North Carolina Miscellany
any dream, not even this one, might have to say. This dream told him he was at the bottom of the ocean. True or not, a current of pure pleasure carried him along. In this place, free of noise or ache, free of time, he became weightless, big belly and every care left in the waking world. Nothing here but the glory of floating: he wished he could go on like this forever. But it never lasted. A tug at his lungs broke the calm. Then the tug turned into a wild burn. He tried to resist, aching to stay, but he couldn’t help being human. Time after time, Wendell fought his way up toward a shimmering surface. Tonight, he came awake sputtering for air. He threw his legs over the side of the bed. “Hello,” he said. Nothing. “I know you hear me. I’m getting up with or without you.” Wendell heard a click. “Don’t touch anything!” Gene called. In a flash, he was bedside. “You know what time it is?” “Don’t care what time it is.” “4:41.” “I’m done, partner. No sense in me laying here.” Oates rubbed the shadow of his chin. “I don’t have much.” “You have enough?” Oates sighed with exasperation. “Enough to tell you’re in trouble.” “Then you got plenty.” Wendell held up his arms. “How about deactivating me?” Gene plucked away the wires like pinfeathers. “We’re locked down till six. Part of security. I open those doors, police come flying.” “You got coffee?” “Instant.” “Milk?” “Creamer.” “Sugar?” “I have sugar.” “Give me a few minutes.” Washed and dressed, Wendell came through the sallow glow of the hall into
This
dream told him he was at the
bottom of the
ocean.
True or not, a current of pure pleasure
carried him along. In this place, free of noise or ache,
free of time,
he became weightless, big belly and every care left in the
waking world.
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the office. A mug waited on the desk, but before he could get a taste, Gene wheeled around and faced him. “You read that brochure we sent you?” “I did.” Wendell sipped. “Far as I can tell, I got every symptom on the list.” “Sleep apnea. That’s unofficial, understand, but you stopped breathing thirty-eight, forty times an hour. You got a serious issue.” “I’m taking it serious. My wife already moved to the other bedroom.” He emptied another sugar packet in his coffee. “I have a question for you.” “Okay.” Gene blew on his fresh cup of coffee. “Shoot.” “I have this dream I want you to hear about. I have it over and over. It starts exactly the same. It starts with me swimming, and then it has this middle part.” Wendell leaned in. “That’s the good part. I never in my life felt so good as that.” “Euphoria,” said Gene. “That’s what it’s called.” “It always ends the same, too, with me drowned. Or nearly drowned.” “That’s your brain working up a story. It needs to make some sense out of why it’s not getting oxygen.” “Here’s what I want to know. If I let you fix me up with one of those,” Wendell pointed to the shelf of masks, “what happens to my dream?” “You won’t need it. A good night’s sleep, you’ll hardly remember anything.” Wendell fell silent. “The thing is,” he confessed, “I hate the thought of giving it up.” “Trust me, dude,” said Gene. “That’s the one that will kill you.” No one had ever called Wendell dude, and here it came out of the mouth of an Oates. “It’s a dream,” said Gene. “And that’s all it is.” Wendell, feeling the loss anyhow, looked into the empty hall, but, in a minute, he came around. “All right.” He slapped his leg. “Then pull one off your shelf, and let me have a look at it.”