He doesn’t know if he’s ever been uncomfortable in a dream before. It’s an odd feeling.
HE’S DRIFTING in and out, one moment he’s dancing in the park under a sky filled with stars, and the next moment he’s being wheeled down a hallway, the lights above harsh and blinding. It’s an unreal dichotomy, because he’s on his feet and he’s happier than he’s ever been, and the man in his arms is laughing, he’s tilting his head back and laughing, and it might be the greatest sound he’s ever heard.
Then he’s on his back, the lights hurting his eyes, and the people around him are wearing masks, white masks across their mouths and noses, and he’s in a machine then. A circular machine that’s shaking around him, groaning in metallic bursts. It’s loud in here, louder than anything in the world, and he’s scared. He’s not going to lie, he’s a little bit scared, but he knows that bad dreams can be scary sometimes. He knows this. He’ll get through it, and he’ll wake up with that young man in his arms and they’ll go dance.
He’s flitting back and forth between these two things, the good dream and the bad dream, when he’s pulled in a third direction. It’s familiar, this place. He’s lying on his stomach on a balcony, the gummy glass poking at his thighs, and he’s peering over the edge. Below, far below, a woman—I know her, he thinks, oh god, I know her—and she’s bent and broken, metal and glass twist around her. He can’t make out her face, but he can see the bright splashes of red around her, and her arm is at an angle that no arm should ever be at. He thinks he sees her shoe lying on the ground, and there are people, so many people, and they’re shouting and screaming and pointing their cell phones at her. And at him. They’re looking up and he can hear them. “Call the police!” they cry. “She fell from up there, someone call the police!” He’s thinking, You made me do this, you made me do this, you made me—
“You know,” the young man says as they sway back and forth, “I worried we wouldn’t get to this point. That maybe it was going to be too much for you. For me.”
“Why?” he asks. He’s not worried, merely curious. He knows where they are now, and he’s secure with it.
The young man shrugs but holds him a little tighter. “Because I think we both had reasons to be scared, and sometimes fear can win out. You don’t want it to, but it does. But I didn’t want to be scared. Not of you. Not of this. Not of what it could be. So I decided not to be scared. Easiest decision I’ve ever made. You’re the easiest decision I’ve ever made. I’ve always thought so.”
“Tomorrow,” he says, “I’m going to tell you I love you.”
The young man laughs. “I know.?
?
“You do?”
“Well, not that you were going to tell me. But I already know you love me. Because I know you.”
“When I tell you, what do you think you’re going to say?”
The young man smiles. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we, big guy?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
God, how they dance. And it’s—
THERE’S A woman—a young woman he’s never seen before—standing next to his bed. Her dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she’s wearing the same mask as everyone else. Her hands are on his arms, and he can feel her touching him. She’s moving up and down his arms, pressing and palpating. It’s disconcerting because he’s never felt anything like this in a dream before. He can actually feel the press of her latex-covered fingers, and there’s a little clip hanging from her utilitarian blue shirt with a card attached at the end. He can’t quite make out the words on it, but he can see a picture at the bottom, showing a smiling young woman with perfect teeth and perfect hair done in a style he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before.
He can make out a name, though, as she leans closer. “Allison,” he says.
The woman startles backward, bumping into a stand next to where he’s lying. The bag with the clear liquid attached to the stand is jostled, but it doesn’t fall down.
She’s breathing heavily, hand at her breast near her heart, and her eyes are wide.
He says, “On your card. Allison.”
She’s breathing like she’s about to start hyperventilating.
He says, “This is such a strange dream. I’m going dancing tomorrow, you know.”
He thinks she opens her mouth to say something, but no sound comes out.
“I’m sorry,” he says and wonders why his voice sounds like it does, rusty and broken. It takes a lot to get the words out. “I’m being rude. My name is Mike. Mike Frazier.”
She stares at him.
He’s a little annoyed, but just says, “And you’re Allison?”
“Yes,” the woman says faintly. “Ah. Yes.”
“All right. Hi, Allison.”