Awake

Drew P. About 3450 Words

Awake

"I can bring your dreams to life with this machine, Mr. Plutchik."

Joe blanked at the words, wondering if the doctor was crazy or if he was being dramatic. Either way, Joe didn't really want any part of it.

"When Keith told me about this therapy, he didn't mention science fiction," Joe laughed nervously. "I really appreciate your time, Dr. Mara, but I don't think I will be wasting any more of it."

The tiny man seated across from him coughed, obviously uncomfortable. "I'll be frank, Mr. Plutchik. Mr. Donovan told me about your situation. Your wife and yourself have been separated for a little over a year now, correct?"

Joe stopped smiling. "Why would Keith tell you that?" he asked.

"Because he is worried about you, Mr. Plutchik, as any friend would be." Dr. Mara sighed again, as if these words he did not wish to speak but constantly had to. "You need this treatment desperately, Mr. Plutchik." He almost sounded like he actually cared. However, that failed to stop the wave of anger that rose up in Joe.

He felt invaded, and tired resentment was sending frenzied thoughts into his mind. Joe got an insane urge to pick up his chair and destroy the doctor's machine, an odd, toaster shaped metal box sitting in the small office with them. He would also need to have a word with Keith about respecting his privacy. This lunatic doctor did not have any right to his family. Or his dreams.

"I can help you, Mr. Plutchik," Dr. Mara implored. "Please, let my machine help you."

Joe felt the anger subside, as sudden as it had appeared. He was so tired that not even his emotions could stay consistent. A calm realization, one that had been steadily flashing in and out of his mind the last few months, came to him. If he did not find a solution to his insomnia soon, then he would lose a lot more than his family.This was his very last chance. He knew that. If this didn't help him get some sleep, then he was going be losing a lot more than his temper. He could be one exhausted outburst from ending up in jail. Or worse.

"Alright. It's not like I've tried everything else."

Dr. Mara smiled a little at this, signified by a slight movement in his bushy moustache. He directed Joe to sit in front of the machine. The device had two silver wires extending from it, with squishy nodes at their ends. Dr. Mara attached these nodes behind each of Joe's ears. When that was done, he retrieved a metal band from one of the many drawers in his office, which he set down on Joe's head.

King of the Maniacs, a"Now, I recommend that you begin thinking of a pleasant memory. It can be anything, as long as it makes you happy," the doctor began flipping some switches on the top of the machine. It rumbled slightly as it sprung to life.

"What's this going to do to me, exactly?" Joe asked.

Dr. Mara grinned, hand hovering over a button on the top of his machine. "It's going to help help you, Mr. Plutchik."

He pressed it with an audible click. A feeling of detachment fell over Joe, as if he had been pulled gently out of his own body. And then nothing.

#

Joe woke up on his couch. Weak sunlight streamed in through the windows behind him, throwing a slight glare on the two sports commentators that rambled from the tv. He looked around, wondering if the visit to the doctor had been a dream. He couldn't remember driving home.

He heard the door open, the old metal hinges squeaking from around the hall. He jumped to his feet, wondering who could be at his house this late in the evening. He grabbed a poker from the fireplace and rounded the corner into the hall.

"And wWhat were you planning on doing with that?" Joe's wife asked, setting down the grocery bags that she had brought in.

The poker fell out of his hand, hitting the floor. The point gouged a spot out the wood paneling with an audible crack. "Judy?" Joe gasped, the name escaping like block of led had slid out of his tongue. The poker fell out of his hand, hitting the floor. The point gouged a spot out the wooden floor with an audible crack.

"Judy?"

Judy didn't noticesay anything about the poker, or the spot it had carved into the floor. She sauntered over to him in the flirtatious way that had been her trademark since they started dating in college. It used to make him uncomfortable, which is why she did it. It also made him want her more, which is also why she did it.

Joe was still speechless when she was in front of him, one hand on his shoulder and one hand cupping his face. The light coming from the door framed her blonde hair, turning it into a golden crown.

"I haven't seen you in a year, Judy." Joe didn't realize that water was collecting in the corners of his eyes.

She gave him a cock-eyed glance, annoyance mixed with a hint of concern. "Sweetie, I saw you this morning. Oh, by the way, Jonathan has been begging me all day that we go out to the park again. We might have time this weekend, right?

Jonathan? But Jonathan was gone.

"Sure," he stammered.

Judy smiled. "Great." She brought her lips up to his, and Joe's mind instantly left the questions and confusion, and fell deep into her kiss.

#

Joe opened his eyes, and found himself back in Dr. Mara's office. To his left, the doctor sat a little too close, smiling widely.

Joe sat up, feeling an incredibly uncomfortable knot in his back. He hadn't felt anything like that in ages. It was a pain that normally bothered him when he... slept.

He turned to Dr. Mara. "What was that?" he asked.

"You had a very nice nap, Mr. Plutchik," the doctor checked his watch. "For a solid five hours, I might add."

"But what did I just see?" asked Joe. "My wife. It was like she never left."

He stopped for a second, wondering at what he was sayingThe scene with Judy was already fading away fast. It sounded crazy, but But he had to give voice to what had happened, or she it would disappear. Again. "I'd been forgetting little details about how she looks, you know? The things that make her special. But just now she was so clearWe were in our house. She was bringing home dinner, like it was a normal day. She kissed me."

"That is the beauty of the machine, Mr. Plutchik," said Dr. Mara. "It brings memories to life, as dreams. It may twist them slightly, forget some things and add others. But it helps you remember happier times. And in those happier times, sleep can come to you." He thumped his device with one hand, as Joe would congratulate a buddy on a job well done. "And that is my therapy."

Joe was half listening, already back with his wife. His son waiting out in the van. The day's end promising that life could be good, and not that it had been good. He had a family back. He felt revived. No, resurrected. Dr. Mara had given him a ticket back into the life he wanted. A key to real happiness.

"I would like to schedule another appointment," said Joe.

Dr. Mara's nodded, as if he had expected that answer. "I do need to tell you that you have a finite number of times you can be in this machine," he held up hands, displaying all of his thin fingers for Joe, "I can only allow ten sessions, eleven at the most. It is dangerous to use it more than that. Do you understand?"

"Sure, of course," Joe barely heard him, "You think my health insurance would cover this?"

#

Over the next month and a half, Joe periodically visited Dr. Mara's small brick office building. He would go there with such a high of anticipation running through his body that he could hardly believe that he was the same person as before. He felt younger. And he had begun to sleep regularly.

The best part, though, was not the fact he could sleep again. It was the doctor's miraculous machine. Being put into it was even beginning to work its own kind of therapy. The nodes attached to his ears were soft and comforting, and the ring of steel around his head was a thing of power, an instrument of exploration.

But the dreaming is what made him blissful. He returned to memories that he did not even realize he still had, things that his life had torn away from him. He had beenThe world had told him that he was not allowed to have happier times anymorehappier times were not his right anymore, and he had believed that it. But now he was taking happiness back. This repossession had started with guilt, but had slowly changed into something else, something that he had not had in years. Peace.

He dreamed of the game-winning touchdown he had scored his junior year of high school. The field was slick with a light rain, and his breath streamed out in front of him in chilled rags. When Bob Harrington handed the ball off to him, he could feel his feet pumping against the grass, threatening to send him sprawling if he made one misstep. But he kept going into he sailed across the line, and the cheers of the crowd reverberated around him like worship.

He dreamed of when he was a child, and of his family's trip to the Grand Canyon. There had been bad weather that day, an event that had made his father swear. But that day he had seen the rain and mist obscure the Grand Canyon and he realized that was the momentand it was the first moment when he had felt wonder at in the unknown. The first time he felt that anything and everything was possible, in the clear, innocent way that children do.

He dreamed of the first time that he had seen his wife. He had spotted her in a rather boring chemistry business lecture. She had been laughing. Her hair had swished slightly as she snickered at a friend had said.her friend's joke. He had been transfixed by that hair. She was a beautiful woman in all respects, but her hair shimmered in a way that it had no right to.

He also dreamed of a time she had said yes to him, slipping while he slipped a diamond ring onto her finger.

And in Inhis latest dreamappointment, he finally allowed himself to dream of his son. They were curled up on the couch, Jonathan's small body pressed against his. The boy had just taken his bath, and his hair smelled like shampoo. They were watching a movie together, but Joe was too busy noticing every single detail about his son's face. The way his nose scrunched up when the villain came on the screen. The way his eyes grew bright when the hero saved the girl. And finally, the way he yawned and closed his eyes as he fell asleep on Joe's shoulder.

#

Joe woke up happy and refreshed.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Plutchik," Dr. Mara greeted him. "How are you feeling?"

"Fantastic, Doctor."

"Sensational," Dr. Mara made a note on one of his many pads. "And how are you sleeping?"

"Regularly and soundly."

"Marvelous. Then I believe today is our last appointment."

Joe froze, in the midst of rubbing out a crick in his neck.

"Last appointment?" he asked.

"Yes, Mr. Plutchik, I informed you of this already. You can have ten sessions with the machine. This is the tenth." Dr. Mara's voice was laced with detached weariness, as if explaining the denial was something he was accustomed to.

"But, I still need the dreams," said Joe. "What if my insomnia returns?"

Dr. Mara placed the machine's metal cap back into its drawer, deliberately taking his time.

"The machine is wonderful, I know that, Mr. Plutchik," he said, "But it is dangerous in overexposure. Soon, you may not even tell your dreams from reality. And I would destroy this machine before I let anyone take it that far, understand?"

The final word being said, Dr. Mara began scribbling on some lab paper, notes he always took at the end of the session. Joe was looking at the door forlornly when an Dr. Mara's barely registered warning popped back into his head.

"You said eleven," Joe remembered.

The pen stopped. "Excuse me, Mr. Plutchik?"

"You said ten sessions, maybe eleven. This was session ten. That means I get one more, right?"

"If needed, Mr. Plutchik," said Dr. Mara.

"I need it."

Joe couldn't see Dr. Mara's face, but he could hear his pen tapping against the desk, a tattoo signaling the doctor's consideration.

"One more, then. But only one, Mr. Plutchik. And then you're done."

#

Joe walked home, trying to decide what dream he would visit last. There were one or two that he had dreamed of more than once. If he focused on a memory hard enough then he would find himself there, instead of letting his mind wonder to one. But as soon as one memory came into his head, another one squeezed in to make its case for why it should be his final trip. Soon, Joe couldn't focus on choosing one at all, and was only left with an emptiness that pressed on his mind.

"Joe?" said a voice behind him. It was a voice that he had been hearing more and more recently, and he wondered if he was still dreaming. Then he turned, and realized that he couldn't have been more wrong.

There stood Judy. Her long golden hair had been cut to a small bob, a sight that hit Joe with its own form of grief. She was smaller somehow, like the last year had aged her in ways that a mere year had no right to do. She was dressed for the cold weather, and steam rose from the cup of coffee cradled in her hand.

"It's been awhile," she said.

Joe bobbed his head in a curt greeting, part of him still processing the flesh-and-blood Judy in front of him, as opposed to the dream one he had been spending so much time with recently.

"What are you doing in this part of town?" Judy took a small sip of her coffee.

"Um, therapy," he said. Then again, a little more forceful, "Therapy."

"For your insomnia?" Judy almost seemed to perk up at this. "Is it working?"

Joe wondered if she would believe that it involved him seeing her and Jonathan in life-like dreams. "Yeah. Working well, actually."

"That's great. Really, I'm glad." She swirled her coffee a little, the steam rising up in a small flurry as she did so. "I've been doing some therapy as well."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," she took a big breath, and sighed. "I'm going to visit Jonathan's grave next week. I think it would be good if you came with me. I know I missed the anniversary but now I think I can do it. To help heal."

The words tumbled out of her, and Joe could feel each one put a weight on him, hurting him. His breath seized. He wanted to tell her no. Tell her that he found something much better, a place where Jonathan was alive and there was no need for tears or separation.

But instead he said, "Sure."

Judy smiled, a little mixture of thank you and sadness, and then walked away from him.

#

"Are you ready, Mr. Plutchik?" Dr. Mara asked.

"Of course, doctor. Been ready all day."

Dr. Mara fixed the metal cap on Joe's head and applied the nodes to his ears.

"Everything secure?"

"Yes."

"Good. Do you know what you are going to dream about?"

Joe started to say something, then stopped. "You know, I'm not sure. I keep worrying that I'm going to end up at my little boy's funeral, honestly."

Dr. Mara's hand, which was about to hit the switch on the machine, came to a halt. "Why is that?"

"My wife wanted to visit his grave today," Joe said. "Though, I'm not sure I ever want to go back there again. Not after being able to visit these memories."

Dr. Mara withdrew his hand, and brought it up to gently scratch his moustache.

"May offer some advice, Mr. Plutchik? Free of charge."

"I suppose," Joe replied, puzzled.

"Mr. Plutchik, my machine is good for helping people. For helping them forget their pain, a brief respite from the world, from its troubles. It is what I built it for."

"And that is why it's so fantastic," Joe started.
Mara raised a hand. "But that is all it is. A respite. Because the world, the present, is where we live Mr. Plutchik. And for good or worse, that is all we are given. Happy memories are fantastic, they give us meaning, but they are intangible. They cannot be built upon. Only what you have now, what you still have, can still be built on. Built up. Built into something wonderful. But if you cannot face the brokenness first, well..."

The doctor's voice trailed off. Joe sat there, unsure of what to say. Mara waved a hand, as if swiping his words away like buzzing flies. "But that's just what I think, anyway."

Joe felt the emptiness creep in again, threatening to break him. "What if there's nothing left for me out there, in the present? What then?" he asked.

Dr. Mara's hand returned to the button. "That is a fear you must face yourself, Mr. Plutchik," he tapped the button, "Do you have your memory?"

Joe looked at him, gritted his teeth, and nodded.

#

Joe woke up on his couch. Weak sunlight streamed in through the windows behind him, throwing a slight glare on the two sports commentators that rambled from the tv. Dr. Mara's words were still there in the back of his head. It was almost if Joe felt them echoing around him, reaching him even in the dream. Then he saw an image of Judy, the real Judy, waiting for him at the cemetery. She almost seemed to materialize in front of him, standing there in mourning clothes and a bouquet of flowers in hand. Terrified, but willing to face the present. And then she was gone.

Joe heard the front door creak open, and the voices of Judy and Jonathan, the dream, calling his name. He jumped off the couch, rounded the corner into the entryway, and stopped. After a moment of hesitation, he ducked back into the living room and grabbed the poker from the fireplace.

He got to the door, and saw Judy playing with Jonathan in the entryway. His son's wavy hair glittered in the fading light, and the boy was laughing from the tickling that Judy was giving him. Joe saw them both, and laid the poker against the wall. The sight of them raised some unbidden tears, but Joe did his best to ignore them.

Jonathan saw him, and his smile bent into the concerned confusion of a six-year old. "Daddy, why are you crying?"

Judy had seen his wet face now too, and an anxious expression crossed her face. Her hair was long. "Honey, what's wrong?"

Without saying a word, Joe walked up and wrapped them both into a hug, one arm around each of them. They returned the embrace, Jonathan excitedly and Judy with worried affection.

"I love you both. So much." Joe managed to get out that much, at least. It would do.

Then he turned his back on both of him. He went to the poker. He grabbed it firmly with both hands, closed his eyes, and then drove it into his foot.

#

"Goddamnit!" Joe screamed, all one word, and was back in Dr. Mara's office.

The doctor jumped a little, almost comically. "Mr. Plutchik, are you alright? What happened?"

Joe felt tears in his eyes. He rubbed at them hastily, grinning at Dr. Mara. He felt like sobbing, but he thought he could hold it together until he got to the cemetery.

"Nothing, doc, sorry," said Joe. "I just remembered that I have somewhere I got to be."

He got out of the chair, telling Dr. Mara to mail the last bill. Or just use his credit card number, the receptionist surely had it memorized by now. He hurried out of the small office, out of the waiting room, and finally out the front door, and hailed a taxi in the street. He gave the cab driver the directions to the cemetery. The taxi rolled up, and Joe could see Judy standing at the entrance to the cemetery. Smiling through tears, but smiling none the less. Joe too felt the tears flowing down as he stepped out of the taxi and onto the asphalt, into his recovery.

"Mr. Plutchik, are you sure you're alright?" Dr. Mara asked him. "Mr. Plutchik?

Joe's smile disappeared, but the tears continued to stream. He looked around, to see that he was still in Dr. Mara's small, blank office.

He had, once again, been dreaming.