Inception Levels

Dearest Rachel –

I need to start off by saying how much I appreciate it whenever you decide to visit me in my dreams, no matter how uncanny the situation might be, and how it makes me question things. That being said, I’m not gonna lie; this was Inception levels of weird, despite its plausibly ordinary setting.

From what I could tell, it started off in a hotel room, and what I could only presume to be an anime convention, since I was on my laptop, looking up some song that we’d just discovered had won some American award – the Oscar for best soundtrack, or something like that – and I wanted to download it for my collection, as I used to do. At this point, I should mention that I was projecting the images from my laptop onto the hotel room walls, which were at least 15 feet high. With that in mind, the place more resembled a room in the Hotel Fort Des Moines than any of the ones around the Stephens’ center here in Rosemont. But taking all of that into account, nothing about the place or time seemed incongruous to me at that moment.

I was dismayed to find out, however, when I looked up the music, that it was part of the latest Pokémon movie. Neither of us were ever really into that series, and Daniel has long since left that show behind, much like a lot of the pop culture he used to consume as a little kid. So I decided against downloading the song at that point, and closed the laptop for what I thought was going to be the night.

That’s when I took a glance at the clock, and realized to my shock that it was after 11 o’clock in the morning. And here I was supposed to be in the booth at church this morning (which is actually true in real life – I had even set my alarm last night to make sure that I would get up in time to prepare myself to arrive early enough to set everything up) – what was I doing still at this anime convention? And why hadn’t I gone to bed? Had I really lost track of so much time?

It was then that you showed up.

And here’s where things, including myself, began to go off the rails. I hardly need to tell you that I was panicking a bit about being late to (or more the point, having missed) my assignment at church – I don’t like falling down on my commitments, no matter what they may be. Then there’s the added fact that you were walking in on me, when you’ve been gone for so long. I don’t mind telling you, that was disorienting.

By contrast, you were behaving, as if nothing was out of the ordinary at all. In fact, this would be perfectly in character for you – aside from the whole “staying out all night” thing; you would be back to the room, as a general rule, between three and four. That’s when you pointed out to me that I had misread the clock; rather than being eleven o’clock in the morning, it was only one. Just to back up your argument, you opened the drapes to demonstrate that it was still quite dark outside, which it wouldn’t have been if I was right. Aside from being back to the room, early, all of this was perfectly in character for you. You were always the calming influence on me whenever I would start to panic.

Perhaps, however, you were a little too calm. I couldn’t help myself but ask where you had been all this time, to which you responded by telling me about all the people you had in the halls during the evening, the things they had said, and the games you all had played. You know, the usual sort of things you would have done in the wee hours of a convention. I had to stop you, and clarify my question.

“No, I mean, where have you been for the last two years? You know, since you… died?”

“What?”

The tone of your question was not one that I was expecting. It didn’t possess any of the rise in pitch and volume that would come from an alarm, nor was it a flat monotone of suspicion and tranquil fury. It was a tone of pure confusion, as if everything had been proceeding perfectly normally until you were confronted with my question. It seemed as though you were Rip van Winkle, rubbing his eyes as the realization sunk in after a night of bowling with the little people proved to have propelled you years forward in time.

Only, in that story, Rip simply disappeared from his community during those twenty years. Daniel and I – and everyone else – saw you your accident. We saw you die.

So who was this person I was talking to?

Things got a little meta after that. While ‘you’ slept on the couch in the suite, I was discussing the situation with my dad. we came to three possible conclusions about what might be going on. The first was that you were real and back from the dead, which I’ll be honest, we dismissed out of hand. The second was that ‘you’ were an imposter, trying to get her hands on the family ‘fortune,’ which, while enough to live off of if done prudently, was hardly worth offering to play the role of a dead woman for the rest of ‘your’ life – although if ‘you’ were willing to do so, maybe it would be preferable to being alone. Similarly, it was floated that ‘you’ were some sort of automaton, complete with most of your old memories and habits, which also would have been worth living with, in my estimation.

(I should mention that, between filling you in on the situation, and discussing it with dad, I had to confess to you that I had gotten rid of all your old clothing, to which you responded with a surprising amount of equanimity. It’s probably why we focused on the possibility of you being an imposter, either human, or humanoid, rather than being the real you; you seemed perfectly content to go out and buy yourself a new wardrobe to replace what had been gotten rid of)

However, at this point, there was a voice that I didn’t recognize, that added to the discussion “or, it could all be a dream,” at which point, ‘your’ sleeping form dissolved into Daniel’s (which, given it was lying on a couch, was more in character). I turned around to realize that Dad had disappeared as well – but you were now standing behind me. You were still wearing that white T-shirt, but now you have an orange jumper (not a jumpsuit – which would have been appropriate for an imposture, now that I think of it – but a bib overall front and pleated skirt outfit over your shirt) replacing the purple shorts you had been wearing before.

I stared at you, as you smiled wanly at me. “Are you real?”

“Well, yes and no.” Your smile grew ever more mysterious.

“Is this real?”

Your expression faded into melancholy, probably for my benefit. “That’s the question, honey; no, I’m afraid it’s still a dream.”

“Can I… touch you?” That’s not exactly what I said, but I definitely used ‘can’ rather than ‘may,’ because, grammar maven that you were, you would have agreed it to be appropriate. You nodded, and pulled up a chair, beckoning me to come over as you sat down facing me.

I approached. I could feel your hair against my hand, the moisture on your lips. And just as things were about to happen…

…real life intervened, with the screech of the alarm. After all, I had to wake up and get to church to set things up this morning, just as I remembered (at what I thought was too late) during the first scene. How it always manages to do so right at the climactic moment, I’ll never understand. But there we are; life interrupts, and I have to get to it. Hopefully, you can come back another evening, and we can pick up where we left off.

Until then, honey, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck; I’m going to need it.