The Kick

I’m blaming the kick. You know, the sensation you get when you’re drifting into sleep. Where it feels like you’re falling, falling, falling. I looked it up. They’re called hypnic jerks—strong, involuntary contractions that can occur in that period between waking and sleeping. Like I said, I’m blaming the kick. Three of them tonight. And I don’t have another reason for why I am here, in another blasted vivid dream.

I’m on a train, interesting. The wheels screech as the train veers around a corner, the sound bright and sharp in my ears. Like nails on a chalkboard, the sound scrapes along my nerves, raising the hair on my skin. I should be used to it, veteran subway commuter that I am. But I’m not. I rub my forehead, blinking my eyes to wake up. It doesn’t work. Worth a shot. Hmm…I wonder who I’ll dream of tonight. I look around the car, scanning the faces for anyone I know. It’s a 50:50 shot. Many of my visions are anonymous, and some are not. Usually, it’ll be someone I ran into on the train, or at the market off 7th. A few times it’s been someone I knew personally. I didn’t like those times. No one’s looking familiar—a small relief.

I take in the train car again, craning my neck a little to view above the seat in front of me. The car’s about half full, mostly families and young professionals. A mother nurses her baby two rows ahead, and there’s an older woman next to me, resting her eyes. Her face looks serene but lacks the blankness of true unconsciousness. She has AirPods in—maybe she’s meditating. She looks the type. But who am I to judge? I meditate too, part of the regime my psychologist recommended to manage my “extra mental activity.” Sometimes I think it’s all bullshit. Sometimes I think it’s mental gold.

I sigh, settling into my seat. Honestly, everything seems benign here—I can just wake up. No need to see the vision through and try to play superhero for someone. Most of the time it doesn’t work anyway. I often don’t get enough information about time, location, what series of choices and factors lead up to the event. So, there’s no point in trying to stop or alter the future. It just is. I just see it, and then it happens. No big deal. No need to pull out the spandex and cape. No need to do anything but wake up. Wake up, body, wake up!

Nada, nothing, zilch. Worth a shot.

“Lord, I do not want to spend my whole night here,” I groan, pinching my forearms and bouncing my feet. “Let’s go, let me go, let me go…”

“That’s not going to work, you know.” I freeze, swallowing. Slowly, I turn toward the voice beside me. The woman’s eyes have opened, her head is tilted to the side, brows raised in amusement. And her eyes—her eyes burn, like she can see right through me.

“I..uh…I—” I search for words as my heart stutters in my chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I try again, “You can hear me.”

She smiles, showing off an impressive set of lovely white teeth.

“Well of course dear. We are seated next to each other.”

“Ah, yes, but I mean people usually don’t talk to me in these situations, so this is…new.”

“Something new,” she says, her eyes sparkling as her smile widens, “how lovely.”

Those teeth... I swallow again, failing to clear the knot that is now my throat. Something about her feels off. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but she seems…wild. Like an animal lurks behind the veneer of white teeth, silver hair and lined skin. She blinks as I assess her, and her head tilts the other direction before she rests it back against the chair again, eyes closing.

She inhales deeply, then breathes, “Ask me why it won’t work, child.”

I bristle at the word—I’m nearly thirty-fucking-years-old but okay, I’ll bite.

“Why won’t it work, ma’am,” I edge out. She grins. What is it with this woman and smiling?

“You are not asleep.”

I roll my eyes. Three-kick-fever-dream indeed. This woman in my dream-vision-whatever knows best, clearly. The attitude and the nerve...I decide to play along, if only to see where this all is going.

“So, where are we then? I don’t remember getting on the train.”

“Don’t you?” she asks, turning back toward me. I swallow as she meets my gaze. There’s something about her eyes…

“I, uh, no. I don’t. And I didn’t get drunk last night, so that’s something.”

Her laugh bubbles out like a gurgling garbage disposal, rough and out of practice.

“Oh Lord, I forgot how funny you were.”

That snags my attention. I lean in a bit.

“Have we met?” I ask, chest tightening. My heart really can’t take any more of this.

“Where do you want this train to go?” she re-directs, leaning in like she truly wants to know the answer.

“It’s a train. It doesn’t matter where I want it to go.”

“Doesn’t it?”

God, this woman is going to be the death of me.

“What?” I sigh, falling back into my seat a bit.

“Doesn’t it matter where you want it to go?” she asks, over articulating, since clearly, I didn’t hear her the first time.

“Well, no—it’s a train. It goes, and I go with it. You go with it. We all,” I gesture to the cabin, “go with it. You can’t stop—or control—a train.”

“You are right about one thing. There is no stopping this train.”

Heaven help me. This window seat is really starting to feel quite cramped. I consider my options. Maybe if I’m a bit wild, this whole thing will end. Nothing like breaking a dream with the absurd. I reckon I’ll try the window. But something about this woman, her eyes… I turn toward her.

“Let me get this right,” I grind out, voice dropping. “You want me to believe that this is not a dream, and that I’m awake, on a train that isn’t stopping, but is, in fact, actually real.”

I narrow my eyes, sizing her up, should it come to that. “Real trains have destinations, and stops—they run out of fuel, or track.”

“And tickets.”

“What?”

“Real trains have tickets,” she supplies.

“Exactly,” I smile, settling into my seat. I make a show of searching for a ticket in my pockets, and wave to my complete lack of possessions in general. “No ticket, no bag. Look, I’m not sure why you’re talking to me, but I’m pretty sure this is all one big fever dream.”

“Except that it’s not, Alex.”

My skin chills over at the sound of my name. She knows my name. My mind races, rationalizing. It’s okay, I decide. I know my name, and this is my dream, and so this creepy, wild-ass dream woman is using it. No big deal.

“You have no proof.”

“I don’t need it. You would have been awake four times over by now. You’ve done your rituals. Mind-snapping back, pinching, blinking your eyes, bouncing your feet. You haven’t tried snapping yet, but here—” she snaps her fingers, “nothing.”

All the blood drains from my face. She’s right, of course. I know how to get myself out of a vision, or a dream. I’ve known how for nearly two decades, having built up an arsenal of tactics as a child. Then, the visions consumed me. Night after night of sleepless terror, afraid of what I’d see. Night after night wondering why I was chosen, when the “ability” seemed so pointless. Night after night learning how to escape even the most captivating, vivid dreams. It’s been two decades since they’ve been able to contain me. The realization hits me like a pebble in a pond, clear and resolute: this isn’t a dream.

“Who are you?” I breathe, nausea building in my stomach. This isn’t a dream, this isn’t a dream, this isn’t a dream.

“What I’d like to talk about is who you are, Alex.”

“How do you know my name?” I shake my head. “You know–it doesn’t matter. Real train, real conductor, real help—and real space, away from you.”

I stand, moving to slide past her, but she intercepts me, wedging her body in the gap between seats

“Sit down, Alex.”

“No thanks.” I will kick this woman out of the way if I have to.

“Alex...” My name is a chorus. Every. Single. Occupant. Every single one has just said my name. And there they all are, looking at me. I can feel their eyes on my face like a brand. I swallow, my breath coursing through my nose in shallow pants. My legs, I can’t quite feel my legs anymore.

“What the living hell—” I turn toward the cabin, expecting the same crowd as before.

But gone is the mother, the young professionals, the families. Everyone is her. Every. Single. Body. Every single one now sports her face.

“You—you did this, didn’t you?” I stammer. “Did you—did you drug me?” I ask.

My body swims through space as the train rattles on. Lush, green hills blur beyond the window, too fast to make out. How fast are we going? Where are we going? What is this? My limbs feel heavy and light, and everything feels wrong, so, so wrong.

“Nonsense, you are just experiencing an alternate reality.”

“An alternate reality where every human on this train is you?! This is some Dr. Strange level bullshit, and I am not here for it. I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m done.”

I back up toward the train wall, plastering my body against the window. I should try the window. Nothing like the absurd to break through. Or break out.

“Don’t do it, you’ll die.”

“Still not convinced this is all real, but if it is, it seems preferable to being here right now.” I can’t bring myself to look at her eyes, all her eyes, boring into me. I reach my hand toward the window latch. It’s stuck, and my fingers slip off the cool metal. I’m sweating, everything is hot and tight.

“Just sit down, Alex. Just sit. And we can chat.”

“We’ve been chatting, and now I feel like I’m on acid,” I spit out. “I’m done.”

She looks me over. The train jolts, and I practically fall back into my chair. God, I wish I had my phone. She sighs, content that I am, once again, half-sitting in my seat.

“Look out the window.”

“Why?”

“Just look. What do you see?”

Slowly, I turn my head to look out of the window. My hands are shaking. Looking out the window means looking away from her. The wild thing. The one with the too white teeth.

The green blurs past the frame. We’re going so fast I can’t make out any of it, just light and shadow and green.

“Look deeper.”

I dart my gaze to her. She is in the same position as before, eyes closed, AirPods in. I slide my gaze back to the window, willing my eyes to distinguish shapes from the color.

She clicks her tongue, “Deeper, not harder, child.”

Ever so slightly, I relax my gaze. Slowly, the blur takes shape, figures popping out of the green. Then, like a lens coming into focus, they appear. Full color images, no, visions. Blindingly fast flashes. One after the other after the other. It takes me a moment to realize that they are me. My life. Snapshots of my childhood, my teen years. Adulthood. The time I fell off my bike and broke my arm, the time I broke up with Jordan because I had a vision of them fucking someone else, the time I vomited all over the floor after going out. Image after image. Moment after moment. Memory after memory. Decision after bad decision. Trying, failing, falling, trying again. Picking myself up to get thrown back down, often by myself. Faster now, the traces of my past replay like a broken record, skipping and melding together, distorting. I don’t want to look. I don’t want to see anymore. I turn away, tears streaming.

“What,” I gasp, “what is this?”

“The chord of your life,” she replies, not even opening her eyes.

“I see that, but why?”

“You have to face your own life, Alex, before you can face another's. We've let you coast for too long. Look again.”

I don’t want to, but I do. Shit, the images are really moving fast now. The train seems to have sped up in time, and the car rattles from the pressure of the outside air streaming past.

“Where are we going at this speed?!” I yell over the now thundering noise.

“Just look a little deeper Alex!”

“I don’t think I can—I’m not cut out for this! I—I’m—”

“You have to look deeper!”

Tears stream over my eyes, marring any image in front of me. I look anyway, helpless to do anything else as the train accelerates, plastering me to my seat. It’s too fast, we’re going way too fast. This is it, my death–or at least the end of this fever dream–it’s coming. The track shudders beneath me, rattling the cabin. I close my eyes.

And just like that, like the air popping out of a balloon, we are jolted forward, upward, outward. We’re still on the train, at least sort of. Everything has become so much lighter, like we’re floating through space. My body, my brain, my spirit—all light. And quiet. Like we’ve escaped into the soundlessness of space. So, so much space.

“Where are we?” I whisper.

She chuckles in response, her laughter bubbling and echoing. I turn toward her, but she’s gone. My mind reaches toward panic, but it ebbs away like a passing wave before I can take hold.

It’s quiet here. Peaceful. I look around. The train car is there but not there, like I can see the space between molecules, between atoms, between electrons. We are gliding along on smooth, nearly imperceptible tracks. I’m seated on what feels like a cloud. Everything is so…light.

“What is this place?”

“The vision space,” she says, her voice clear and once again directly to my right. And there she is, seated, with a giant smile on her face. She looks like the cat who ate the canary.

“What?” I snap, nodding to her self-satisfied grin.

“I knew you could do it,” she replies, springing onto her feet and leaning against the seat in front of us. The train has stretched out, feet replacing inches.

“Do what?”

“Transport. Come here, envision. Go beyond,” she states, walking up the aisle.

“Go beyond? I have no idea where we are.”

“Don’t you, though? Come on, Alex, you’ve been waiting for this your whole life. To take charge, break free, break open. Now’s your chance. Envision. Break free, create anew.”

“Here?”

She laughs, and I swear it’s like she’s aged backwards 15 years. Her lines seem softer, her hair darker, and her face—her face is like the sun. Bright, jubilant, free.

“And out there, in the real world,” she winks. “You’re one of us, it’s about time you start acting like it.”

She walks back down the aisle, toward me.

“You used to be a dreamer, you know, before the visions made you afraid. That’s not their purpose but you—you got it in your head that they were dangerous. That you were dangerous. So, you stopped dreaming. In here,” she gestures to the air around her, “and out there.”

And just like that, we snap back. The atmosphere thickens, my ears pop, and I slam into my seat. She’s still standing in the aisle, leaning against the seat opposite hers.

“It’s time to dream again, Alex.”

I remain silent. I don’t really know what to say, how to talk. My brain and body are processing, reeling, sensing. It’s heavy here, and I desperately need a nap. I stare at her, scanning her face, her hair, and settle on her eyes.

The train, having resumed a normal speed, is starting to slow down. We lurch forward as it halts, wheels screeching. My nose crinkles in annoyance, and she smiles.

“This is my stop,” she explains, grabbing a bag from under her seat.

I still don’t have any words. All I can do is watch her, the wild woman with the white teeth.

“Remember to dream,” she warns. Her mouth opens as if she’s going to say something more but she pauses. Her eyes narrow, her head tilts, and her mouth closes.

Without another word, she turns on her heel and is heading up, up, up the aisle. At the last moment, she glances over her shoulder and flashes me a smile. Not sweet, nor sinister, but mischievousness, with a hefty bite. Like a challenge, a warning, and a welcome all in one.

The train jerks forward, and my body sways as it catches up. Out the window, I see her silver hair on the platform, swinging like a bell with each step. The train gains speed, and she disappears in the blur. I have no ticket, no memory of boarding, and no clue where I’m going. I know I’m awake—I feel more awake than I have for a while. But I have no logical reason for how I got here.

So, I’m blaming the kick.