I don’t think I had a dream for the two years I was in the depths of my addiction. If I had one I certainly didn’t remember it.
Normally I hate people who talk about their dreams, but this one stayed with me. I swear I’m writing it exactly as it was.
I was living in a sparse apartment. Mattress on the floor with no box spring. A bedside table with an ashtray and some magazines. $30.00 desk in the corner with a laptop on it. It was playing some show I couldn’t see.
There was a door between my neighbor’s house and mine, like when two hotel rooms are joined. For some reason I get up and open the door.
His apartment is bigger than mine. It’s filled, wall-to-wall, with flat screens, new computers, a real bed, thousands of movies and video games, lava lamps, CDs, records, fine Persian carpets, and on and on.
I take a look at one game he has on his executive desk. It’s a classic NES game, but I can’t remember which one. I touch it, wanting to have it, and wanting to have the NES I had as a kid. Then I walk out.
I go back and lay down. Some guy comes through my door. He’s fat. He doesn’t put on the weight well. His gut is pushing jaggedly on his overly tight white T-shirt. He has a beard like he hasn’t shaved in days. He has beady eyes behind hipster black frames.
He starts going off on me. He’s not using nice words. He’s telling me I stole something from his room. I tell him no buddy. I’d love to but I’m not like that.
He starts pushing me into my room, throwing me down. His teeth are rotten but gold plated. He says no one will believe you down at the station. I know the apartment manager. He’ll have you kicked out.
I tell him go check everything, I didn’t take whatever you’re missing. Somewhere inside of me I know he has so much that he can’t tell when he misplaced something.
Everything is murky and in washed out colors now. I find myself caring less and less.
He goes on. You and this mattress will be on the street. You won’t find another place. My suspicion is all I need.
He has all that in his apartment. He wants to ruin me for possibly taking one thing.
Calmly I shove him down. I begin stomping his head. There is no blood, but the colors blur outward now. There is a puddle of dark blue and cartilage underneath me. I pull my foot out of it.
Somehow everybody knows what I’ve done, and I start running.
The cops chase me through Moravia.
They fight far harder to catch me than they do anything else…or so it seems.
I’m driving an ATV in the backwoods. Cars spiral off the road as I go through terrain they aren’t equipped for.
Then there’s a miscalculation on my part. There is a serious bump in the road. It’s like a ramp. I hit it and fly into the air…
…the ATV falls below me into the developing cul-de-sac of cop cars. I go into the clouds. Free.
I wake up. It’s night. I’m sweating. I turn on my computer’s iTunes, to hear something, to be reminded I’m not in my head anymore.
This seems like the right choice.
My fingernails drag across my wet forehead.
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