“My colleague,” Luke said. “Or ex colleague anyway.”
The specialist nodded. “So what brings you in today, Luke? Can I call you Luke?”
“Sure.”
Luke hesitated. Why was he expected to tell all his problems to a total stranger? Sure, they’ve had training, but it felt weird telling his most intimate secrets and experiences to someone who he had never met until that day. Not to mention the stranger’s young age. All in all, he was sure the psychiatrist would help very little.
Luke took a deep breath. He did promise Mike, after all. And maybe unloading his problems onto a person whose job was to listen, advise and treat would make Luke feel better. But he had no problems and no illness. He just wanted to see Alyssa. What was wrong with that? But then he remembered the nearly-empty bottle of sleeping pills and he knew he could not go on like this.
“My girlfriend….” Then he corrected himself. “Fiancée….” Then he corrected himself again. “Wife.” He did not know which word to use. He settled on ‘wife.’
“My wife died a few days ago.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.”
The psychiatrist did look genuinely sorry to hear that. Maybe I misjudged him, Luke thought.
“How?” Dr. Jones asked gently.
“Something called a subdural hematoma. She slipped and fell on the pavement when it rained the other night. She had a headache, but didn’t go to the doctor until it was too late.”
Dr. Jones nodded sympathetically. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”
“We had a fight before she hit her head. I was going to propose to her the next day.”
The doctor nodded, then clicked his tongue sympathetically.
Should I tell him about the dreams? Luke wondered. The guy is a dream and grief specialist, after all.
“A couple nights ago,” he continued. “I saw her in my dreams. She forgave me for the fight. Then I married her.” Luke’s voice changed completely. It was now dreamy and wistful.
“We spent our honeymoon flying above the clouds, over an ocean. But then, some kind of Wind and Rain Drop came and took her away. I keep dreaming of this giant cornfield. What could that mean?”
His voice was now back to normal, even depressed.
Dr. Jones nodded, and jotted down some notes, then looked up. “I don’t really interpret dreams. That’s not very unscientific. Now these dreams of yours, how long have you been having them?”
“Ever since she died. I just will myself to dream of her, and there she is. But not every time.”
Luke was silent for a while, then added, “They’re not just dreams though. They feel real to me.”
Dr. Jones murmured something that was inaudible to Luke, and continued to jot down some notes.
When he was done, he looked at his newest patient. “We dream of what we most desire. When loved ones die, they tend to stay with us. It’s not unusual to dream of them.”
“But I’m not just dreaming of her,” Luke said. “She’s really coming to see me in my dreams. I can prove it.”
Luke knew he must have sounded crazy to the psychiatrist. After all, psychiatrists are used to dealing with neurotic or even psychotic patients and can detect mental instability pretty quickly.
Luke took a deep breath. “I was missing an item. A cherry blossom she gave me on our first date. In my dreams, she told me where it was. And when I woke up, I found it under the bed. Exactly where she said it would be.”
Dr. Jones continued to scribble. The writing was starting to irritate Luke.
The physician finally looked up from his notepad.
“Are you sure she didn’t tell you where the cherry blossom was before she passed away and you merely forgot about it?”
Luke considered the question. Sure, it was a possibility. But, it felt so real.
Luke nodded. “It could be, but it was real. In my dreams, I tasted her lips, smelled her natural scent, wrapped my arms around her waist.”
The doctor pursed his lips. “There’s a school of dream interpretation that says that our most secret yearnings are revealed in our dreams. Whatever we want in real life and could not obtain, we dream of them in order to fulfill our deepest desires. Let’s say you always wanted to be a popular singer in real life, but failed, due to the harsh reality of the music industry. In your dreams, you would be a successful pop star.”
He paused, then continued.
“This is actually a form of therapy. Freud goes even further. He once said that ‘dreams are the royal road to the subconscious.’ That means that dreams allow us to act out what our conscious minds don‘t even know they want to do. Often taboo stuff.”
“But I knew I wanted to marry Alyssa before she died.”
“And did you marry her before she died?”
Luke shook his head.
Dr. Jones cleared his throat. “And this is the way you make up for it. You marry her in your dreams, acting out what you could not do in real life.”
Put that way, it made sense to Luke.
“There are a myriad of theories on the nature and purpose of dreams,” Dr. Jones continued. “One popular theory is that it’s a defense mechanism, a way to deal with the harshness of life. The bottom line is that dream makes us feel better, which allows us to move on and deal with life after trauma. It heals us.”
When Luke did not react, the psychiatrist elaborated.
“You wanted to marry Alyssa in real life, but she died before you got the chance. Of course, you would be absolutely devastated and crippled by the tragedy. You would not be able to go on with life. Being able to marry her in your dreams is the next best thing. It allows you closure. Closure allows you to pick yourself up and deal with life in a constructive manner.”
Luke considered the doctor’s analysis. It did make sense to him, but it was lacking something. Maybe it was because the ugly truth was staring him in the face and he did not want to accept it.
Maybe he wanted Alyssa to be visiting him for real, making sure he’s alright before she went Home.
He did not want it to be something his mind made up.
He wanted it to be real.
Thinking about the subject making his mind go insane. He decided to switch the topic.
“The thing is, I’ve been taking sleeping pills.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that, especially after the trauma you endured,” Dr. Jones interrupted. “Do you need a prescription for an even larger dose?”
“But I almost overdosed on them. It was a full bottle when I took some last night. When I woke up, Mike found it almost empty.”
The specialist furrowed his eyebrows. “That’s not good. I know sleep must be hard for you, especially when you’re excited to have dreams of your wife. Sleeping pills can be addictive though. I would recommend vigorous exercise as a natural and harmless way to induce sleep.”
Luke nodded.
The doctor looked at the prescription pad on his right. “I don’t think there’s any other medication I can prescribe for you. Do you want to talk about anything else related?”
“I’m good.” Luke got up.
Dr. Jones offered his hand and Luke shook it. “Please make an appointment to see me when you feel the need. Oh, and by the way.” The doctor’s look grew ominous. “If you ever get suicidal thoughts, please call me on my cell number or home number at any time.” Dr. Jones handed him a piece of paper with two phone numbers on it.
It’s too late for that, Luke thought.
He took the piece of paper and stuffed it into his pocket.
He got up and turned around.
“Oh,” Dr. Jones said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Me too,” Luke said, without turning around. “I’m even sorrier.”
* * * * *
When he got home, the day dragged on slowly. He turned on the TV, but could not concentrate on the sounds of CTV NewsNet. He thought he heard something about the swine flu, and mudslides in South America, or even it was in As
ia.
Like a zombie, he stared at the screen, but the images did not register as meaningful in his mind.
Giving up, he went over to the window and gazed out at the day. Rain lightly knocked on the glass window, leaving trails streaming down the pane. The sun tried to peek out from behind the clouds, but the clouds blocked it out stubbornly. This was not typical summer weather.
The urge to see his wife was there. It was an itch that screamed desperately for a good scratch, but he had no idea which area on his body to scratch.
He had a sudden urge to pop in some more sleeping pills. The convenience store just on the corner of his street would certainly have them in stock. Then he remembered Mike’s concerned expression and Dr. Jones’ disapproving look at the mention of sleeping pills.
He thought about what the psychiatrist had said. Marrying Alyssa in his dreams was a way to make up for not having done that in real life.
There was truth to it, Luke thought.
Regardless of whether Alyssa was really coming to him or that she was merely a figment of his dreams, it did make him feel better when he saw her. That much he knew.
Maybe the doctor was right about all that psychobabble about the subconscious, he thought.
Even then, his suspicions were confirmed though. The psychiatrist had helped very little. He still felt about the same. He decided he would not go back to see the doctor.
In any case, he did not care.
All he wanted to do now was to fall asleep.
He took one step to his right to get a different view of the city. He could see the gray sky train track curving around like a snake. He scanned the tops of apartment buildings, the field in nearby Confederation Park, and Kingsway Secondary School.
Everything was wet and gray. It made him feel like sleeping.
He took another step and bumped into something. Rubbing his shoulder, he turned around and inspected it.
It was a treadmill.
He had forgotten about it. Alyssa had insisted that they buy it when she realized that Luke had put on a few pounds. Late nights sitting at the office and eating McDonalds’ burgers could do that to anyone.
Looking at the treadmill, he had an idea. Dr. Jones had mentioned exercise as a natural way to induce sleep. Luke decided he would run on the treadmill until he was too tired to stay awake.
He took off his T shirt, stripped to his boxers and hopped on. He pressed the Quick Start button and the conveyor belt started to move. He pressed the Increase Speed button until it was at a 5.0.
The machine whirred and the conveyer belt began to speed up, making a loud grinding sound. It was going as fast as the pace for sprinting in the Olympics.
Luke felt his heart wallop. Sweat was attacking his forehead already. He held onto the bar and ran as fast as he could.
He kept up the speed for a good thirty minutes. When he felt like his legs would cave from under him, he hopped off the treadmill and slumped down onto the couch, his face caked with sweat. He looked at the Calories icon. He had burned 350 calories in half an hour.
Exhausted, he closed his eyes. He pictured Alyssa in his mind. Alyssa in his silky white dress, her beautiful smile, her soulful eyes.
* * * * *
After a minute of rest, he realized he was above the clouds again. It was gray, as gray as the current day in the waking world.
Sitting on a cloud, he felt his feet dangling.
It was still. But cold.
“Alyssa?” he said softly.
He waited and looked around.
Nothing. Nothing but empty space.
“Alyssa?” he tried again.
Still nothing.
Maybe the Raindrop and Wind did get her after all, he thought.
He hung his head and wrapped his arms around himself, rocking back and forth.
It was getting colder with each passing minute.
* * * * *
Chapter 14
When Luke woke up, he saw that the rain had stopped. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes, and stared out the window. It was still gray.
She had not shown up that time. Maybe she really was gone, he thought.
He felt really groggy and disoriented. He had been sleeping way too much over the last few days. He did not feel well.
He saw that the TV was still on. CTV NewsNet was reporting that a serial killer was on the loose in the Montreal area. The time at the bottom of the screen read 4 pm.
Luke knew he needed to assess his life.
His wife was dead. His career was dead. His parents were both long dead and he was not close to any of his extended family members. He had almost no friends except for Mike. He had just seen a psychiatrist.
His life was in the gutter.
I need to pick myself up, he thought. I have to stop falling asleep just to see Alyssa.
But he knew it would be tough.
I need to see her one last time, he thought. Just to say goodbye.
* * * * *
For the next three nights, he slept soundly but did not dream. He did not see Alyssa, no matter how much he willed himself to dream of her.
Each time, he woke up all sweaty and disappointed.
Each morning, he ordered himself to get out of bed, but every time, he could not muster the willpower. What was the point?
He woke up on the fourth day and stared out the window. Even though it was sunny, he could feel no joy in the light.
It was then that he knew he had a problem.
So he dragged himself out of bed and went to see Dr. Jones.
* * * * *
The doctor perused the test results in his hands.
“Your MRI looks fine to me. Everything else looks fine to me. You mentioned lack of appetite, unwillingness to get out of bed, and sleeping heavily and often. Those sound like signs of depression.”
Luke merely nodded. He knew this was coming.
The psychiatrist took out his prescription pad and scribbled something, then tore off a page. “This is a prescription for Prozac, a potent antidepressant. Take it once a day in the evening, after dinner.”
He handed the prescription to Luke.
Luke stared at it. I don’t want to rely on pills to make me happy, he thought. But I did. I relied on sleeping pills to make me happy.
* * * * *
When Luke got home, he stared vacantly at the prescription for antidepressants. He did not want to go to the pharmacy for it. He did not want to take it. He was sure that if he saw Alyssa one more time, and said his goodbyes, he would feel better. He would be able to pick himself up and move on.
He tore up the prescription and threw the little pieces into the garbage can. He would not see a psychiatrist again.
* * * * *
That night, he could not sleep. He tossed and turned, but the sweet release of sleep would not come.
He got up and shuffled into the living room. He looked at the treadmill, but did not feel like going on.
He knew there was only one thing to do.
Luke got dressed and went down to the convenience store on the corner of the street. Rumble Market. The blinding glare of the artificial lights hurt his eyes as he stepped into the store.
An old Asian man behind the counter grunted, then said, “Can’t sleep?” The old man was bald and missing several front teeth.
Luke shook his head. “Nope. Give me a bottle of SleepAid.”
The grocer turned around and reached for the bottle on the shelf. He put it on the counter. “$4.99, please.”
Luke handed the man a five-dollar bill.
As the man handed Luke a penny, he said, “Be careful with those. Pretty powerful. Can knock you out with just one pill.”
Luke picked up the bottle and rattled it. It sounded full.
“And what would happen if I took two?”
“Deep sleep,” the owner said. “Very deep sleep.”
“And three?”
“Don’t take three,” the old man warned. “Dangerous. Says so on bottle.”<
br />
Luke read the directions in the blinding light.
Do not take more than two per night, except under the supervision of a licensed physician.
He thought he knew what taking three would do.
Instant death.
* * * * *
When he got back, he lay down on his bed and popped a pill into his mouth, then had some water.
He closed his eyes, but his mind was restless.
So he took another one.
He still could not sleep.
For a moment, he seriously considered taking a third. What could death mean to him right now? His career was over. That was practically his identity. He had been stripped naked of that.
And Alyssa was dead. He no longer had a purpose.
Career and love. Both dead.
No purposes anymore.
He reached for a pill and was about to put it in his mouth when he remembered the promise he had made to Alyssa.
She was furious when he had tried to jump off the balcony. He had promised her he would not kill himself, no matter how bad it got. She had said he had to live. There were things to live for. New purposes. He just did not know which ones.
As he was thinking, somehow, he fell asleep, the bottle of sleeping pills falling onto his bed sheets.
* * * * *
In his dreams, he was back above the clouds again. The air was Autumn crisp. Luke took a breath. The air filled and expanded his lungs and made him want more. He took another breath and savored it.
He looked around. The clouds were drifting. It was sunset. Or sunrise. He could not tell which. A deep carrot orange light glossed over the clouds, and his face.
He felt calm, tranquil.
Did he dare try to summon Alyssa?
“Alyssa?” he whispered into the silence.
No reply.
“Alyssa?” he tried again.
He waited for it. A wind blew past him. It was light and comfortable.
But no Alyssa.
“Alyssa?” he repeated, this time with more force.
He would not give up until she showed up.
He scanned his environment. Just wisps of floating clouds.
“Luke,” a female voice murmured.
He turned his head and there she was.
“Alyssa!” he exclaimed, then rushed into her.
Hiding In His Dreams Page 12