Nightmares

It’s a friday night and it feels like you might be dreaming, but it’s not the kind of dream in which you know you’re dreaming and can do whatever you want but the kind of dream that just hasn’t turned into a nightmare yet. And it rains, not a little nor a lot, and you’re kind of tipsy but not drunk, and you’re trying to cross a street with a couple of lost tourists cramped under a small umbrella when a bus goes by, and it’s not one of the shiny new ones nor one of the cool old ones, just a red double decker trying to live up to its own standards. And a bike has been carelessly chained to a streetlight that gives off a loud kind of yellow light, and neither of the bike’s tires have been stolen yet but you wonder how long it will be. You get on a bus and it’s full of drunk people who are neither teenagers nor adults and they are not going home, because even though the night isn’t young anymore it still isn’t over. And the rain causes fog on the windows so you see nothing but you know exactly what life is passing you by.

You doze off on the bus but when you close your eyes all you see is a vacant street with a lone streetlight and even though there are no clouds in the sky and the night is dark, there are no stars and no moon, just darkness and buildings and a rustling sound in the distance and you know it’s just the sound of the bus. And you look up and you see a pair of legs visible in the light and nothing more and you’re startled by the sight and open your eyes but you decide that your slumber was just disturbed by the loud young people in the back of the bus.

You’re walking on a busy street and it’s midnight and it’s foggy and wet and you wish the streetlights were blue and not yellow, and you want to put your headphones in but you don’t because you want to be aware of your surroundings for the sake of your safety, when a man dressed in leather smoking a cigarette in front of a pub whistles behind you and asks where you’re going, why don’t you stop for a drink, what’s the matter with you cunt fucking bitch and then spits in your direction, you wish you hadn’t heard any of it. And you’re surrounded by the world and its darkness and wetness and cold light and traffic with its beeping and screeching and roaring and people with their laughter and shouting when you turn a corner and suddenly you’re not in the world anymore.

It’s quiet, so very quiet. The sky is a great dark blanket over the world and it has stopped raining and the streetlights are a soothing kind of blue. A gentle gust of wind feels chilly on your skin and your blood feels warm underneath. The stillness sends a chill down your spine but you’re not cold anymore. You’re warm. It’s a warmth you can only feel under your skin but the air you breathe is still the same cold air. Your heart is beating faster and your blood is running thicker. There’s a buzzing in your ears and it’s the only sound you can hear until the world starts intruding at the end of the street where you first turned a corner. The world is represented by a man on a motorcycle and for a minute that feels like an hour you think it might be the man from the pub and you wonder what he will do if it is. You feel like you’ve insulted his being by not giving him an answer even though his question wasn’t really a question. You suddenly feel very hot and you start sweating. You wonder if he might even be following you because you disregarded his speech. The buzzing in your ear grows louder and louder. Any minute now the man on the motorcycle will ascend the crescent and see you standing on the sidewalk. You think maybe you should hide, maybe you should knock on a nearby door or jump behind a fence and maybe you should cross the street and try not to be seen under a broken streetlight on the other side but it’s too late. You know that no matter what you do he’s going to see you and you freeze on the spot and you’re sweating and shivering and breathing heavily and the buzzing grows louder and louder and you’re exposed to the world when the man on the motorcycle sees you and just when he catches you you’re awoken by the loud young people as they get off the bus.

You realize that you have already passed your stop so you get off as well. The street is busy and it’s midnight and it’s raining and you don’t mind the streetlights being the cold kind of yellow anymore because you know that even if they were blue it would make no difference. You see a crowd of people standing in front of a pub ahead and you cross the street so you can pass unnoticed. There is no man in motorcyclist’s clothing in front of the pub, just a group of men in suits smoking cigars and laughing at some joke. The world is loud and bright but when you turn a corner you notice that it has stopped raining. You look up in the sky to make sure that there are stars and even though you see only three because it’s a cloudy night, you accept it as evidence.

The street is quiet and the streetlights are blue. A gentle gust of wind feels chilly on your skin and your blood feels warm underneath. The stillness sends a chill down your spine but you’re not cold anymore. You feel warm under your skin but the air you breathe is still the same cold air. Your heart is beating faster and there’s a buzzing in your ears. You decide to walk on the other side of the road to take advantage of the broken streetlight if you should need to hide but you find that it’s not broken. Just when you’re under the streetlight that was broken in the dream you hear a vehicle ascending the crescent and you wonder if it might be the man. You suddenly feel very hot and start sweating. The buzzing in your ear grows louder. You wonder if you should hide, just in case, but it’s too late. You know that no matter what you do he’s going to see you and you freeze on the spot and you’re sweating and shivering and breathing heavily and the buzzing grows louder and louder and you’re exposed to the world when a blue Volkswagen passes you by and the buzzing goes silent.
And even though it may not have been the man from the dream, even though he did not stop, even though he did not come for you, even though maybe he did not even see you there, and even though the streetlights are blue they are cold and the wind blows into your face, carrying screeching and beeping and laughter from the main street and you think you might have imagined the buzzing the whole time.

And you get home and you go to bed and you’re lying awake and you’re painfully aware of the world outside your window because everything in your being says that you should be asleep: the aggressive yellow streetlight pushing through the curtains; the suddenly obvious ticking of a clock somewhere; and someone’s slow, deep breathing beside you. And yet you know that even if you were asleep you would feel the same and you might as well be sleeping for all you know. And when at last you fall asleep you find that you have been caught by the man and he has tied you up in a chamber somewhere deep beneath the city. And when he approaches you with a dagger in his hand you do not see his face, you do not understand why nor do you question it, you just accept that you are going to die and you stare at the dagger as the man cuts your wrists and then leaves you there to bleed out in a chamber far below the city. And you know that you could be happy if you could stop debating whether to fall asleep and never wake again or continue living your life knowing that even when you have the kind of dream in which you’re aware that you’re dreaming it just hasn’t turned into a nightmare yet.