Dream: 2/18/09

You wake up, rising simultaneously with the sun. Instead of getting up, you choose to sprawl out and immerse yourself in your bed. Something’s wrong; you’re anxious, not feeling quite right. It’s inexplicable, but somehow it’s not a threat if you remain under your covers.

Your phone’s on the nightstand. You grab for it to check the time and notice you’ve got a message. The voice is muffled and you can’t place who it is, though it sort of sounds like a kid you knew in high school. Only certain words and phrases can be picked out from his call: ‘investment,’ ‘good deal,’ ‘company…all figured out.’ You barely knew this guy, and you’re surprised he even knows your name, let alone your phone number.

Another ten minutes pass and you muster up the courage to head downstairs. It’s clear now: this is the house where you grew up. Your brother’s in the kitchen, still dressed in his pajamas, a wifebeater revealing his glowing tattoo. He takes a break from his cereal to shoot you a look, then returns to his meal. You’re too distracted to question his attitude, so you head to the family room.

You’ve been settled on the couch for a good minute before you realize someone in your dad’s favorite chair. It’s the kid that left you the message, and somehow you’ve pulled his name from the contours of your memory.

“Andre.”

“Hey, man,” he says. He’s slightly different than how you remember him, less gangly, heavier, shorter. But he still has that baby face.

“I’ve got this great idea,” he continues. “Derek and I make t-shirts. We’re gonna need some capital if we want to start selling them. Thought you could help us out.”

Your brother’s standing on the periphery, not questioning Andre’s presence, but whether or not you’re going to help him.

“Sorry, man,” I tell him, treating him like a friend, “but I can’t really afford that right now.” And as soon as you say this, you’re wondering if this is why you’re living at home.

Andre just shakes his head. He doesn’t make any effort to leave. Your brother shakes his head disapprovingly. All this leaves you even more anxious, but you’re saved when your mother enters the kitchen.

“Hi, honey,” she says. She smiles reassuringly, and Andre and your brother have vanished. But still, you’re stressed. You don’t understand what’s happening. Are you dying?

“I’ve got your birthday present for you,” she tells you. You manage to pull yourself from the grip of the couch and follow her to the foyer. She digs through the closet, and though it sounds cluttered, it appears almost empty. She stops, turns to hand you the gift, and that’s when you really wake up.