Saudade

This is part of a collection of short stories started by my friend Sam Beckbessinger and I in our podcast Take Back the Day. We challenged each other to write a story in a week and you’re welcome to join us. Start now. You’ve got a week. Publish your story and submit it to Drippy Fun Times.

Close your eyes. Now look at your eyelids. Notice the millions of tiny yellow dots flickering in and out of existence in front of you. Now pick one. Focus on it and clear your mind of everything else. Just one yellow speck. Trace it as it flickers around. Watch as it expands. Keep your mind clear. Allow the dot to grow bigger until you can see an image inside. And then…

Gone again.

Jericho opened his eyes. He had repeated the exercise what seemed like hundreds of times, but just couldn’t get back. The projection on the roof glowed 21:54. Still early, but he was exhausted. Verging on sleep is supposed to be the best state for lucid dreams.

Somehow he just couldn’t do it again. Not without… whatever drug he had been given in Cusco.

Frustrated, he sat up in bed despite the stabbing pain in his back that he knew would result.

“I need to find her again,” he thought.

Dianne was still fast asleep beside him. He stood up, stretched his neck to both sides and made his way to the kitchen. Peanut butter sandwich. The king of midnight snacks. It’s nowhere near midnight… but… peanut butter! And milk.

Returning to bed, Jericho lay on his back and stared at the roof. 22:18.

He closed his eyes. Focused on his eyelids. Picked a dot.

She’s almost as tall as he is. She has brown hair. The left side of her mouth seems to rise higher than the right when she smiles. She smiles a lot. Especially when she looks at him. Her eyes express… devotion… sadness — and something more. Something he can’t quite define. It makes him feel like he belongs somewhere behind that smile. In a place she knows but can’t reveal. Not until he finds his way there himself.

Her eyes are everything, and yet he doesn’t know their colour. It feels like they’re brown. Possibly dark green. Hazelnut? No. More like brown with green specks. Or green with brown specks.

Is it possible that someone so familiar, so distinct, could just be a figment of his imagination? He recognised her immediately. It felt like he had lost someone in a crowd, and then forgotten that he had lost them — and then there she was. The most familiar person in the world whom he had forgotten.

He felt a deep longing. And sadness.

“I need you to pay this bill for me,” said Dianne, wrenching him out of his daydream.

“They’re pestering me about it and I need you to pay it now please.”

“Ok… uhm. Sure,” he mumbled.

Jericho sat on a wooden chair turned away from the kitchen table. He had one sock on and was holding the other in his hand. He would often do this. Put on a sock, pick up the other, and then just sit there with it in his hand, staring at the wall, his thoughts drifting.

“I haven’t heard about this before. Why are they bothering you?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m sure I told you about it ages ago. Just please pay it,” said Dianne.

He lifted his phone, unlocked it with his thumbprint, and opened the banking app. He hated that app and all it represented. Especially his bank. He really hated his bank.

“Fuckers.”

Maybe one of those crazy realities on his eyelids didn’t have banks in it. Or money. Or politicians.

Imagine that. A world where everyone just kept it real. Did what they needed to and didn’t find it necessary to lord it over everyone else or squirrel away as much material wealth as they could. That would be amazing.

“Dad, it’s time to go. I don’t want to be late,” said Daria.

“Ok princess. But it’s only ten past seven. There’s plenty of time,” he said.

“You always say that Papa — but last time you dropped me off and I was late and teacher gave me a demerit.”

“They should give daddy the demerits,” said Dianne.

“They don’t give daddies demerits. Or mommies. They didn’t even give Sebastian a demerit when he took my french book and I didn’t have it for class. Teacher says we have to be responsible,” said Daria.

“Come on Papa. Please. You’re stressing me out. Sienna! Come, we’re going to school now Sienna!”

Life was perfect. The kids were healthy and thriving. Things had improved with Dianne once the dust had settled after the trip. Work was good. Jericho was being asked to speak to new clients every day.

It was smart getting clients to pitch for his business instead of him pitching for theirs.

“Genius,” he thought.

So why didn’t it feel perfect? What the fuck did he have to complain about? Nobody he knew was even sick. He had a great car even though he didn’t need one. And it was paid for. The house was amazing. Just what he had always wanted. He had absolutely nothing to complain about on paper.

“So why so glum, chum,” he said to his reflection in the rearview mirror as he slammed the door shut.

The drive to town would be eighteen minutes long, according to the mapping app on his phone.

“Why didn’t they call it Mapp?” he thought.

“I wonder if there’s an app called Mapp… be crazy if there isn’t.”

Jericho loved driving. Eighteen glorious minutes in climate control, during which he could listen to a podcast about the nature of reality while treating the highway as a go kart track.

“Genius.”

The client meeting went well. They always did. People loved Jericho. His boardroom sessions were like stage shows and the clients his audience. They would remark about the tattoo on his forearm. They loved how unconventional he was. They even loved his employees who did the actual work while Jericho entertained his corporate fans.

“Well done chief!” said Bron.

“You really need to stop calling me that. I’m not a fucking Navajo leader. I mean, I wish I was, cus that would be awesome. But… just Jeri, OK. Jeri the Dude if you must.”

“Ok… Jeri the Dude,” sniggered Bron.

“Anyway, well done.”

He wondered if Bron was attracted to him. Was she so nice just because he’s the boss, or was there something more going on? Sleeping with Bron would be amazing.

Bronwyn wondered if Jericho looked at her that way because he wanted to have sex with her.

“He’s so gross,” she thought.

“And he thinks everyone loves him so much. I mean. They do. But still. That ego.”

Men’s egos were a source of fascination for Bronwyn, who had been working in male-dominated offices her entire professional life.

She found it especially irritating how men would speak over women, but never over each other. They did it naturally, without even thinking about it. Like she wasn’t even in the room.

She closed the door to her office and wondered how much longer it would take before the next directive arrived. It had been months since her last attempt and she felt like she would lose her mind if she had to endure another afternoon of branding discussions and corporate guerrillas beating their chests while precious hours ticked by in the real world.

The car made its satisfying double-beep as Jericho pushed the button while walking up the driveway. He usually didn’t get home this late, but celebratory after-work drinks were in order. Besides, he was one bedtime story away from father of the year, he thought.

“Stop beating yourself up.”

Kids sleeping. Dianne watching one of her vampire shows. Work done for the day. Exercise avoided. Time for bed.

Perhaps to dream.

God, if he could only get back to that warm, gooey sleep that he used to have as a teenager.

He closed his eyes. Focused on his breathing. Cleared his mind. And picked a dot.