The recurring nightmare that caused Alexander’s
sleeping phobia – even his dread of
bedtime – took place in a car. He
never could remember how he got in the car, only that he’d be in the back seat
of a moving vehicle, careening down a street at a speed of forty miles per
hour, weaving in and out of traffic. His
dream became a nightmare the moment he realized that no one was driving.
Each time the car was different. Sometimes it would be a large Cadillac, other
times it would be an old Ford truck -once it was a school bus. It would be different cities, all
unidentifiable – but always filled with people walking here and there. Alexander would be panicked as he looked out
the windshield, watching the near misses of pedestrians as they dove out of the
way; the headlights of oncoming traffic swerving out of the way to avoid
collision.
He would try to climb into the front seat,
hoisting a sweaty and limp leg over the unreasonably high bench that kept him
from the steering wheel. The other leg
would follow and Alexander would then try to reach the foot pedals with his
uncooperative feet, always bending at the ankles or getting caught on tissue
boxes or old coffee mugs on the floor.
In the chaos, he could see other cars on the periphery, all obeying
traffic laws as his runaway car threatened the otherwise peaceful road. There
would be swearing and heavy breathing as he tried with all his might to situate
himself in the driver’s seat. As he felt
the bumpy red steering wheel in his hand, there was always the feeling that it
was all his fault.
He would awake with a start, usually
bolting up - right before he hit a tree or ran off a bridge or hit another car,
causing great bodily injury. He would be
breathless in the dark, trembling and sweating as if it all had happened –
there in his room. Filled with fear,
then relief and finally guilt, he only had one question: How could he have let this happen again?
Being a man of research, Alexander Ewald
Gross had researched the field of recurring dreams and nightmares and even
watched films on how to stop the recurrence.
None of the touted methods worked.
The mind control techniques were for the weak minded or newly haunted
subjects, not for him – someone who had been plagued by the same nightmare
since he was a boy.
He had tried everything. Alexander had even become an expert on the wide
array of available sleep medications, both prescribed and over-the-counter. That tea?
Yes, it was good, but it was very light and didn’t take away the active mind
in sleep. That pill? It was successful to knock the subject out,
but the dreams continued in a surreal fashion, with the car becoming a melted
mass of steel and the steering wheel resembling a Remo drumhead. Alcohol
only worked if it had to be the very fine or expensive stuff, like Tanqueray
Gin or Bowmore whiskey. Both had been
distilled so beautifully that Alexander hoped they would be the cure; they only
caused more of the same.
Doctors he consulted as an adult were a
confederacy of dunces. As a teen, his
mother mentioned his nightmares to his pediatrician, which made Alexander blush
deep scarlet, but the doctor proved to have the wisest solution: lots of reading and plenty of football. Alexander found a home in both books and
sport but the hellish repetition continued each night as REM sleep set in.
“You look weary, Gross,” his boss told him
one morning at the coffee machine. “How are you sleeping?”
“I don’t really sleep,” Alexander answered
without thinking.
“Really?” His boss leaned forward and
tapped him on the elbow. “Why not?”
Alexander explained weakly about his
dream life keeping him awake. Before he
could finish his boss announced, “I’ve got just the thing!”
Alexander looked at him through his sore,
dry eyes. Could this little round man
who did nothing for him other than check his reports actually have an answer?
He decided to ask him.
“What do you have?”
“Serena!” His boss raised his eyebrows up
and down, suggestively. The thought of
his boss entertaining a woman made Alexander nauseous. He had to be sixty years
old – ugly as sin and woefully out of shape.
“A young guy like you? You should
have no problem at all sleeping! I’ll
bring her to your desk by the end of the day.”
Alexander returned to his desk with a
steaming brown mug, careful not to trip and lay himself flat between the
impersonal grey cubicles that constituted the hallway. He wondered if he looked
well enough to meet a woman that would “help him sleep”. The thought made him nervous and for the rest
of the day, he could barely concentrate.
He made simple mistakes in sentence structure, printed reports to the
mainframe printer (he had to descend two flights of stairs to retrieve them)
and spilled coffee all over his beige tie.
At four fifteen, his boss appeared in his
cubicle, suddenly. “Gross!”
Alexander was startled and spun around
quickly, hearing a small air bubble pop in his neck. “Yes?”
His boss put a small, square-bottomed,
brown paper bag with twisted paper handles in front of him. It looked like nothing – Alexander peered
inside. It was a small stainless steel
radio box, resembling an old alarm clock
with a black cord that plugged into the wall.
He looked up, wearily, at his boss.
“May I present Serena.” His boss waved his hands at the bag. “The woman I told you will help you sleep.”
“I’ve tried white noise, sir…”
“Oh, she’s not white noise!” His boss shook
his head and reflected in quiet homage.
“She will whisper your name and chase those dreams away. Now take her, read the directions and use her
tonight.” His boss looked over his
shoulder and then leaned forward, speaking in a hushed voice. “I expect an update tomorrow. If she is who I think she is, you’ll soon be sleeping
like a baby.”
Alexander watched the small man waddle down
the hall, waving goodbye to some of his co-workers. Looking inside the bag once more, Alexander
saw the worn set of instructions – a pamphlet typed in English and
Japanese. He decided to give her a
try.
After a dinner of ham and eggs, Alexander pulled
out the stainless steel box and read the instructions, desperate to achieve
rest. Through the fog of listless
distraction, he managed to concentrate enough to bring the box into his bedroom
and plug it into the outlet closest to his nightstand. He read how the unit must be programmed by
first clearing the memory.
Whispering the instructions aloud to
himself, Alexander murmured: “Press start button until red light stops
flashing.”
He pressed the only button he could see, a
nickel-sized button on top of the box. A
red light suddenly flashed in the digital display, blinking for fifteen seconds
before it stayed on. Alexander nervously
returned to the instructions.
“When red light stays on, say your full
name into speaker.”
There was no visible speaker, so Alexander
leaned close to the unit and spoke clearly: “Alexander Ewald Gross.”
The red light shut off suddenly. Did he do something wrong? The instructions continued: “As soon as the
name has been recorded, the light will go off and you are ready to sleep serenely.”
Alexander read the entire set of directions
again. He looked at the box and wondered
if he had programmed it properly. He
wasn’t sure if it was an electric placebo meant to influence his subconscious
or if it was a cheap rip-off unit manufactured by new age nuts. Either way, he decided to unplug it.
As he bent over to do so, he changed his
mind. If his boss asked about it
tomorrow, he needed to be able to honestly say that he had tried the box and
that it hadn’t worked. If by some miracle he didn’t have the nightmare, he
could tell his boss he was right. Either
way, he’d need to answer in a way that would foster good relations or perhaps enhance
his chance for promotion.
Pajamas and toothbrush routines successfully
completed, Alexander climbed into bed and began reading his latest mystery
novel, now and then glancing at the box.
It wasn’t until he was in the car, careening down a road with oncoming headlights
did he realize he was sleeping and dreaming.
Alexander breathed heavily in the back seat, his green pin-striped pajamas
were sticking to him he was sweating so much.
Suddenly, in the middle of his panic, he saw her. There, in the driver’s seat was a woman – a
real woman with red long hair and milky white skin. From his vantage point in the back seat,
Alexander could tell she was beautiful, even though he couldn’t see her face.
“Hello,” he said.
She turned to him, glancing carefully and
then returning her gaze to the road. “Hello!”
Instead of climbing over the seat,
Alexander decided to sit where he was.
He realized he wasn’t wearing a seat belt and reached for it.
“You don’t need a seat belt, Alexander,”
Serena said softly. “This is a dream.”
He sat back and let go of the buckle, placing
his hands on his lap. He watched the
road for a short while and then stared at the back of her head. “I guess you know my name because I told you,
huh?”
She laughed a little. When she did, Alexander realized she was
supporting him, not making fun of him. “I
love your name,” she looked back at him again.
Her thickly lashed eyes were a pale green, just like his own. “I was wondering if you could tell me how you
got your middle name.”
“Ewald?” Alexander realized there was no
hiding; she knew everything about him.
He didn’t know how or why, but he knew she knew everything. “You know that Ewald was my mother’s father,
remember?”
Serena didn’t answer him. Instead, she continued to drive and Alexander
could see that the road was changing; it became sparsely populated. They were leaving the city and going into the
country, he could see apple orchards in his periphery. Serena gently spoke, he voice like a cloud of
feathers over his body.
“You called your mother’s father Grandpa. I didn’t
know his name was Ewald.”
Alexander felt five years old again. He looked at his hands, folded in his lap and
realized that he actually had become five years old in his dream. Was Serena taking him to Grandpa’s
house? His grandparents’ house used to
be out behind the apple orchards, where the old farmer’s market was held. A canning plant and a packing station used to
be in full swing during the autumn.
Alexander remembered going there….
“Are we going to Grandpa’s?” Alexander
heard his voice and was moved with emotion.
He was a young boy, at the mercy of the driver, going to a familiar
place. Why was his heart beating so
fast?
“No, we’re not.” Serena was quiet for a
moment and Alexander breathed deeply.
She spoke again, this time looking over at him for a long time. Alexander was not frightened as she took her
eyes off the road for an extended period.
Instead, he looked deeply into them and listened to her. “You don’t ever have to go to that place
again. There is never a need for you to
feel guilty about what happened there.”
Alexander nodded at her. His eyes clouded with tears. “What if Grandpa comes looking for me?”
Serena continued to look into him and
reassure him. “There will be no way he
can find you.
Besides, he can’t find you
because he’s dead. He’s in another world
now.”
Before he could digest this fact, he
realized that they were there – at the packing plant. The big wooden boxes that held the apples
were stacked up to the roof of the hangar, giants against the small car they
had driven to get there.
Standing outside the car, Serena held his
tiny hand in hers. Alexander’s pajamas
were now covered in trains. He remembered the slippers he wore with them as a
boy, but when he looked down his feet were bare. The ground was dirt, hard and compacted by
years of wear. All around him was the
dark glow of the orchards, the packing plant was closed, but the smell of red
delicious apples was in the air.
“You see this place?” Serena was asking
him. “This place can’t hurt you. This memory can’t hurt you. You are now safe and you have no need to
worry.” He felt her hand squeeze his and
he leaned against her, hoping to hug her legs.
Instead, the roar of a tractor woke him suddenly and he sat up in his
bed, bolting upright. Instead of sweat,
Alexander was covered in wonder. His
eyes, opening to the morning light turned toward the box, buzzing like a
tractor in the distance. The digital display
was blinking: “6:30”.
At work, Alexander served himself coffee,
still taking in the events of the night before.
He felt remarkably rested, even though the dream was still very clear in
his mind.
His boss entered the break room,
whistling. “Gross! Good Morning!”
Alexander turned to him and unwittingly smiled. “Good morning, sir.”
His boss’ expression was fast and perfect,
as if he knew that something had transpired. “How was your night with Serena?”
Alexander feigned confusion, blinking as he
tried to maintain a dim expression. “Oh,
yeah… I forgot to use that thing you
gave me.” His deceit was plain, but for
some reason, Alexander’s boss decided to play along.
“Oh, really? I was just about to tell you that you look
rested.”
“Well,” Alexander stirred his coffee. Two ladies from shipping and receiving came
in, talking about a show they had both seen on television the night before.
His boss poured himself a cup of coffee,
ignoring the women and continuing with Alexander. “If you decide to use her tonight, say a
different name into the speaker.” He
poured carefully into his mug and then turned to Alexander. “It will be even
more magnificent.”
For a moment Alexander wanted to confess,
but decided to continue his charade of ignorance. “I don’t know what you mean, but I’ll try
that.”
Both men walked out of the break room and
down the row of cubicles in awkward silence.
It was finally no use.
“Where did you get it?” Alexander suddenly
asked.
His boss continued to walk, not even
looking at him. “It was given to me by
my boss after I told him I had problems sleeping.”
Alexander stopped walking as soon as he got
to his cubicle. He watched his boss keep
walking, eventually turning the corner that led to his office. Alexander sat in his chair and turned on his computer. Rested and fit, he now realized he might
eventually have to part with the box. He
intended to find another one just like it somewhere. Somewhere there was sure to be one. One that could be his to keep. Keep forever.
Without worry of parting with her.
Without her, his Grandpa Ewald might raise from the dead and find him somewhere in his REM sleep.
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