Don't Wake Me if I'm Dreaming (7 page)

Once I ran out of memories to share, I sat perched on the edge of the seat holding the teacup, nervously sipping from it and waiting for a response. The doctor didn’t glance in my direction when she stood and walked past her desk to the far wall that showcased an enormous library. Running floor to almost ceiling stood rows of hundreds of books lining a wall. A thin sliding ladder sat on rollers and hooked over a bar, intended for the vertically challenged to reach the upper shelves. 

I watched as she crouched slightly and ran her finger along the bindings of a few books, almost removing one. Undecided, she pulled the book next to it from the shelf, staring at it briefly before taking a seat at her desk. As she sat flipping through pages, the doctor would occasionally glance at me then finally broke the way too severely long silence.

“Come, Sasha, I have something to share with you.”

I sat the teacup down and walked over to the desk. Looking to where her finger pointed, I stared at the drawing.

“What are those?” I asked, leaning in for a closer look at the angelic looking people with strange eyes. “That’s not at all what I saw in my dreams.”

Doctor Chiaki looked at me. “Visionaries,” she said, still pointing to the image. “That’s just a picture in the book. All Sleepers dream differently. Visionaries technically are people. In some cultures they resemble angels. Other cultures consider them deities, saints, or living spirits. You are what the ancient Japanese called a Sleeper. Visionaries enter your dreams like a guardian, with different purposes, but all show important visions about the future. They don’t bring harm. Think of them as guardian angels.”

“So wait. This doesn’t add up. These people or whatever they are, enter my dreams and show me what they want me to see. How exactly does that work? I mean do they know they’re there? How did they choose me to invade? Moreover, how do I make them leave so I can regain my sanity?”

“So many questions and so few answers. First, they are not a danger, and they show you what you need to see, the truth. They do not choose you, but rather you chose them. It’s your dream. When you meet them in person, they may not know you, nor will they know you’ve dreamt of them. They will not remember meeting you in your dreams. It is your dream. No one but you knows what happens there. It’s in the cards that you will be placed in each other’s life, not by chance, by fate.”

“Sorry, I’m trying hard to calculate this information. I’m a rather logical person, but this, no. This doesn’t add up. In the dreams, Scott, the little boy, is my friend Aimee’s son. Aimee doesn’t have a child, she’s not even pregnant, and Jack, I’ve never met him. For all I know, I made him up.”

“You haven’t met them, yet, but they are real, and they can show you very important things that may happen so you must pay close attention.”

“So you’re saying I can dream into the future?”

“Only when that day comes will you be certain, but more or less, yes, they can show you the future.”

“And how do you know visionaries are real people? Or that any of this is true and not just a legend. I’m sorry, but this just doesn’t make sense. They are only dreams, very bizarre, unfavorable dreams, nothing more,” I argued.

“There have been accounts of those who have experienced this and are you not experiencing it, or is it just a coincidence that others report experiencing what you have?”

I took a seat in front of her desk trying to process her words. “So if they show the future, Aimee is going to…die?”

“If your dream is prophetic, yes, but her destiny can change its course, the future can change depending on the course you take. That’s why the visionaries come to you. They are warning you of changes needing to be made. Look at it as a sign, a message that has been gifted to you, if this is your friend’s pending fate, then you can help save her life, you can change her future. It’s a rather difficult predicament to conceive, but I wouldn’t ignore it.”

I tried processing everything she explained, but couldn’t believe the illogical jumbo that spewed from her mouth.

“This is completely preposterous! It’s absurd. They are just dreams. I don’t have those things in my dream.” I stood and pointed to the picture, then seized the book, but was not able to read the symbolic looking writing. “What does that say?” I didn’t ask, I demanded.

She looked turned off by my tone, which encouraged her expression from curiosity to frustration. 

“It’s my native tongue.” She reached over, retrieving the book. “I’ll read to you. ‘Ancient legends speculate sleepers are beings influential enough to alter time using prophetic vision. The predestination is the divine foreknowledge of what the future entails created by a paradox between alternate parts of time and the mind. Sleepers experience out of body involvements while sleeping, possessing exceptional abilities only while dreaming. Once a sleeper possesses the ability to manipulate his dreams, he will possess the power to alter the future.’ You need to understand, Sasha, this is a very powerful and delicate matter. Meddling with other’s fate—”

“What does that mean, manipulate the dream?”

“It means that your dreams are lucid, you are no longer dreaming but become part of the dream and can use others to show you what you need to know to change the dreams.”

“This is all a joke, right? This is just…I’m having another dream. This is all a hoax!” I looked up to the ceiling in search of candid cameras. To experience the dreams was one thing, to hear this, a completely different.

“Your mom didn’t die because of mental illness. This was very real to her, too. It is real.” She frowned, sounding frustrated. “You have a special gift and need to use it wisely.” She snapped the book closed.

“How did you know about my—condition anyway? You’ve seen it before? Has someone else told you about these gifts or whatever you called them?”

“Very few have dreams like these, not many, but there are others like you. You will end up like her, your mother, if you are not careful. These dreams are powerful enough to change more than your future. I’ve seen it. I know it to be true.”

“Okay.” I sucked my lips in, releasing them with a small pop. “I need to go now. Thank you for the information.” I walked over to the sofa and collected my handbag. “Thank you for the tea,” I said, closing the door behind me.

I left Doctor Chiaki’s office feeling beyond ill.

“You’ll never believe this,” I explained to Matt over the phone on my drive home. “The doctor I saw today is a certifiable quack job. She tried telling me I have some farfetched sleeper crap. She couldn’t have been any more off her rocker if she fell from it and landed on her face. Telling me about ancient Japanese visionary something or other nonsense, and oh my God, she almost had me believing it was real, like I could see the future or something.”

“Wait, what?” Matt asked completely oblivious.

“And to think she gets paid for that!”

“What are you talking about?”

“My dreams, Matt. I talked to a doctor about my dreams.”

“What did you tell her? I’m so lost.”

“I thanked her for the tea and left.”

He laughed slightly, but sounded very confused, “At least you were polite about it.”

“Not exactly. I expected to schedule a sleep study, not this madness. It was horrible. I’m not even sure she’s working under American standards. I’ll be sure to thank my primary doctor for the referral,” I rambled.

“She really ruffled your feathers. Sorry babe. Maybe you should consider a second opinion.”

“No kidding Sherlock! I’d rather pop sleeping pills to cope than listen to her nonsense.”

“I wish I knew what was going on. I have no clue what this is all about. You told me you had bad dreams, but what’s this about the future business? Will you talk to me?”

“No.”

“Well—I’m afraid I can’t make your day much better. I’m covering for Matlock tonight. His wife Kelsey went into labor.”

“Great news,” I groveled.

“Twin boys. I guess. He said she’s been having contractions for the last few hours and her water broke. We’ll have to stop by the hospital tomorrow and meet the little guys. Could you imagine having twins?”

“I could imagine driving my car off a bridge first.”

“Two babies. Hon, I want twin sons someday, that would be awesome.”

“Don’t think I don’t see through your not-so-clever ploy of distracting me. There isn’t a disturbance on earth that can make this all go away,” I spoke bitterly.

“Until you tell me what’s going on, I’m not having a discussion about it because it doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Well, having children doesn’t make sense to me, so we’re even!”

“I was just hoping you’d get a little baby fever if you met the twins,” he confessed.

“Wait! You what? What the hell! No babies, no fever! You just stay away from my uterus if you have that nonsense on the brain! What is it with everyone today? I no longer have a happy bubble left to burst, so stop trying to pop it.” I exhaled an exasperated groan.

“Babe! I’m sorry. I was trying to make you laugh. I’ll find someone else to cover tonight. I think you need me more than the department does.”

“You know, I think I need a night to clear my head. And you...” I said, wanting to punch him. “You have ill intentions!” I pressed the end call button on the steering wheel several times out of frustration.

Once I arrived home, I thoroughly conducted a web search for this so-called sleeper nonsense. I searched for visionaries and sleepers and found nothing more than profits and pajamas. Still frustrated, I felt my options were slim at this point for any permanent cure of my nightly hell. I also knew undeniably there was incontestable truth to what Chiaki said; I just wasn’t convinced how much truth, nor was I ready to accept it.

I took my sleeping pill, cleaned up for bed, and then eventually located an online link with a short passage giving vague information from an anonymous writer. To my surprise, it supported Chiaki’s book theory. ‘Sleepers are people of the night with lucid dreams, some reoccurring or slightly varying for a period. These dreams are at times futuristic or prophetic in part, bringing confirmation, direction, and warning, exposing different variables ranging from meaningful events that fulfill one’s innermost desires to calamity and catastrophe.’

I gave little thought to the article then continued reading. ‘In the 17
th
and 18
th
century, people admitting to having prophetic dreams or seeing the future through dreams were considered witches and hanged. In the late 1930s, a scientist had a team of researchers conduct studies on people claiming to have such dreams, calling the dreams delusional illness. Persons with such ability were alleged to be insane and had been considered to be delusional or suffered from Schizophrenia. Other studied results were inconclusive. It also had been said that Darwin’s theological claims came from similar insights or visions of the future.’

After reading the passage, I curled up on my sofa with a throw pillow. I gave consideration to being delusional and schizophrenic. I knew if I didn’t learn to control my dreams, they would eventually control me, and I would end up losing my mind like my mom had. I stared at the bullet hole in the wall, waiting for the sleeping pill to kick in; my thoughts drifted to Aimee. I thought about the possibility of the accident happening and began feeling nauseous at the thought of seeing her lifeless body.

All I could think about was the years spent together and how she was indisputably the most important person in my life. I thought about our past seventeen years of life together. At age seven, we were the only two girls in our small private school with strawberry blonde hair and coincidently in Ms. Scothfield’s class. We shared an instant sisterly connection, which was awesome considering neither of us had a sister. After spending our juvenile years practically conjoined, and premeditating our future endeavors together, we attended the same college, and much like Vegas, what happened in college stayed in college. Thankfully, those years were short lived. Aimee managed to land an internship at local middle school that hired her permanently after grad school, and everything else fell into place. Her coworker had introduced her to Vance, and it was love at first sight. Six months later they married and were inseparable. We became the three amigos until we met Matt, who became a perfect fourth leg.

My thoughts drifted back to the dream of Aimee in the water, and all happiness disappeared. I questioned the likelihood of that dream having any relation to reality. I wondered if so, if taking the pill would create unwanted ramifications since I couldn’t resolve the mystery of preventing her death or knowing when it would happen.

My thoughts were distracting and overwhelming to the point of wanting to scream, but instead I curled onto my side letting the heaviness of the pill’s effects weigh my eyes closed, allowing me to fall into a deep, peaceful slumber.

T
he office chatterers greeted my arrival in the break room at work. After failing miserably with my incognito slip-in for a cup of coffee, I surrendered myself to them for a few minutes.

My co-workers lived vicariously through my romance with Matt and were always thrilled to corner me for an interrogation. Since I’d been hiding from them, they were past due for juicy details. It was known throughout the break room there was nothing comparably sexier than a firefighter, and of course, I agreed. I was the only one in my department that wasn’t married other than our revolving young interns that floated in and out. I honestly didn’t mind sharing the rated PG
-
13 version of my love life, since the alternative was everyone else’s drab stories about their bittersweet, mostly bitter marriages.

After escaping the break room interrogation, I found the morning paper sitting on my desk. Matt and a couple other firefighters made headlines, with a picture of them in front of the blazing warehouse.

“Looks like
ol’
lover boy made the news, again.” Martha’s face popped around the cubicle wall. “Thought he had the night off?”

“Eh, he got called in,” I mumbled, reading the headline print.

“Huge fire. Suspected arson it says. Glad nobody was hurt.”

“Yeah, I’m reading it now.”

After I had read the article, I tossed the paper in the drawer. “I wonder how the department wives deal with this. It makes me a wreck just reading this crap.” I stared at the picture of him on my desk feeling uneasy.

“You wouldn’t ask that if you didn’t fancy the idea yourself.” Her left eye became sharp for a second, digging for the truth.

“It’s been a subject lately,” I confessed.

I caught a glance of her large grin. “Don’t make me wrench out your tongue, sugar bun.”

“We talked about it, and I’ve thought about it a little,” I admitted, “but nothing is set in stone. I’m just not sure I’m ready, yet.”

“Yet! I bet your diamond will be extravagant.” She tried looking at my hand.

“I haven’t given it a thought. He hasn’t even asked yet, and he still has to ask my dad first.”

“Uh… didn’t you say your old man lives on the other side of the continent?” She smirked.

“Suppose it might be a while then.” I wrinkled my face. “I have to get to work. I’ve got a ton to do around here.” I didn’t need her encouraging the ideas in my head.

“Liar!” she said, returning to her cubicle.

“Oh, hey, Martha, I’m going to sneak out early again. I’m meeting Aimee at the gym. Will you text me if anything exciting happens, pretty please.”

“That twiggy girlfriend of yours? If she loses any more weight, you’ll have to tie a string around her ankle to keep her from drifting away in the wind.”

“Cute. She’s trying to gain muscle. There’s a difference. Maybe you should come with us? It would be good for you.”

“Ha. Honey, this ass hasn’t seen a gym since my senior year in high school, and it’s not about to now.” She snorted. “You sure are a hoot sometimes.”

***

A
imee strutted into the locker room with her hot pink gym bag over her shoulder. Her eyes were bright and her mouth embellished with a smile. She tried to smooth her smile with her hand, but let out a squeal and grabbed my shoulders.

“What already?” I questioned her as I tied my shoe.

Her expression changed as her smile returned, more strained than before. “You were right.” She clapped her hands, bounced on her toes, then threw her arms around me in a death grip and blurted, “We’re pregnant!”

“What?”

“I’m pregnant!”

“Really?” I choked as she let go. “I was only joking about you eating that burger.”

“I’m not kidding. I took a pregnancy test, two actually, and both were almost neon pink and positive.”

“And Vance, does he know?”

“Oh, of course! He bought the tests. He’s been telling me all week I’m pregnant.” She reached her hands to her chest. “He said they grew overnight.”

I glanced awkwardly. “I wouldn’t know a thing about that, but I’m so glad it’s you and not me.” I laughed and hugged her again.

“Me too! I can’t believe it! We’re really pregnant. Can you imagine, a baby growing in here!” She placed her hands on her stomach, and then tossed her gym bag in a locker.

I cocked my head to an angle, shaking it no. “I can’t imagine.”

“I wish we were pregnant together. You guys should hurry up and marry and get pregnant. Oh man, we’d have so much fun with our babies. They’d be best friends like us.”

I stared at her blankly, laughing seconds later. “Let’s burn off your energy, it’s repulsive. Congratulations, though. Oh, and please don’t tell Matt just yet, I’ll never hear the end of the baby envy spew.”

We made our way to the treadmills for a warm up. Aimee hardly took a breath between words within the ten minutes that followed.

“If it’s a girl, Danielle for sure, Vance loves the name Dani for short. I like it, too.”

“I like Dani, totally dig the unisex names.” I nodded approvingly, still trying to absorb the news.

“Right! I can’t get over how cute baby girl clothes are, and headbands and bows for her little head, oh, I can’t wait. She’ll be pink from head to toe. I’m so excited I want to start baby shopping already!”  

“That’s great. And if it’s a boy?” I asked, glancing at her, trying to keep my slow jog at a steady pace.

Her expression changed as if my words were ludicrous. “A boy huh, funny, Vance asked the same thing.”

“It does normally tend to be one or the other.” I picked up my pace, running faster, wishing for half her energy.

“Right. I mean blue and green… I’m sure I’d figure out a theme. Maybe little baby sharks and octopi or whatever. I do like the names Nolan, Grayson, Porter, Joshua, and Carson.”

“Carson would be my pick,” I said, now sprinting as she jogged.

“Yeah, Vance wasn’t sold on any of them. He’s rather set on a name already. I mean it works, but I’m not even sure how he came up with Scott Ryan Rutledge.”

“Scott?” I breathed, feeling like my veins were struck with dry ice.

“I know. Right? I mean it works, but Scott, it’s just so ordinary.”

Incautiously, my feet stopped dead in my tracks. “Scott?” I repeated. Unfortunately, the treadmill carried on. I rolled back and hit the floor in a pretzel shaped leg twist.

“Sasha! Oh my God!” Aimee hurried off the treadmill and reached down placing her hand on my back. “Are you okay?”

“Just a little embarrassed is all,” I said from my disoriented state. “I just need a moment.”

“What happened?” she asked, trying to untwist me, realizing I was visibly shaken.

“I’m not sure. I think I need to go home and lie down, please. I’m not feeling so well.”

Aimee reached, trying to help me up.

“Ouch, crap!” I fussed, stepping down on my foot. “I think I twisted my ankle.” I pulled up my pant leg to look. I recognized the pain and knew I was screwed.

“Twisted! You were almost in a sailor knot! What happened anyway? You suddenly turned ghostly white and just fell.”

“Miss, should I call an ambulance?” One of the fitness coaches asked as he hurried to give me a hand.

“No, I’m okay, honestly. I just think I was running too fast,” I said embarrassedly. “Can we just go now?” I asked Aimee.

“Yeah, of course! I’ll grab our bags real quick. Sir, can you help her to the car?”

Aimee drove me the few blocks back to the apartment and helped me up the stairs.

“Couch or bed?” she asked.

“Sofa.”

“It’s a couch.”

“Be glad I don’t call it a davenport.”

“Okay, grandma, get comfortable. I’ll stuff ice in a Ziploc baggie for you.” She hurried into the kitchen.

“Would you relax? I’ll be okay.” I plopped a throw pillow on the coffee table and propped my foot, forcing myself into a comfortable position. 

She returned with an ice pack and secured it to my ankle with a dishrag. “That’s not looking so good.” She frowned.

“Honestly, it’s not that bad. How many times did we twist or roll our ankles in dance?”

“Too many to count.” She plopped down next to me, with her cellphone in her hand, and texted Vance. “He’ll drive your car back here tonight.”

“Tell him he’s the best and congratulations.”

“I know it’s a lot to absorb. I was just as surprised as you. I figured it would take more than one try after getting off the pill.”

“You didn’t mention you were trying, and that’s why I get the shot. It would be my luck I’d miss a pill. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you, but man the responsibility of caring for another life is terrifying.”

“It sort of is.” She looked concerned for a moment.

“One thing is for sure, this baby is lucky to have you two as parents.”

“You think so?” She sounded a little unsure, lifting her shirt to look at her flat stomach.

“I know so. Just please, I beg you not to tell Matt just yet. He’s been on a marriage and baby conversation kick lately, and it’s not settling well with me.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to get married and have a baby you know.”

“Not in a million years. I’m warming up to considering the idea of marriage, that’s a ginormous step for me. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Got it.” Her smile couldn’t mask her disappointment. “By the way, how did your appointment go with the doctor about the dreams?”

“It’s concluded the universe hates me.”

“That bad, huh.”

“I don’t know. I’m just behaving like a baby I guess. The sleeping pills work fine I just don’t know what I’m going to do if there comes a time I become immune to them. Never sleep again I suppose.”

“What about the clinic, are they going to do any type of test to find out what’s going on?”

I huffed, “I’m not going to bother finding out. The doctor there was a nut job.”

“Well, can’t you go somewhere else?”

“Sure, if I want to restart the referral process and become a guinea pig.” I didn’t mean to sound so rude. “I’m sure I’ll figure something out. For now, the pills will just have to do.”

I wasn’t about to tell Aimee my dreams were critical to her future and eventually I would need to return to them in order to figure out how to save her life. And I sure the heck wasn’t going to tell her about the coincidence of her having a son named Scott in my dreams.

Aimee headed home to collect Vance, returning with my car, only staying long enough to drop off the key and ask one final time if she could be of help.

After taking a sleeping pill and cleaning up for the night, I lay uncomfortably curled up on the sofa. I tried distracting my overactive brain by reading a book, but my mind was unrelenting, migrating back to the forest dream.               I turned off the lights, returning to the sofa to rationalize the probability of the little boy being Aimee’s son. He had her green eyes and Vance’s pale blond hair. No matter how much I analyzed it, wrapping my mind around the idea of me meeting Scott before his conception was not going to happen. It was beyond illogical and not to mention impossible. I tried convincing myself it was nothing more than a coincidence. I tried doing the math in my head and realized it was around if not during her time of conception that I started having the forest dreams. Regardless, I couldn’t help fear the events in my dreams were slowly beginning to unfold.

I tucked my legs up under the blanket and closed my eyes. If Scott was the child in my dreams, I knew one thing for sure; I had a few years before I had to worry about the forest dream. I tried to picture Scott’s face, but it was merely a fog as I began drifting to sleep.

In the morning, I heard the alarm clock from my bedroom. I thoughtlessly clambered to my feet. “Ouch! Son of a—” I dropped to my hip, in agony, grabbing my ankle. It felt doubled in size. I scooted, reaching for the light to find my ankle massively swollen and bruised. After taking a few slow deep breaths, exhaling away the pain, I grabbed my cellphone then hobbled to the bedroom, turning off the annoying buzzing of the alarm.

I crawled on the bed and took a picture of my ankle, and realized I had a text from Matt.

“
Good morning, beautiful. Hope you have a great day!!
”

It’s an excellent day.
I frowned in pity, thinking to myself, then texted my boss, Dave.

“
I’m completely handicapped today
”
I sent him the picture of my ankle. “
I fell on a treadmill and thought I was going to be okay. I’m not so sure now. I need to have it looked at.
” I wrote.

Dave returned my text minutes later as I sat texting Matt, telling him that I hurt my ankle.

“
Smooth move. Get it checked out and we’ll go from there. I have a skill saw if it needs to be amputated.
”
Dave texted me back.