Sleepwalking (A Short Story) - February 2013
You can go through life asleep sometimes, blissfully unconscious of reality. And then something happens – a small thing, an inconsistency, a nagging thought – that makes you realize you are simply a grain of sand, not even a pebble, on someone else’s beach. When they were your mountain, the only thing you could see for miles. That’s when you wake up.
It hasn’t happened to me often and for that I am grateful. Muddling through solo really can be a blessing we overlook.
Unfortunately, I find myself at one of those moments of clarity right now. Fortunately, we live in a time where one can do something about it, the internal torment that is.
Once upon a time, when faced with your insignificance, you had nothing but expanses of time ahead of you. Time in which to replay the dream, to ache with longing, to cry at the slightest provocation. “Time heals all wounds.” – that’s all anyone could tell you. But in the meantime, you’d find yourself gutted, hollow, alone. Waiting, waiting, waiting for all traces of the dream to disappear from your waking moments.
I have felt the weight of sadness on my chest for too long now. Enough time has passed that I should be able to reconcile my heart and my head. But again, this morning, I find myself crushed. That’s when I realized I needed to visit a Reverie.
From the outside, the Reveries are never much to look at. I suspect the corporation does this intentionally. The buildings are always drab, grey, nondescript. You could pass them a thousand times over and never really know they were there. No, you need to be looking for them to see them.
When you push the door open and walk in, a bell jingles overhead, signaling the arrival of another unfortunate. You wait in the empty reception area for what seems like an eternity, but you can’t be sure because there is no clock. There is also no artwork, no house plants, no furniture. Nothing that could evoke an emotional response. Next to a plain door, there is simply a window with a shelf in front, a shade drawn so you cannot see what lies beyond. Eventually, someone retracts the shade and calls you forth. Sometimes, it is a man working the window, sometimes a woman. They are always pleasant looking, but not too attractive. Their uniforms match the beige walls; they do not wear name tags.
“Form of payment?” Cash is always preferable. It ensures that there will be no record of the event at all, neither in your memory nor in any one else’s.
I push my money towards the attendant. “Have you been here before?” I nod. “Good, then you know what to expect. Have you any preference for your experience? If you have forgotten what we offer, I can show you the menu again.” I smile faintly. “I would like a travel room if one is available.”
“Certainly. I will open the door for you presently.” With that, the shade is drawn again. I move towards the door and hear the metallic click of the handle being turned on the inside. The attendant pushes it open and stands aside for me to pass into the hallway.
What strikes you the first time you visit is how expansive the building must really be. The hallway appears to go on forever. Door after door after door, on both sides. There is an alphanumeric code on each one that makes no sense to anyone not working for the corporation. The attendants never seem to have trouble navigating the corridor, however. They promptly whisk you to your desired destination on a motorized scooter of sorts.
Once we arrive at a section of doors labeled TE1-TE20, the attendant stops. “Have you a particular type of travel in mind? There’s historical city tours, primitive camping, amusement parks, seafaring…” I shake my head. “I like the beaches best.” The attendant smiles. “A good choice. I often visit that room myself.” This is slightly shocking. It hadn’t occurred to me that people who worked at the Reverie could use it.
I am ushered to room TE16. “I know you have been here before, but I would like to review the process with you. When you enter the room, you will see a control panel on the wall across from the synthesis chair. You should begin by selecting your favorite scent. Orange blossom has been quite popular of late. Once your scent is selected, you need to choose your soundtrack. I strongly recommend going with ambient sounds rather than popular music. In my own experience, I find the lack of words enhances the suppression process. Then you need to choose your geographic preference. I know that the Caribbean is immensely popular, but I find the European coasts to be much more interesting. You will need to key in a very accurate description of the offending items so that the machine can target those alone. Set the desired length of conditioning – 30 minutes is recommended for every 6 months of memory. Remember if you are too vague about what needs to be scrubbed, everything from that time will be lost. Do you understand?”
I do. It is tempting to be intentionally vague, but I know that the result of that decision will bring its own heartache.
“Last thing to do will be to put on the Envision GogglesTM and settle into the synthesizer. I will return to retrieve you when your time is up. Any last minute questions?”
I don’t have any so I am left alone in the room, which is barely bigger than an office cubicle. I approach the control panel in the wall. For just an instant, I hesitate. The memories of our time together flood back again – our laughter over stupid jokes, gorging on junk food and then the shared remonstration at the gym afterward, the loosely discussed plans for traveling together, the feel of your hand on my face, your lips on mine… For just an instant, I want nothing more than to hold on to those moments forever. But I know I can’t. I press button after button and let the technology envelop me. From now on, I am traveling alone.
It hasn’t happened to me often and for that I am grateful. Muddling through solo really can be a blessing we overlook.
Unfortunately, I find myself at one of those moments of clarity right now. Fortunately, we live in a time where one can do something about it, the internal torment that is.
Once upon a time, when faced with your insignificance, you had nothing but expanses of time ahead of you. Time in which to replay the dream, to ache with longing, to cry at the slightest provocation. “Time heals all wounds.” – that’s all anyone could tell you. But in the meantime, you’d find yourself gutted, hollow, alone. Waiting, waiting, waiting for all traces of the dream to disappear from your waking moments.
I have felt the weight of sadness on my chest for too long now. Enough time has passed that I should be able to reconcile my heart and my head. But again, this morning, I find myself crushed. That’s when I realized I needed to visit a Reverie.
From the outside, the Reveries are never much to look at. I suspect the corporation does this intentionally. The buildings are always drab, grey, nondescript. You could pass them a thousand times over and never really know they were there. No, you need to be looking for them to see them.
When you push the door open and walk in, a bell jingles overhead, signaling the arrival of another unfortunate. You wait in the empty reception area for what seems like an eternity, but you can’t be sure because there is no clock. There is also no artwork, no house plants, no furniture. Nothing that could evoke an emotional response. Next to a plain door, there is simply a window with a shelf in front, a shade drawn so you cannot see what lies beyond. Eventually, someone retracts the shade and calls you forth. Sometimes, it is a man working the window, sometimes a woman. They are always pleasant looking, but not too attractive. Their uniforms match the beige walls; they do not wear name tags.
“Form of payment?” Cash is always preferable. It ensures that there will be no record of the event at all, neither in your memory nor in any one else’s.
I push my money towards the attendant. “Have you been here before?” I nod. “Good, then you know what to expect. Have you any preference for your experience? If you have forgotten what we offer, I can show you the menu again.” I smile faintly. “I would like a travel room if one is available.”
“Certainly. I will open the door for you presently.” With that, the shade is drawn again. I move towards the door and hear the metallic click of the handle being turned on the inside. The attendant pushes it open and stands aside for me to pass into the hallway.
What strikes you the first time you visit is how expansive the building must really be. The hallway appears to go on forever. Door after door after door, on both sides. There is an alphanumeric code on each one that makes no sense to anyone not working for the corporation. The attendants never seem to have trouble navigating the corridor, however. They promptly whisk you to your desired destination on a motorized scooter of sorts.
Once we arrive at a section of doors labeled TE1-TE20, the attendant stops. “Have you a particular type of travel in mind? There’s historical city tours, primitive camping, amusement parks, seafaring…” I shake my head. “I like the beaches best.” The attendant smiles. “A good choice. I often visit that room myself.” This is slightly shocking. It hadn’t occurred to me that people who worked at the Reverie could use it.
I am ushered to room TE16. “I know you have been here before, but I would like to review the process with you. When you enter the room, you will see a control panel on the wall across from the synthesis chair. You should begin by selecting your favorite scent. Orange blossom has been quite popular of late. Once your scent is selected, you need to choose your soundtrack. I strongly recommend going with ambient sounds rather than popular music. In my own experience, I find the lack of words enhances the suppression process. Then you need to choose your geographic preference. I know that the Caribbean is immensely popular, but I find the European coasts to be much more interesting. You will need to key in a very accurate description of the offending items so that the machine can target those alone. Set the desired length of conditioning – 30 minutes is recommended for every 6 months of memory. Remember if you are too vague about what needs to be scrubbed, everything from that time will be lost. Do you understand?”
I do. It is tempting to be intentionally vague, but I know that the result of that decision will bring its own heartache.
“Last thing to do will be to put on the Envision GogglesTM and settle into the synthesizer. I will return to retrieve you when your time is up. Any last minute questions?”
I don’t have any so I am left alone in the room, which is barely bigger than an office cubicle. I approach the control panel in the wall. For just an instant, I hesitate. The memories of our time together flood back again – our laughter over stupid jokes, gorging on junk food and then the shared remonstration at the gym afterward, the loosely discussed plans for traveling together, the feel of your hand on my face, your lips on mine… For just an instant, I want nothing more than to hold on to those moments forever. But I know I can’t. I press button after button and let the technology envelop me. From now on, I am traveling alone.
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