Perchance To Dream

The sun beat down on Jay’s upturned face, and he breathed in the late Summer scents of the farm that lay just over the hill. The heavy drone of unseen insects filled the air. At any other time, he would have been lulled to sleep by the sound.

At this point, though, he was already asleep.

He was back on the shores of the small pond where he’d caught his first catfish. On the other side of the pond was a tree he’d clambered up countless times. Sitting against the tree, though, was a man that Jay didn’t recognize. He wasn’t dressed for the hot and lazy day. He wasn’t even dressed for the right decade. The man seemed to notice Jay’s gaze, and hunched forward, pulling a small black notebook and pen from his back pocket. He began to write, occasionally glancing up at Jay again with a thoughtful expression. He stuffed the small book back into his pants and then began to jog around the grassy bank towards Jay.

Jay was apprehensive, but stood still. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, telegraphing his inner agitation as he tried to mentally force the approaching figure out of the dream.

“Hey there.”

They studied each other.

“I’m Stephen,” offered the stranger.

“Jay.”

“I know this might sound crazy, but…Do you think you’re in a dream right now?”

Jay stared silently before a terse, “Yes?”

“Okay, okay. Bear with me for a second. Earlier today, before you were asleep, did you have some random guy say some gibberish at you before driving off?”

An icy chill meandered down Jay’s spine. It had been a very strange incident, but he’d chalked it up to the other man being on the verge of a stroke, and ultimately harmless. What was going on? If this were a figment, of course he’d know what had happened earlier in the day, but it certainly didn’t explain why he couldn’t make Stephen go away. And he was really, really trying to make Stephen go away.

“Did he say…Hold on…” And Stephen pulled the black notebook out, flipped it open and consulted it. “Were the words seven, blue, and Pakistan?”

Jay frowned, and his gaze narrowed. “Who are you?”

Stephen once more returned the book to his back pocket. “He did, didn’t he? I knew it!”

He walked a triumphant circle around Jay. “I bet you think you’re a lucid dreamer, right? Me, too!” Stephen raised his hands defensively. “Now, I know you probably have a thousand questions, and I know you’re probably about to get really upset, but where do you think you are right now?”

“This is my father’s farm.”

“Okay, okay. So here’s where it’s about to get upsetting. This isn’t your father’s farm. This is my father’s farm. It’s not a memory of yours.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m…Not sure what I’m saying. Yet. Just hear me out. I’ve seen you before. In my dreams, that is. But only recently. And I thought-“

“That maybe you’d passed me on the street?”

“Sure, exactly. But then I noticed that sometimes you’d just vanish. I’ve always been a lucid dreamer, so I’ve always had a bit of control over what was going on, but I couldn’t figure out why you kept showing up in various dreams, or why you would just wink out. And once you did go away, I couldn’t get you to come back.”

He pulled the notebook back out. “So I don’t know what you’d call this. I guess it’s like a reverse dream journal. I don’t even remember when it started, but once I’m dreaming, I find it easier to control things when I write them down in here. And once I decided that you were maybe waking up when you winked out, even though I didn’t think that was really possible, I decided to try a little experiment.”

“Experiment?”

“Yesterday I wrote down your entire traffic encounter. In here.”

“I still don’t understand,” Jay lied. He understood. He just didn’t like the implications.

“This book. I write my lucid cues in here. I guess it’s kind of like a crutch, or maybe my magic wand. Not sure if I need it, but it’s what I’ve always done. Weird, huh?”

Jay didn’t respond.

“When you woke up, you experienced what I wrote. That means when you disappear out of my dream, you think you’re waking up, but you’re just in some other part of my dream. You’re a dream that…Dreams. Without me, you don’t exist.”

Jay’s jaw worked soundlessly.

“I know, I know.” Stephen’s demeanor was a mixture of sympathy and excitement.

“No, I’m not a dream.”

“It’s a lot to process.”

“I’m-“

“A real boy?” Stephen grimaced at Jay’s glare. “Sorry.”

“This is insane.”

“It’s fascinating! What are you? Are you like some sort of mental antibody? I can’t do anything to you in here. But once you’re gone,” and he waved the book at Stephen. “Then it’s like you’re here. Except you’re there. Wherever there is.”

“I’m real! This is a dream! You’re a dream! A nightmare!”

Stephen shook his head. “Jay, look at me. I look just like my father. Spitting image. Let’s walk over the hill and let’s embrace those genetics. You don’t look like anyone that lives in that farmhouse. You don’t find that odd at all?”

“I need to wake up.”

Stephen shrugged. “Then wake up. Go on.”

Jay tried to will himself awake. Nothing happened.

“Are you trying?”

“Shut up,” Jay was practically snarling.

“Hold on,” Stephen began to write in his book

“Stop writing.”

“It’s okay. I’m going to prove this to you. I’m giving you $20,000.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When you wake up, you’re going to win the lottery.”

“I don’t play the lottery.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Jay wanted to scream, but was scared that once he started, he’d be unable to stop.

“Then your wife will win the lottery. Wait, are you married?”

“Yes.”

“Because I can do that, too. Marry you. Well, not marry you. Make sure you’re married.”

“I’m married! My wife’s name is Beth, and she’s real. She’s as real as I am.”

Stephen laughed. “Well, that’s the issue at hand, isn’t it? Your real wife is going to win $10,000 because she really plays the lottery every Thursday.”

“It’s Tuesday.”

Stephen laughed, louder this time. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” Jay hissed.

“Fine, fine.” Stephen continued to write. “I don’t want you to somehow think that your winning the lottery is somehow random, so I’ll make this even better and you’re going to get a bonus at work. So 10,000 dream bucks for you as a work bonus, $10,000 for winning the lottery. What are the odds of that happening?”

“It’s not possible.”

“Exactly. And what are you going to do with that $20,000?” Stephen pensively looked at the sky and then jabbed his pen at Jay. “Your wife is going to suggest you use some of the money to go on a trip.”

“None of this is possible.”

“Beth is going to suggest you go to Ireland. And do you know why she’s going to suggest you go to Ireland?”

Jay sounded defeated. “Because we went to Ireland on our honeymoon.”

“No, Jay.” Stephen slammed the book closed and stepped inside the bewildered man’s personal space. He poked Jay with his pen as he bit off each word. “Because Ireland is where I went with my wife, Beth, on our honeymoon.”

****

Jay’s eyes opened wearily. His wife was looking down at him, shaking his shoulder. “You okay, chief?”

He glanced up at her. “What?”

“When I told you our birthdays hit, I thought you’d be a little more excited. It’s not the big jackpot, but $10,000 is still amazing!”

Jay was seated at their kitchen table. He couldn’t remember how he got there.

“And when Mr. Holland called you this morning? You get a raise, and I win the lottery? On the same day? What are the odds?”

“Not. Possible.”

“I know, right?”

Jay felt sick. He glanced down at his place setting at the table, and suddenly stopped breathing. There was a little black book, its pristine white pages staring up at him. A pen lay in the crease, holding it open. Both the book and pen looked eerily familiar.

“Honey, what is this?”

“What’s what, Jay?”

“This,” and he waved his hand over the blank pages. “This book.”

Beth frowned. “It’s your dream journal.”

“Like a reverse dream journal?”

“A what? What does that even mean?”

“Never mind. I don’t have a dream journal.”

“Jay, don’t be crazy. You write in it almost every day.”

Jay opened to a random page. The handwriting was unfamiliar to him. He skimmed through a dream about being turned into a giant rabbit. It was a dream he didn’t remember ever having.

“Earth to Jay? Are you seriously reading while I’m talking to you? We need to discuss what we’re going to do now! $10,000 from the lottery, and your raise, that’s got to be like an extra…I don’t know…”

“$20,000?”

“Yes! And oh, Jay, I know exactly what we can do with some of it!”

“What should we do?” His voice was leaden.

“We should go to Ireland!”

Jay massaged his temples. He had to still be stuck in a nightmare. “Beth, I hate Ireland.”

“No you don’t! Jay, we had the time of our lives!”

They did. But now was not the time to admit that. “No, I most definitely hate Ireland.”

Beth pursed her lips. “Are you sure?”

Jay ground his teeth and picked up the pen. “I’m absolutely sure.”

He began to scribble furiously in the book.

****

The throbbing in his temples suddenly exploded and his head snapped backwards. The kitchen was gone. Beth was gone. Stephen stood in front of him, sleeves rolled up, blood dripping from bruised knuckles. They were in a small interrogation room straight out of a police procedural drama. An obligatory cigarette rested in a nearby ashtray, smoke trailing lazily up towards the grimy ceiling.

Jay spat out a mouthful of blood as he fell to his knees. “What the Hell?”

Stephen was clearly no longer amused by the situation and the various hypotheses regarding Jay’s existence. He was pale, trembling. He reached into his back pocket and flipped his book open.

“This isn’t my handwriting,” he whispered.

There was now blood smeared across the page, but Jay could clearly see what he had written back at his kitchen table.

“And then Stephen went to sleep and never woke up.”

Stephen tossed the book onto a nearby table. “Did you write that?”

Jay started to laugh.

“Stop it!”

Jay’s grin was red and moist. “I thought this was exciting for you?” Stephen struck him again. Jay shrugged it off. “Nice place you’ve got here. I take it you’re the good cop in this situation?”

“Shut up.”

“What if you’re wrong, though? What if you’re not the good cop? What if you’re just a corrupt cop, and I’m the good cop?”

Jay tried to climb to his feet, but the repeated blows to the head made him extremely unsteady. Stephen sat down at the small rickety table and opened the book.

Jay fell forward and braced himself against the cell floor. “Maybe I’m the hero here.”

Stephen was shaking his head angrily. “I’m not waking up until I’ve taken care of this now.”

Jay tried to clear his head, taking deep gulps of air. “Maybe I’m real, and you’re my dream.”

Stephen started to write in the book. “I’m sorry. I still don’t know what’s happening here, but I’m not about to let you write anything else in my book.”

“Maybe it’s my book.”

“No. I’m sorry. It’s done.” Stephen closed the book and repeated softly, “It’s done.”

Jay felt his eyelids grow heavy. As his consciousness faded, he barked a final laugh, and then asked, “Are you sure?”