In Dream

“Don’t you worry. Just a couple more miles up this road and we’ll be outta this storm.”

The chauffeur grips the wheel but remains collected as he had the whole way here. I’ve seen many hard years but I must say the ride from the airport felt like the longest hour in all my life.

“...But from what I’ve heard… You must’ve had your share of storms.” He looks up into the rearview mirror and from beneath his cap are the eyes of a tortoise. His snow white mustache hangs beneath his nose like a Christmas wreath. Mr. Harold Blake.

I watch the trees whip by as we roll through the woods. The headlights seem to be doing minimal work against the heavy sheets of rain and the thunder shakes all around us as the limo leapt and bumped and swerved but only as the road ordered it to do so. Mr. Blake remains calm and clears his throat. “No fear in here. The road is usually, mostly put together…”

“I’m not too worried about it. I’ve seen enough to laugh at this point, if it were to be my end. Here in a limo on my way to a mansion.” I see Mr. Blake chuckles to himself.

“From rags to almost riches huh there, Mr. Whitney.”

“Please. Just… Charlie.”

“Oh. Well, Charlie we’ve got just a little ways to go but if you don't mind.. I would like to ask what exactly it is that you do.” Mr. Blake looks up into the mirror again and if his mustache would’ve just gotten out of the way I am almost certain he was grinning.

What I do...What I do? “To be honest Harry, the plane just flew me in. Before that I was about ready to call it quits.”

“Call it quits?” He raises a brow.

“Not only is it not fun to live in the shit but it’s exhausting.”

“Nobody needs to talk to me about exhaustion, I’m around the corner from 77.” He chuckles and tips his driver cap.

“So your plane flew in from… was it San Francisco?”

“That’s right.”

“How’d you like it?”

This chatty old bastard. I’m only a couple hours out from the steampile and this chauffeur wants me to go gallivanting into my memories like a fat boy into some cake. But I’m sure he means no harm. Just a bit more outgoing in a manner I hadn’t come across in quite some time.

“How much longer till the stop?”

“About the hour, sir.”

“Well, it’s been a six year spin. I started out in a stained red Chevy pickup. The Mother’s ol’ man couldn’t drive it anymore and I was supposed to be on my way to school. It was the big goodbye gift and as I drove down the road with a bed full of papers and junk, I decided I’d head south to the big land where the big dreams come true and all that jazz. Except I didn’t even make it to the grapevine. I was fucked. I pulled over to this dirt patch and it looked like I blew a tire. I didn’t have a spare and all the cash I had on hand was just enough for a room for the night and a few lunches down the road. I’d optimized that I wouldn’t have to worry about gas because I was banking on it dying right before the city and until it's inevitably towed it’d be my sleeping tank.”

“Was school out of the question?” Mr. Blake looks into the mirror then quickly back to the winding road. I guess I hadn’t really thought about it all that much aside from that I had a hunch that there were far more interesting and stimulating activities to be a part of. After all, how old do you have to be to live?

“School wasn’t at the top of my to-do list. But I just had to venture and see what the hubbub was about. Was this the great city of angels where I could grant my wishes at the price of something so seemingly expendable? Wildchild dreams, you know?”

“To achieve?...”

“I was gonna be some writer. A poet.. Or a journalist..”

“Or?”

“Yeah.”

“Doesn’t sound too sure.”

“Oh, so now you’re getting it?” I snap a bit sarcastically. But, what does he expect? Either way he doesn’t seem too taken aback by it. So, I go back to it.

“The car had anchored me down to the side of the 5 and it’s like I’m not even alive. I’m trying to wave a car down but I’ve never had much to do with appealing demeanor. Nightfall rolled in pretty fast and I shacked up in the truck. Old ass, thing didn’t do much for insulation. The whole night I kept trying to pry off the idea that some tired piece of shit may drift at the right time and smash my head in. So, everytime a car would whine by my heart would skip a beat. As morning began to come back around, I walked down some miles and found a station where this man had a tow truck and said he could help me out. He told me he could get me to Gorman so I took the ride.

‘Where you coming in from?’ He asked.

‘A ways up North. Nowhere town.’ We were listening to some scratchy radio station that had some fun tunes playing. The moon was bright and full and the approaching skies had a fiery hue reaching from the hills. The trucker had a pipe and kept stuffing tobacco in it and in between coughs he was spitting up loogies that shot into a big gulp cup. His hat brim rested on his brows. I’d seen him glancing over every so often.

I’ve never really been one for an appealing demeanor. I’ve got this face I guess. And being skin and bone I don’t know if it makes me seem like much of a scrapper, but I’d say I can hold my own. But this trucker wasn’t worried any. His name was sewn into his jacket.

Larry.

‘Say man, you ever think about doing something like this?’

‘Like what?’

He lifts his head up to the road. ‘Driving, man. It’s got its ups and downs but it always comes back around to the green pasture.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘The green pasture, buddy. The stuff that makes the world go ‘round.’

‘Oh. Right.’ I was sure a lecture from my grandfather was coming.

‘The pay isn’t bad. Make enough to get yourself together and bam…’

‘Step closer to retirement, huh?’ I tend to be open to a pleasant conversation but sometimes I can’t help myself. After I let that one slip he sat up in his seat.

‘Do it right and the retirement becomes worthwhile.’

‘I’m sure it does. To an extent.’

‘Not the kind for a long life or somethin’?’ He grabbed some sweet tobacco leaf and began stuffing his pipe and feeling the appropriation I pulled a cigarette from my jacket. Larry didn’t like the windows down. He said the cold put him to sleep. So, we sat in that smokey cab with nothing but white noise jumping on the radio and a couple coughs would sort of go with the beat of the road but our disagreement wasn’t ready to end.

‘Long life? Short life? It’s life. Either you lived it well or you tried to live it well. I’m just trying to make sure I’m living it well otherwise I’m liable to end looking forward to social security checks.’

He didn’t seem to like that too much. ‘And if we ain’t weasels then we’re working suckers on the road to retirement, right?’

‘In hopes you make it to retirement.’

‘I see. But something you’re forgetting. I’m on a road to a potential something. You’re on the hunt for a potential nothing.’

‘Yes, but if I’m bound to die I might as well assure myself a good time while doing so. Yeah?’

‘I suppose you’re the one to die when it’s your time to die.’ He bobbed his head a bit in contemplation. ‘You’re an interesting kid. I’m sure you’ll find yourself a spot in L.A.’

I had finished my smoke and snuffed it out on my jacket sleeve. Even though Larry seemed friendly enough, I decided to put the butt of the smoke back in the pack.

‘I’ve done a bit of this for quite some time. Dark is best. Open road and shooting stars. I’ve picked up quite a few hitchhikers over the time. Never met a character like you, Charlie. While I’m retiring come visit with your hunted success and we’ll shoot the shit about life and death, again.’ The truck driver chuckled and we sat in agreement to the sound of Autry’s Last Roundup. Once we reached Gorman, I was about ready to doze off. I should’ve reached the city two hours earlier but without my legless metal steed, there was no way I’d be getting the both of us into L.A. I stayed in my truck until morning rolled around. I got to a mechanic as soon as the nearest shop opened and there was still another out-of-luck buck before me. The tire didn’t take too long but I was still quite a ways away from the city. I got a cup of coffee and sped South. The sun was gold and rising, lighting up clouds of purple and pumpkin orange. I hit some traffic right before the city and lit a cigarette. I tossed the match out the window and looked up to see this black cloud just daunting on the obtuse human made madness that is Los Angeles. A black cloud orphanage for lost angels.

Not long after I’d arrived, my truck completely gave out on me.”

“Damn, kid. Can’t catch a break can ya?” Mr Blake shakes his head.

“Really it’s uncanny the timing of my bad luck.” I reach for a smoke but remember I hadn’t any.

“Although it seems that your luck, alone, good and bad is quite uncanny. I mean afterall, here you are with your very own driver in a limo on your way to one of the greatest estates on this slice of the world.” Funny I was just thinking the same thing.

“Yeah, I guess you can say that.”

“And how exactly did this all come about? New found fortune and an almost divine deliverance from the troubles you were used to enduring in your day to day?” The sound of the rain thumps at the roof and hood of the limo beginning to feel rhythmic with surreal undertones of the cleansing droplets colliding with the road ahead, sounding like the world applauding. Now, I feel it. I am finally in sync with the words from the little black book of dreams.

“A book.”

“A book?” Mr. Blake raises his brows with such perplexity that his driving cap lifts some. “How do you mean? One of those self help books, I presume. I’ve noticed they’re very popular these days.”

“I suppose it is in a way.” A self helper with some help from something undefinable; usually intangible but in my case the results speak for themselves. This book is filled with dreams. There are drawings of seemingly random hieroglyphs and Rorschach-like sketches; some covering whole pages and others in the corners or even behind paragraphs of what seem to be instructions with oddly specific attention to ominous details. When I first found the book, covered in collected wear and tear; I opened to the first entry reading,

Open Your Eyes Before Your Mouth

Close Your Mouth Before Your Mind

Nevermind the weather on a Sunday afternoon. Go outside when the boxed car drives by singing a love theme. This is not a dream. This is The Dream. Look for cats and approach them. Do not read ahead until you do.