The Somnambulist

THE SOMNAMBULIST

 

        I woke. It was because of the cat. He wanted in, or out, I’m not sure which. I thought to roll over and go back to sleep but the cat was a Siamese and his cry was incessant and shrill and I thought it sounded like a siren which was why I’d woken in the first place. It had startled me from a dream that had been particularly vivid and yet, as I laid there feigning sleep, I couldn’t remember.

        The cat wasn’t stopping. His meow had started in the usual way, a few quick chirps, and was now in full-blown siren shriek, the kind of wail that never stops but builds and builds. He was obviously not falling for my ruse. I got up and stumbled on half-asleep feet to the door, not bothering, even, to open my eyes, and opened the door to let the cat in, or out, I’m not sure which.

        I held the door open for the appropriate amount of time in which a cat can move to the desired side of the door and then slammed it shut. The sound reverberated and startled me.

        There was a pale light and someone in the light. I couldn’t see her. She was just a shape. Then, she looked at me.

        I rolled over and the dream started back up where it had left off, but not quite. I had been - I remember now that I’m back in the bed and the covers are pulled up over my cold feet and the cat is silent again - sitting in a café looking out a window. Now, I was sitting in one of the outdoor tables. There was the same view, though, of the lake and the tall hill that lead down to it, unnaturally and terrifyingly steep.

        My dreams are becoming more and more vivid. I swim from my blankets and am now awake in my tiny room with the few trappings of my life hanging surreally on the wall. There was the picture of my family - mom, dad, sister, me, golden retriever dog - and the picture of me graduating from college. No girlfriend. No wife. There are other pictures, too, seemingly random snapshots of memories.

         I get dressed and go to work and everything is boring and normal. I am boring and normal. I understand this and am saddened by it. My life, such as it is, is this routine of sleeping and waking and sleeping again.

        Amy is there again. She is the woman who waits on me at the café and she is way out of my league so I can’t even talk to her when she smiles at me. I’m pathetic, I know. She’s the reason I come to this café every day and sit near this steep hill and watch the water. I hope that she thinks it makes me look artistic and pensive. In reality, I’m just watching her in the mirrored glass serving others with the same smile I thought reserved for me.

        The room is cold.

        I put on my jacket to go for a walk during lunch. My job, I’m a pencil pusher at a business office, is so boring that I need to escape from it and go for these hour long mini-adventures. I go to the duck pond where there is a café. There is a buddy that works there I used to know back in college. He dropped out, became an artist of sorts, works at the café to pay the bills between gigs. I envy him.

        There are two children down by the duck pond. There are always children down by the pond but these two stand out. I watch them. They have a dog with them, a golden retriever that looks just like the one I used to have, but they aren’t playing with the dog. They are standing, staring, up at me. It gives me the creeps.

        I jolt awake. The image of the two creepy children with their silent dog still linger. By the time I get dressed and eat and get to work I’ve forgotten all about them. Then, at lunch, I go to meet my buddy, Eric, at the café. He has a gig tonight, he tells me, but I’m looking down at the water. The memory of the two kids haunts me.

        The office I work in is a long row of grey colored cubicles filled with grey colored people. I know only a handful of names and I’ve been here for years. I can’t be bothered to learn everyone’s names. They’re interchangeable people. Even the supervisors, all women, are interchangeable with the same personality and the same attitude. They make me hate women.

        Except her. She is at the café again. She’s there when Eric isn’t and he doesn’t know an Amy that works here. I’ve asked. He doesn’t know anyone that matches my description of her. Maybe it’s too flowery, he says, you were always a romantic. She is the epitome of what a woman should be. She’s pretty, but not beautiful, she’s no super-model. She’s one of those women with real self-confidence, so rare, who can talk to anyone about anything. I overheard, once, that she wants to become a nurse. Not a doctor, she says, not because there’s anything wrong with doctors, but they’re all a******s. She says this, unapologetically, to a doctor. He agrees with her and asks for her number, she says she doesn’t date a******s.

        The kids are there again. They are waiting in the atrium of my office building and no one seems to think it’s strange that two kids and a dog are standing near the flowerpot in the atrium. I try to avoid them but the boy calls out to me. Stop, he says, we need to talk to you. Me? Why me? I ask them. Because, you’re the dreamer.

        There are three of them. Two in black masks and her. She is hatchet-faced and homely and she notices me when I stir.

        We are standing, now, near the pond. I look up to see if it’s an Eric day or an Amy day. I can’t tell. Dreams and reality are interchangeable. We are the DreamWalkers, says the girl twin. We can do what you do, says her brother. Yeah, I ask distractedly, and what is it that I can do?

        We are standing, now, near the pond. I look up to see if it’s an Eric day or an Amy day. I can’t tell. Dreams and reality are interchangeable. This, says the girl twin, we can do this. What? I asked irritably. Switch between the dreams, says her brother.

        I’m in my cubicle but they are here. The twins and that silent dog that looks so much like my dog from childhood are standing in my cubicle. This isn’t real, she says.

        We are standing in line at the café and Amy is there, laughing with a customer. It’s the doctor again. Neither is this, he says. No, I say, this has to be real. Why? I look at Amy and she doesn’t see me. I’m pathetic, I know.

        The twins and I are sitting near the pond with the dog near us. The hill looms up behind us and seems to block out the sun. The pond is huge. It’s a sea and full of unseen monsters. I don’t want to be so close to it. Rip-tides and tidal waves could swallow us whole. I want to move away. The twins are unafraid. You need to get over her, she’s the one keeping you here, says the girl. She’s not real, says the boy. Yes, yes, she has to be, I say. They look at each other.

        There is a crash and I wake up for a moment in the darkness. It doesn’t feel like my room. It doesn’t feel familiar. My body doesn’t feel familiar. There is no other sound. I must be dreaming.

        I woke. The cat was curled up on my pillow purring. He’s loud when he purrs. He sounds like an engine, or engines sound like him, I’m not sure which now. I wonder if the twins still think I’m dreaming. Am I dreaming? I’m not sure now. How does one know?

        I stare at her through the window but she doesn’t notice me. Amy. Amy. She is perfect. Too perfect, says the girl. She’s always speaking first, just like my sister used to. The boy nods. Suspicious, huh? I can’t imagine it. My Amy, a figment of my own imagination.

        You need to wake up. The voice is my own. I’m late for something. It’s urgent that I wake up. But, I must have been out all night last night. I can’t remember. I must wake up.

        Eric is behind the counter but only for a moment. He smiles at me and waves good-bye. I raise my hand to wave bye to him but he’s gone. I feel that he’s been gone for a long time and I just hadn’t noticed before.

        I’m standing in the café. It’s raining outside and the lake is filling up and filling up. It’s climbing the steep hill. I’m looking at Amy who doesn’t seem to notice the rising lake, the impending doom, or me. It rises and crashes through the café windows and we are floating. The dog, the girl, the boy, Eric, Amy, me, we’re all floating.

        Sir, he’s awake. Theseus, can you hear me? It’s your father, Theseus, son, oh god, I’m so glad you’re back. Is he okay? Why aren’t you speaking? Son?

        The room was filled with light that hurt my eyes and I blinked. All around me were people. The two men and the woman were being held by men in police uniforms. My head hurt. There was another woman, a nurse, who was taking my pulse. I recognized her. Amy?