the tall girl.

  “All have gifts,” she said. “Gifts make us special.”

  Dorothy had described dreambending as a gift. Were there other gifts? Did this odd group have them? Did I?

  Four days ago I had left the Meadow sure of where I was going. Now my best hope of getting there was to rely on a group of misfits who ate berries and thought music was a gift. I thought of the singer, and suddenly I was eager to get going.

  “Will you take me to the City?” I asked Sal.

  The others stared at me. Sal studied the ground in front of him.

  He murmured, “I told you, we don’t go there.”

  “Then show me the way,” I said. “You don’t have to go. But I do.”

  Sal looked at the others. They didn’t seem happy. He turned back to me.

  “Why?”

  It was a familiar question, one I’d been asking my whole life. I hadn’t planned to tell anyone, but Sal had given me food and included me in his circle. He had played the sound box. I decided I owed him an answer.

  “There’s a girl,” I said.

  Deb grinned. I blushed.

  I said, “It’s not like that.”

  “What’s it like?” she asked.

  I thought of the dream. How do you explain colors to someone who can’t see?

  I said, “She lives in the City. She loves to sing. I need to find her.”

  Deb looked at the others. No one said anything. Then Zack turned to me.

  “Need matters,” he said.

  The next morning, Sal took me to a big tree at the edge of the woods.

  “This is as far as I go,” he said. “Walk toward the sun and you’ll reach the City.”

  Sal turned to leave, and I caught his arm. He looked back at me, his face smudged with dirt. Usually I knew people by their dreams. I knew Sal by what he had done.

  “Thank you for helping me,” I said.

  He nodded. “I hope you find her.”

  “Clean your face sometime,” I told him.

  Sal laughed. Then he was gone.

  14

  Callie

  Freedom Day.

  It was the biggest holiday of the year. On Freedom Day, businesses in the City closed and people filled the streets, celebrating freedom from pollution, destruction, and machines. Anyway, that’s what my parents believed. For me it was simpler than that. It was a day off work, a time to have fun.

  That morning I set the table, and my father whipped up some eggs. My mother baked a special kind of bread in a square pan and brought it to the table with a flourish.

  “It’s Freedom Bread,” she told us as she sliced it. “My dad used to make it for the holiday. We looked forward to it every year. He cut it into three rows of three, like I’m doing, which always left a middle piece. There was nothing special about that piece, but to us kids it was the best. You know why?”

  I studied the pan and saw it immediately. “There’s just one.”

  “Right!” she said. “You wouldn’t believe the fights we had over that middle piece. It used to drive my dad crazy.”

  My father chuckled. “Freedom to argue—the right of every kid.”

  She lifted out the middle piece and set it on my plate. “In our family there’s no argument. Maybe it’s why we only had one child.”

  I dug into the middle piece, which really was delicious. After breakfast I walked with my parents toward the Square. Several blocks from there, we started coming across groups of people, and soon we were in a happy crowd.

  As we approached the Square, I heard a commotion off to one side. Looking over, I found myself staring at a banner. Splattered with color and hung on the side of a building, it said Freedom to… People of all ages were gathered around the banner, painting. Juanita stood nearby, talking to anyone who would listen. Eleesha and Pam worked next to the banner, handing out brushes and paint.

  I touched my mother’s shoulder. “I see someone I know. Why don’t you and Dad go on ahead? I’ll catch up with you.”

  My parents went on, and I made my way through the crowd to the banner. Eleesha grinned when she saw me.

  “Callie! I didn’t know if we’d see you again.”

  “Sorry…” I began, but she waved me off.

  “Don’t apologize. I’m just happy you’re here.”

  I gestured toward the banner. “What’s this?”

  “Well,” she said, “we love painting pictures, but for Freedom Day we wanted to do something more. You know, something that made a statement. Right, Pam?”

  Pam, always the quiet one, nodded enthusiastically.

  Eleesha said, “When people celebrate Freedom Day, they talk about freedom from—from fear, from hunger, from po
llution, from war—as if freedom were a wall to keep us safe. But that’s not what freedom means. It’s a state of mind. It’s a way of living. Yes, we love our freedom, but what do we do with it?”

  Unable to contain herself, Pam blurted out, “Not freedom from. Freedom to!”

  “Right,” said Eleesha. “So we started a banner, and the people are helping us finish it. Look!”

  A father held his baby son in one arm. With his free hand he was painting a word on the banner: Build.

  An elderly woman stood with her husband. She smiled at him, then wrote the word Love.

  A young man wearing a white shirt had used the paint to splash designs on his clothes and face, then had written Be crazy!

  Other words covered the banner: Run. Think. Disagree. Write. Pray. Help. Eat popcorn.

  “Well,” said Eleesha, “what do you think?”

  A feeling welled up inside me. On impulse, I approached the banner, took a brush, and dipped it in bright-red paint. With broad, bold strokes I wrote the word Sing.

  Pam clapped. Eleesha gave me a hug and said, “It’s perfect.”

  I put down the brush and stepped back, unsure of what I had done.

  “You think so?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” said Eleesha. “Tell you what. The three of us will mingle with the crowd. You can hand out brushes and paint.”

  It felt good to help. When people wrote their words, their faces lit up. I had never seen so many people smile.

  Every so often I’d steal a glance at my word. Sometimes it glimmered in the sun. Sometimes I could barely read it. Sometimes it looked like blood.

  I noticed a boy in the crowd. His clothes were strange to begin with but also wrinkled and torn. I thought he was watching me, but then he looked away. I stopped to help someone else, and when I turned back, he was standing next to me.

  He stooped down, picked up a brush, and dabbed it in blue paint. He wrote on the banner: Dream. Then he looked back at me.

  “We have to talk,” he said.

  Part Three

  The Singer

  15

  Callie

  The boy stared at me. His eyes were pleading.

  “Why do we have to talk?” I asked.

  “We just do.”

  I looked around. People were painting words on the banner and reading what others had painted. Eleesha and her friends spoke with the onlookers.

  I said, “We can talk here. No one’s listening.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t like crowds.”

  I noticed that he was sweating, and he clenched and unclenched his hands. How can you live in the City and not like crowds?

  “Let’s stay here,” I said. “I don’t know you.”

  “But I know you,” he said.

  “You do?”

  I tried to think of where we had met. At work maybe. On the street. I wondered if he had been following me.

  “What’s my name?” I asked.

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “This is getting strange,” I said.

  I turned to leave. He reached out and took my elbow. His touch was gentle.

  “You’re a singer,” he said. “You work with numbers but don’t like it.”

  I stared at him. “How did you know that?”

  “It’s hard to explain,” he said.

  “Try.”

  He took a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he seemed calmer.

  He said, “You dream.”

  There was a disturbance off to our left. A young man was coming toward us through the crowd, his eyes glued to the boy. The young man was beautiful, with blond hair and a proud tilt to his chin. He wore the same odd clothes the boy was wearing.

  The boy followed my gaze and saw the young man. He blanched.

  “Leif!”

  The boy stumbled backward, but the young man was too quick. He grabbed the boy’s arm. “Time to go, Jeremy.”

  I didn’t know what was happening, but it bothered me.

  “Who are you?” I asked the young man.

  “A friend,” he said.

  The boy tried to pull free. “Yes, we’re friends, but—”

  “Jeremy’s troubled,” said the young man. “He always has been. Sorry about this.”

  He gripped Jeremy’s arm and started to drag him off. Jeremy tried to get loose but couldn’t.

  Suddenly Eleesha was at my side. “What’s going on?”

  Jeremy struggled. He reached toward me with his free arm as if he were drowning. His gaze fastened onto mine.

  “You’re on a mountain, and there are doors,” he said. “Behind them are your parents and a mirror.”

  Leif tried to cover Jeremy’s mouth but couldn’t.

  “Why is he doing that?” asked Eleesha.

  As Leif took him away, Jeremy called out to me, “You hear singing. You hurry down the mountain.”

  A picture was forming in my mind. I had seen it before but somehow I’d forgotten it. A woman sat on a patch of grass, her head thrown back, singing from the depths of her heart.

  I was the woman.

  Joy washed over me.

  “Stop him,” I whispered.

  Eleesha turned to me.

  “Stop him!” I said.

  Quick as a shot, Eleesha took off after them, shoving people aside. When she reached them, she lowered her shoulder and rammed into Leif. Grunting, he loosened his grip just enough for Jeremy to pull free. Leif tried to stop him, but Eleesha dove for Leif’s knees and tackled him.

  “Go!” she yelled.

  I grabbed Jeremy’s hand, and we took off running through the crowd.

  Whenever I wanted a break from work, I would slip outside and explore the City. One of my favorite places was a little courtyard a short distance from the Square. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d never find it. One day I had seen a man emerge from the courtyard. Curious, I had discovered the entrance. There was a bench, and in the mornings, the sun shone between the buildings to light up a little patch of grass, the only one for blocks.

  I would sit on the bench and gaze at the grass. Sometimes I would get on my hands and knees to look. Worms wriggled. Bugs crawled. Ants labored, all in that little patch of grass. Once I saw a butterfly. It landed on the grass and balanced, its wings beating slowly.

  Where did the creatures come from? Where had they been? How did they end up here?

  I took Jeremy to the courtyard. Winded, frightened, he sat beside me on the bench. I had a hundred questions for him and was surprised at the first one I asked.

  “Have you ever seen grass like this?”

  He glanced at me and burst out laughing as if it had been pent up inside him for a long time. I laughed too. It felt good.

  “Why are we laughing?” I asked.

  He said, “Where I come from, grass is everywhere. You can hardly take a step without squashing a worm.”

  “Is there such a place?”

  He looked away. He crossed and uncrossed his arms, then chewed on a thumbnail.

  Finally he looked back.

  “It’s called the Meadow,” he said. “It’s a long way from here.”

  “Is it in the land of Between?” I asked.

  He shook his head and leaned forward. “You remember that guy who was chasing me?”

  “Leif?”

  “Right. Leif once asked me the strangest question: Between what? He said if the place is called Between, there must be something on each side. Makes sense, doesn’t it? Somehow, it had never occurred to me.”

  “Me neither,” I said.

  “Well, now I know, and you will too. The City’s on one side and the Meadow’s on the other. That’s why they call it Between.”

  It was so obvious, I had to gigg
le. “I feel stupid. Maybe we’re both stupid.”

  He grinned. “I might start liking you. But I still don’t know your name.”

  Somehow it seemed okay to tell him.

  “Callie Crawford,” I said.

  “I’m Jeremy Finn.”

  He looked around, as if checking to make sure no one would hear. Then, in a low voice, he told me, “They don’t want us to figure it out. People in the City can’t know about the Meadow. People in the Meadow can’t come to the City.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  He said, “You may not believe it.”

  “Try me,” I said.

  16

  Jeremy

  How had Leif found the City?

  Maybe he had guessed. Maybe the fixers had told him. He had always been a smart kid—smart about figuring things out, tracking things down, making sure things were right. And I, the kid at the head of the class, was the dummy.

  Leif was a born fixer, and they knew it. I wondered if this was his first assignment. Remembering his stern gaze and iron grip, I doubted it.

  “Now tell me,” said Callie.

  I was sitting on a bench in the tiny, cramped courtyard she thought of as a wide-open space. I was miles from home, breaking the law, running away, and didn’t have the beginnings of a plan. I had wanted to see the singer. That was all—not in my head or in a mirror, but in the world. In life. I hadn’t planned anything more. But when I finally saw her, it hadn’t been enough.

  I had seen her. I had heard her. Now I needed to tell her. So I did.

  How do you describe a dreambender? How do you explain what it’s like to go inside people’s heads and shift things around? It sounds impossible. When you say it out loud, it sounds wrong.

  Callie didn’t want to believe me, but she had heard my description of her dream. I had been there, and she knew it. I was like a prowler, going through her private possessions. It seemed shameful, but I’d been doing it for weeks, and they had praised me for my skill.

  “You saw my dream?” she said, still trying to understand. “Then you changed it?”

  “I didn’t. They did. It’s what we do in the Meadow.”

  “Why?”

  “To solve problems. To make the world better.”