Dreaming of Memories

“Run!”, some guy screams at the top of his lungs, “They’re coming!” I turn my head back but can barely see anything in this pitch dark. I hear the sounds of boots splashing in the muddy water puddles all over this dirt road as people rush past me from all sides. I look up to find my eyes filled up with water and I can’t tell whether it’s the drizzling rain or tears of my own. The sudden heavy noise of gunfire rattle my ear drums and with each bang, I feel my heart pounding harder, hitting up against the walls of my rib cage as if it wants to break open, jump out and run away. But, it can’t, can it? And even if it could, to where? It’s trapped, just like the way I am but I need to find a way out, at least for him! I glance around scouring for something, anything and at a distance, far but not much, I see what looks like a couple of streetlights and right across is a two storey house. I can see some dim orange lights sneaking out through its windows. “Look! That’s going to be your new home”, I say with tears in my eyes still, feeling determined but not really sure of whom I’m talking about. My legs are hurting from running barefoot for days, only god knows how many. I stopped keeping count when I ran out of fingers. Mustering all the energy and courage I have left in me, I start limping towards that direction, breaking away from the rest of the crowd. Slow and steady wins the race yet I can’t help but feel like I’m losing hope with each and every second that’s passing me by. Just then, a faint ringing tickles the back of my ears but can’t tell where it’s coming from. The sound is getting louder and louder until it completely surrounds me. Engulfed by nothing but this ringing, I can’t even hear my own thoughts. I try to block my ears with both my hands but I realize I’ve been holding onto something and just then, all of a sudden, my eyes open wide and I find myself staring at the ceiling. Sunlight is glaring into my room, even through the closed curtains. It’s 8 am and my alarm just went off. Turning it off I find myself confined within a dead silence. My heart is still racing, scared of what it just witnessed, as if I were a part of that.

My specialty is the dreams I see. I can put myself into other people’s shoes and dream about the things that they’ve witnessed, just the way they did. For this to work, all I need to do is picture someone’s face, and have it on my mind as I fall asleep. Doing that, I can relive their most memorable moments through my own dreams. While inside someone’s memories, I can still think for myself but anything physical, like talking and moving, is out of my control. My mom is the only other one that knows about this and she found out when, unbeknownst to me, I described to her the day when my grandma passed away, through her own dying eyes. “She left us the same day that you were born, my dear Kent.”, my mom told me, “That’s why Christmas feels so bittersweet every year!”. Every time I tell her about my dreams and the lives of the people I’ve seen, she’s always cheering me up saying what an amazing power it is to be able to connect directly to what others have been through. “For me it’s pretty much the same as being able to fly, just like superman does!”, she says with a grin on her face. I can’t help but feel this must be ranked the lowest on the ‘super-power’ list or maybe not even considered, but hey, it is what it is.

My mom and I live in the deserted south, surrounded by drylands on 3 sides and a tiny farm across a dirt road out in the front. Following the road up North leads to a small town where we get all our groceries, and heading down south for a few minutes, leads straight to the southern border. I get homeschooled because the good schools are very far out, and my mom used to be a teacher herself. Besides, there are no bullies at home. Everyone in school always made fun of me, telling me that I’m “different” which, to this day, I don’t know what they mean. Not much happens around this place here for most of the year, there’s barely any cars moving along but during long winter nights is when the place overflows with people trying to cross the border. I don’t see them for long enough to remember any of their faces even though I wish I could so I could see what it’s like in what they call the “Forbidden South”. They’re usually running as fast as they can and sometimes even crawling when their legs give in. Screaming people, gunshots and stampeding boots can be heard all night during the winter.

Long ago, during one of those cold nights, amidst unusually loud noises of screaming and gunfire coming from towards the border, I ran to the window and ever so slightly peeked through the curtains in my room to find a strange old lady standing directly in front of our house across the road. Her eyes were locked-on to the front door, as if she’d never seen a door before. I couldn’t get a proper look of her face which was being lit up ever so slightly by the weary and dim streetlights. From what I could recall, her skin was dry and wrinkly, her legs were bare and bruised, a little bit of hair left on her head danced around in the wind, desperately holding on to not let go. All of a sudden she turned her head upwards, towards me on the upper floor, and her eyes made direct contact with mine. A chill ran down my spine and I let out a scream as I ran to the other room, scared and shaky. I rushed back with my mom behind me barely keeping up, threw the curtains wide open and pointed outside, but to my surprise, there was no one there. The street was empty and it was dead silent except for the leaves pushing against the wind. My mom suggested that I had nothing but a nightmare, tucked me back and left. That’s when it all started. Ever since then, whenever I hear noises coming from outside, I look out to see if she’ll ever show up, but she never has.

It’s Christmas in a few weeks and I’m very excited as always. I go to bed all cheerful but wake up with a racing heart and sweaty palms. The same dream running in a loop. It starts with a screaming man and ends with me limping towards a house. Somehow I always wake up at the same moment, no matter how long I sleep for, no matter how long the dream lasts. It feels like a dead end, like a forbidden memory that wants to be forgotten, but can’t. Days and weeks go by with me waking up in a bad mood every single morning. Finally, tomorrow is the big day, it’s the 25th and I can’t wait for today to be over but I’m too scared to even go to bed. Who is this person? Why am I stuck in this loop? How do I get out of it? I’m asking myself these questions as I try to stay awake as long as I can, staring at the clock, waiting for it to tick-tock to midnight. I feel like I’ve got weights attached to my eyelids pulling them down and before long — I’m back there again. Only this time, it’s different.

The house is closer than it ever was. I turn back and no one is behind. I hear a faint yawning and take a glance down and notice I’m not alone. I’ve been so occupied, looking around in panic hoping for no one to be there that I’ve managed to disregard what’s right there in my own arms, a baby. A part of me is surprised, but the child, he’s staring right at me with empty eyes that seemed to have cried all of their tears, an empty stomach that he probably cannot feel any more, yet a little smile as if he knows he’s going to be okay. I know this child! I’ve seen him in the photographs that mom showed me. I’m filled with awe, convincing myself that maybe I’m over thinking. “You will not live the same way I did”, I whisper to him not really knowing what that means. As I approach the house, I begin to recognize it. The same fences, but newer. The same red paint on the walls, but brighter and shinier. The same door, but with no cracks and a cleaner doormat. I look up to see a window with the same curtains as mine and the same gap between them that I always peek through, but I don’t see anyone there. I carefully put my ear up against the door and hear people talking inside. They’re talking about how everyone remembers someone and what their best memories of that person are. Some of them are sobbing, loud.

Few gun-shots go off nearby as I quickly place the baby on the door mat, kiss him farewell as he softly grabs whatever’s left of my hair, knock on the door a few times and limp across the road to a tree behind. Catching my breath, I look back and see the door open. I see someone reach down to the baby and pick him up. The person walks up to the front of the house to look around, and I can’t believe what I am seeing — It’s my mother, much younger but her nonetheless. She glances around for a bit, looks down at the baby, and says “You’re like a little superman, flying right to our doorstep using your superpowers, little Kent!” My heart skips a beat. I want to run out and tell her it’s me, but I can’t move myself. She took the baby inside and shut the door behind her. I breathe a sigh of relief and walk out from behind the tree onto the road, not knowing what to do now.

I’m staring at the door. I want to run in and take him back, but I know this is the best for him. I look up to my room and see my curtains again. But this time, I see an eye peeking through the gap, a kid. Our eyes lock. It’s me! He throws open the curtains and runs away, screaming. I don’t know what to do, so I take off, limping as fast as I can, the way back. Just then a police officer appears out of nowhere. I turn around and try to run but he catches up to me, knocks me down and grabs me by my arms to put me in cuffs. “You pesky little rats won’t let me enjoy Christmas in peace, will you?”, he says as he drags me back towards the direction from where I came. I don’t feel the same weights on my shoulders any more. I just got caught yet I feel free, I feel liberated. “He’s safe and that’s all that matters!” is the only thought in my head. I hear faint music in the background. I think it’s coming from the house. I’m being dragged away from it but its getting louder and louder, until —

My eyes suddenly open and I’m staring at the same ceiling as I’ve done for the past 13 years. There’s birthday music playing down the hallway when my mom, uncle and aunt barge into my room screaming “Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas!”. The first time I’ve woken up with a calm demeanor in a long while. My head is filled with clarity and confusion, both at the same time. I’ve got so many questions but I have no idea how to ask them. “Not today”, I think to myself as I get off the bed and join the celebration. “It’s Christmas.”