Dreamology(38)

“But I’m totally into it.”

“You’re what?” I ask. “I mean, you believe me?”

Oliver gives his shrug. “I’m into it. When I was a little kid, and would watch a scary movie, I’d wake up the next morning asleep in the hall outside my parents’ door, with no recollection of how I got there. I mean, really, how do you explain that? And honestly, I like it better this way. You’re so weird about Max, and I couldn’t figure out why. Maybe you love him, but at least it’s not love at first sight . . . That would be tough to compete with.” He grins.

I blush and look down at my hands.

“Just one question,” Oliver says.

“That’s it? Just one?” I laugh.

“Have you ever had a dream about me?” Oliver looks me directly in the eye when he asks. Is he afraid of anything?

I think about the pool and the socks and the iPad. “Yeah, kind of,” I say.

Oliver’s whole body relaxes, and he sits back on the bench with a happy sigh, his arm finding his way to the back of my chair again. “Excellent.”

And suddenly I realize, my whole body has relaxed, too. Talking to Oliver about Max and the dreams is such a relief. I have Sophie, too, but she’s so far away. Confiding in Oliver makes me feel like I’m not so alone.

Unfortunately the moment is ruined when we hear a splash in the water, and see that Jerry, having spotted his duck target once again, has launched himself off the swan boat and into the water, like a hairy little Ishmael after his own White Whale. It also appears that Jerry can’t swim very well.

I turn to Oliver in a panic and realize he’s not there. He’s already in the water, grabbing Jerry around his thick middle and pulling him toward the boat.

“Don’t even think about bringing that animal back aboard,” Sam calls as he continues to pedal. “It’s disruptive! This is highly unprofessional behavior, Oliver.”

“But that’s my dog!” I yell over the heads of horrified tourists.

“If you have a problem with the policy, miss, you are welcome to join them,” he replies. He’s obviously not serious. He doesn’t think I will do it. But then I look at Oliver, treading water frantically, Jerry lying on his back with his bulldog tummy exposed, and Oliver’s face just lights up. He raises his eyebrows as if to say, Well?

“You know, as a matter of fact, I think I will!” I say. And I dive in after them.

The three of us swim to shore, Oliver and me supporting Jerry as we go, and a small crowd has gathered to see if we’re okay. But as soon as we’ve pulled ourselves onto dry land, we just burst out laughing.

“That was crazy,” I breathe.

“That was fun,” Oliver says. “Told you we’d have an adventure.” I love how I feel right now. Like I just had a dream, but I didn’t. It was all real. Oliver doesn’t need the dreamworld to have fun. I think about Max and my mood darkens.

Then I glance to my left and see two gorgeous white swans, real ones, pruning themselves side by side.

“That’s Romeo and Juliet,” Oliver explains when he sees me staring. He gives his hair a quick shake, like a golden retriever that’s just gotten out of the water. “They’re famous. They’ve been together for ten years.”

“They make a cute couple,” I observe.

“They’re also both ladies,” Oliver says with a chuckle. “The parks department didn’t realize when they put them together. They lay eggs every year, but none of them hatch. But they still seem to like each other a lot.”

“There are many different ways to love someone,” I say, observing the swans, and turn to find Oliver gazing at me. Then a shadow falls over his body and we look up to find Sam. He does not look happy.

Needless to say, Oliver is told he is not welcome back at the swan boats again, professionally or otherwise.

That afternoon, sopping wet, I let a soaked Jerry into the foyer of the house and replace the spare key under the urn to the right of the door. My father and I are too forgetful to ever have our keys on us. Before I follow Jerry inside, I glance at the wet paw prints he just left on the stone steps.

They are the size of basketballs. Like they were made by a dog the size of a water buffalo. I remember the image of Jerry from my dream last night, parting the curtain with his giant head, ready to carry me away. Then I look back at the footprint, before walking inside and shutting the door, as though getting it out of my sight will make it disappear.

Something really weird is happening.





17


We Missed Everything




“DID YOU KNOW that every time we dream, we basically just become certifiable lunatics?” Max calls out.

It’s another beautiful fall afternoon, but we can’t see that, because we’re in the Dozing Center, which is kept at a perfect level of dim for optimum comfort. I also can’t see Max, so I crane my head over the top of my sleep pod. The pods are a genius solution that Petermann devised to help his subjects relax and eventually fall asleep. He was so excited when we came in today for our first day of real research that I thought he would short-circuit. “Now is where the real fun begins!” he said as he rubbed his hands together.

Sleep pods, by the way, are exactly what they sound like. Large couches shaped like seashells or the head of the flower in the Bennett greenhouse that looked like it was going to eat me. You wedge yourself right in the middle and it closes around you, submerging your body in total comfort, like lying on a cloud. It’s so comfortable that even claustrophobes like me don’t mind.