Dreamology(70)

“Sure,” I say, not paying attention, as I hold out my hand that’s not clutching my phone. I feel something scaly and squirmy land in my palm as I eagerly read the message.

My Dear Alice,

Thank you for your email. I’m not sure I’ve been made aware yet of these Google Alerts you mention—we hardly have internet here!—but as always, I’m impressed with how intelligent you are and how industrious you’ve become.

To your first question, in terms of my visit to Washington DC, I will unfortunately not be able to extend my visit to Boston, as my flight is a direct round trip from Casablanca. But my heart is warmed to hear how you are enjoying Nan’s house, particularly that old bike. I got a lot of use out of that thing many years ago.

On to your second point. You asked if I would not be stopping by after DC, when could you expect me? And I am sorry to say I’m not so sure. Research here in Madagascar has really picked up, and I have been invited to speak in Paris in two months, and New Zealand three months after that, which frankly puts me at capacity for international travel for the rest of the year.

To your last point, I would like to keep the discussion ongoing on the topic of you coming here to visit. As you can see, my schedule is inflexible and complicated. But I am charmed by your interest in our work.

Give your father a hug for me, and Jerry a sweet pat. I miss them both, and you. Keep working hard in school, you’ll need it. And above all else, don’t be afraid to follow your dreams, Alice. After all, they’re all we have. What are we without them?

Love,

Mom



I stare at the last two sentences, letting the hand holding the phone drop to my side. Dreams are all we have? I frown. No, Mom, they are not all we have. We have so much more than that. We have friends and loved ones and real life. We have people that matter, real people, and what we do matters to them in return. They rely on us.

At least I do.

I look back up just in time to see Max entering the gym, and I swallow. I am an idiot.

“You know,” I hear a voice say, and look down to see Celeste leaning on my ladder, holding the measuring tape that just fell off one of the steps. She glances in the direction of the gym. “I’ve seen him sleep a few times.” She hands the tape back to me gently. “He never looked happier than when he dreamed.”

The door to the gym elevator is just about to shut behind Max when I wedge myself in it and, after the doors close and before I can psych myself out, press the Stop button.

“Alice, are you crazy?” Max says.

“Do you really need me to answer that question?” I reply.

“Do I need to remind you that you are terrified of small confined spaces?” he asks.

“Nope, no need for that,” I mutter, glancing around the tiny torture chamber. “I am well aware.”

“What are you doing with Socrates?” Max asks then, and I look down to see the lizard dangling helplessly from my hand, no doubt certain that death is imminent.

“Does everyone in this whole school know Socrates?” I ask.

“He was our class pet in elementary school, and Jeremiah adopted him,” Max says. “So, yes.”

“Well, that explains it,” I say, holding Socrates up and looking him in the eye. He responds by blinking at me several times, and it occurs to me that when Jeremiah gets back from the bathroom, he is absolutely going to be out for my blood.

“Alice,” Max says, gently bringing me back to reality. “How about we allow the elevator to move again, before you have a breakdown?”

But I brush the idea out of my head. I have other things on my mind. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“It’s okay,” Max says, not getting it. “Let’s just press the button . . .”

“No,” I say, “not about that. About what I said. About how I felt. I’m sorry that I made you feel like you weren’t enough, Max, because you are. I was afraid. For my whole life, the dreams were all I had. They were the only thing that made me feel less alone. And you were part of that. And you got over it, you learned how to function, but I didn’t. And I didn’t understand that when I lost the dreams, I wouldn’t lose you, too.”

Max isn’t saying anything, he’s just staring at the floor, so I keep going. “And you were right! I do need to live in reality. And I’m trying. I know I can’t just escape my problems. I mean, I’m standing in an elevator! And I even talked to my dad about my mom.”

At this, Max meets my eyes with a sad smile. “That’s really great, Alice,” he says. “I’m glad to hear it.”

But I keep talking. “So I’m saying, everything is fine!” I try again, because this isn’t the response I wanted. “I mean, look at me! I’m literally standing here in an elevator, confronting my fears, because of you. It doesn’t get any more real than this, Max. I don’t need the dreams if I’ve got you.” The hand that’s not holding Socrates is feverishly tapping rhythms against its own palm, and my body is starting to feel a little hot. Is there no air in here?

Max just keeps giving me that sad smile.

“Max?” I ask. “Say something.”

“I don’t know, Alice.” He shakes his head. “Maybe we’re just too different.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, the blood draining from my face as Socrates squirms between my fingers. Now it doesn’t matter if I’m in an elevator or not. I could be buried six feet beneath the ground and I’m not sure I would notice.