Dearest Rachel –
The internet, as a collective, talks a fair amount about having sleep paralysis demons every now and then; I’m not sure I’m personally familiar with the sensation. While I don’t tend to move much while I’m in bed, there’s rarely a situation where I’m unable to move. More often than not, it’s a case of not wanting to move, lest I disturb myself into wakefulness, not that I’m necessarily aware of this reason for my hesitancy. It’s not as if there’s something – or someone – holding me down, either on one side of consciousness or the other, let alone forcing me to experience night terrors in the process, be it actual nightmares or just the realization of being immobile despite myself.
Still, last night got me as close as I ever get to the concept, but in a much less unpleasant way, insofar as the dream I was in was one in which I didn’t want to have to leave. You might be able to guess that you were there – I’m never sure if, when you show up like this, it’s actually you manifesting yourself, or if my subconscious is creating you in my head. Considering that people dream about each other all the time – and there are countless jokes about wives blaming husbands for things they did in dreams, for which the men are powerless to control – I’m going to guess it’s the latter case, which is why I tell you about these moments, since you probably had nothing to do with them. Which is a shame, because I would have liked to spend a little more time with you – the real you – and couldn’t bring myself to move, lest I wake up and cause the scene to dissolve. Yes, even within the dream, I could feel the edge of it, and how tenuous its (and thus our) existence in it was.
There really wasn’t much to it, honey, so this may prove to be a fairly short letter. It started with me waiting for you somewhere in the middle of downtown. Not the city proper, but the downtown of our village – or maybe a village like ours, as it wasn’t really the town we call home. Maybe it was a place we were visiting on a cruise; I really don’t know, but the geography wasn’t exactly what we know, with inclines and streets at different levels than each other. There was a railroad running through the city center, though, so that’s familiar.
In any event, we were wandering through the area, presumably to go shopping, at your request. I got the feeling that it was your plan to do so, but the shopping you were planning to do wasn’t the type that husbands stereotypically dread; that of looking for clothes. Although, now that I think about it, I don’t know if that would bother me that much at this point – thanks to my dabbling in AI art, I’ve put you in so many different outfits that you’d never think of wearing that I kind of think I could deal with you doing more clothes shopping that you ever did in real life at any given time. Then again, maybe it’s just a case of missing you that much that I’d be willing to participate in such an activity, if it would bring you back for at least that amount of time.
But no, that wasn’t where we were going; or in any event, that’s not where we spent the largest amount of our time. I’m pretty sure you were leading us to a bookshop – and while it would be more in character to be a secondhand place, like the long-gone Drummer and Thumbs, it had wood-paneled floors and large (for a store) open areas, suggesting that it was more along the lines of the few remaining brick-and-mortar chain stores. For all that you and I would patronize places like this, though (and that it’s more in character for you than clothes shopping, anyway), I found myself wondering why we were here. I didn’t want to bury myself in a book while in your presence; I get so little time with you these days as it is that I didn’t want to distract myself from you.
Nevertheless, I was following you to the second floor of the store, where they sold, erm, those kind of books. And that’s all I can do to describe it; even the sign described them as such, complete with the “erm.” Again, bear in mind that you were taking the lead going up there, and you can understand why I was in no hurry to leave the dream.
And yet, I could feel the edges of consciousness, even as we made our way up stairways and ramps past numerous other people standing around reading this or that. I think at one point, we passed a toilet in the middle of an open area. Not a display, but an actual functioning piece of plumbing – although who would use something right out in the open like that, we both laughed to each other. I don’t think you got on it for me to take a picture, but it wouldn’t have been out of character for you to do so.
It was a fun, silly little adventure, and while we never paused to actually peruse the wares on sale (that I can remember), I didn’t want it to end. But somehow, throughout the whole time, I was aware that it couldn’t last. Even when I was waiting to meet up with you, I was thinking within the dream about how I needed to be somewhere an hour from then, and was hoping you’d hurry and join me, so we’d have enough time together. By the time we were well into the bookstore, I knew I’d have to leave soon – although I’m not sure that was because of the dream appointment anymore so much as my realization that the dream was about to dissolve for one reason or another, and I’d best not do anything to disturb it.
And sure enough, before any of the story (if that’s what we were a part of) could resolve itself, I found myself lying in bed, rigid as a soldier, unable or unwilling to move. I tried to will myself back, but at the same time, I was concerned that I needed to be somewhere soon – darkness is no proof of the wee hours at this time of year – but didn’t want to even check my phone to make sure, lest it break the spell.
Eventually, I conceded that I couldn’t get back, and reached for it, only to discover that I was awake before six o’clock on a Saturday. And what with the gym not open until such time as there wouldn’t be enough to squeeze a workout in before this morning’s Bible study, I thought I’d best tell you about your “visit,” and that you served as maybe some sort of sleep paralysis angel, rather than demon.
Although, if you were to play succubus some night, I don’t think I’d object, either…
Anyway, at this point, I should probably get on with the day, honey. In the meantime, keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 