윤

Had started collecting my thoughts and supporting links for a post on the fall of this minor celebrity from the misbegotten 90’s (which turns out wasn’t too far) and maybe those like her, but keeping it as a draft all this time seemed only to discourage me from writing entirely. Not that imagining the circumstances capable of bringing about change of such extraordinary magnitude, perceived or otherwise, was in any way affecting my own disposition, but rather I find myself just not giving a fuck. Like I’ve become indifferent to differences that would’ve once had me curious how they could come about and might even affect me, my relationships, society at large, or at the very least give us something to talk about on our interminably long phone calls back then.

[I’m reserving this space in the hopes of segueing to a more interesting dream, because I’ve been sleeping an awful lot lately.]

Well, it wasn’t Tralfamadore with Jenna Coleman, but I dreamed I preposterously claimed to be the actor “behind” Will Arnett, I’m not sure why, but it was a small enough lie not to be disputed by my listeners. There must’ve been some credulity threshold that wasn’t exceeded by the benefit from maintaining the pretense.

“Have you been in Five Guys, Callum?”
“Oh, at least.”
I suppose it is funnier that way, so I’ll give [Inside No. 9 writers Reece Shearsmith and Steve Pemberton] a pass, as clever as their writing usually is. Plus, the use of the River Styx mythology in [latest series opener] “Merrily, Merrily” reminded me how each go on the rower could be my last. I had always imagined achieving a threshold S/M to cross over into dream-life, but maybe it’s more like the Flash outrunning the Black Racer. What happens when Charon can’t pay me? One thing’s for sure, if I can’t cough up the fare, it might very well be because Five Guys cleaned me out. Over $20 for a single burger, small fries and a drink?!

John Lai and his friends had started a new business selling “cars”, little remote-controlled metal boxes with caster-like wheels, and I bought one myself, though I began questioning whether you could even call them that, being useless as transportation, other than it costing two or eight thousand dollars. I helped with the design of a new sleeker model by attaching a thinner wooden panel, painted black, onto the body, holding it in place above and aligning its pegs above their matching holes. It must’ve been Houston, and I was visiting, still half-asleep with my comforter, because Rajeev Gantela showed up to discuss selling his parents’ home to Susan, who had a map of their subdivision.

Physical infirmity nowadays punishes my every exertion, but occasionally I overcome my self-debasement in my dreams and get to be a badass. The other morning I was a leader among an army of monstrous criminals and degenerates living in a post-apocalyptic underground bunker. (Think Mad Max or 北斗の拳, though I described it upon waking as being dressed like a cowboy.) There was a slit of light on a ledge twice my height but I easily leapt onto it from the sandy floor and passed through to the bright outdoors, which I learned was on a rocky moving island. Exploring further, I encountered a settlement of young, mostly naked Asians, who took little notice of me as I swam by and saw a montage of their cultural history, including a teaching moment with Chinese characters 安娜 being placed on a 바둑 board that made me realize I belonged. When I looked back, however, I noticed that a group of my former brethren had breached their confinement, so I intercepted and easily overpowered them. My new friends confined the motley creatures to shelves and put them on trial, while I kept order by spearing anyone who got rowdy with a red ballpoint.

This familiar setting always takes me back to the titular movie, which Chris reminds me our mother actually took us to see at a theater, maybe because she was in her thirties and the target audience of Richard Harris pushing 50, but it left such an impression I’m still dreaming about being as lucky with the tawny-haired ladies as he was at the same age. In another couple of years we would’ve been truly scared shitless by these guys instead of those homeless unhoused-looking derelicts that prove their outlook on the future back then wasn’t too far off.

Son has been tasked with creative writing prompts these past couple of weeks, the first about a spaceship landing in his backyard, for which he went with my suggestion to make its passenger his future self with a warning not to become an astronaut, and he ignores it in the end, though I didn’t read his 9/10 submission whether he included the touching reunion with his parents, or an idea about the cataclysm he wants to avoid. My other one figured anything arriving without all that attention from neighbors would have to be small, and the aliens inside bring technology that can control their size, critical for intergalactic travel; this they’d grant the narrator, who’d go on to capturing and training animals by shrinking them into little containers he’d keep in his pocket… his name, of course, “A. K.“

Second required three elements: a hitchhiker, allergy and map error. Couldn’t come up with a cohesive premise immediately but did overnight that wasn’t a complete rehash of the Twilight Zone episode—now that I think of it, weren’t the tiny invaders in one, too? Didn’t want to tank his grade with the obvious product of a dilettante who’s watched too much TV (but at least isn’t contributing to its decline), but I couldn’t just let it fade into our fleeting moments together.

[I went to sleep happy with the name Seth, until I realized in the morning that I missed an H and couldn’t make his last name “Amuck”, so Heath Smuck it is?]

It feels like all I’ve done today is drive, and I can’t even remember taking the mid-term in the morning, much less what was on it, or packing my things for the trip. There just haven’t been many noteworthy sights along the way, and everything in between has looked the same, mostly barren stretches of land. Sometimes it would go up into a hill, and if we had the high ground, the sky would take over most of our view out the windows.
“I’d like to get some sleep now, too, Mr. Chew,” I said. “Do you mind taking over for the next fifty miles or so?”
Of course he didn’t answer, much less stir from his bored slumber; as a cat, he was neither capable, nor eligible for a license (though I haven’t confirmed—I’m pretty certain I’ve seen people behind the wheel who couldn’t possibly be any more qualified than him). Even if he could reply, it’d probably go something like, “Please stop with that terrible joke, you’ve been repeating it before you finish each fifty miles.”
He did raise his head when the rain started and the wipers dragged noisily into action. It was growing dark, but off in this flat distance I saw an unfamiliar sight, not one of those signs by which you could calculate how many more times I’d ask Mr. Chew about driving, but a solitary figure, standing by the side of the freeway. I swear I was going fast enough that I shouldn’t have been able to notice his extended thumb or recall that meant he was hoping for a lift, or realize how pitiful it was to be caught in his situation, but I managed to slow down and stop not too far past that I didn’t have to back up for him to show up at the passenger window.
“Hello!” the man said warmly, his face battered by raindrops.
“Hi,” I replied as quickly as I could, sensing his agony, “Do you need a ride?”
“I could sure use one, as far as you’ll go.” Looking down at Mr. Chew’s cage on the seat and letting his wet long hair swing forward, “But I see you already have a partner. I don’t mind sitting in the back, if that’s alright.”
“Sure,” I welcomed, pushing my bag behind me to make space for him. I only got a quick glance directly at him before returning to the road and resuming our conversation through the rear-view mirror, but he did not seem as shabbily dressed as I might have expected in the city, and had with him a small backpack and walking stick, the kind I’ve seen used by hikers.
“I really appreciate this,” he started. “Not too many passing today, and no one as kind as you to pick me up. Name’s Seth, by the way.”
That took me by surprise. “But that’s my name, too! What a coinci—”
I was cut off by Mr. Chew, who had leaped up beside the head rest and started hissing viciously at our guest. This was remarkably uncommon behavior for him, as he’s been friendly with most everyone we meet, with exception of his veterinarian, of course, and that one guy who applied to be our roommate and brought over his pet groundhog.
Seth seemed to take it in stride, but didn’t dare offering his hand in friendship, instead using it to cover his mouth when he began sneezing.
“I’m afraid your other half has me at a disadvantage,” he barely made it through, “I’m terribly allergic.”
“No problem,” I told him. “Come on, Mr. Chew, we don’t want to be a bad host,” and with that I took him with my free arm and shut down his protest behind his cage door.
So against the sound of futile scratching against those little metal bars, we enjoyed a delightful conversation: he didn’t reveal much about himself, but I was happy to keep awake by telling him about school, my friends, the tournament starting tomorrow, and time must have passed like those reflective highway markers. In fact, they disappeared altogether, with the lights; it was pitch dark and the only thing visible was an approaching gas station. Behind it was an on-ramp for a route that crossed ours but I could only see the side that went in one direction.
“Strange,” I said, deftly swapping between apps on my phone. “I’ve still got a good signal but there’s no sign of this exit on any of the maps. Maybe we should stop and stretch our legs. Mr. Chew could use some time of the box. He hates it in there.”
The place was brightly-lit but mine was the lone car, and I couldn’t make out whether or not anyone was inside the attached shop as I parked. I politely asked Seth if I could get him something, he politely refused, and I freed Mr. Chew and let him on the ground, though grumpy as he still was, I trusted him not to flee in these unfamiliar surroundings.
Suddenly the sliding doors opened and some people stepped out. There were three of them, two taller than me and one shorter, almost a toddler’s height; their hair all different colors but natural; they wore collegiate gear and I think I caught the tail end of their fight song. The one who wasn’t smoking and coughing pointed at me and announced quite aggressively:
“Hey, that kid’s got what we need! Let’s get him!”
I backed up and bent down to reach for Mr. Chew, but he surprisingly sprung into a defensive position himself, somehow recognizing the threat and snarling with such ferocity his fur stood on edge. As if by instinct, I joined him and was prepared to protect what I thought they were after, the car. And its passenger, whose safety was now our responsibility.
“Come on, there’s no one around, he’ll be no match for us,” they continued. “Who’s that in there with him?” They peered around me and their faces fell. Seth was smiling at us through the window, the sight of which I didn’t think would cause that reaction, however odd it was looking as dry as he did; then again, I may have rambled for hours. Surely my aggressors had no way of knowing that, but I turned to find they were gone, a barely perceptible layer of dust they presumably displaced in their flight.
Mr. Chew stared where they had been, which I understood to mean he didn’t, then hopped into my arms with his usual agility, but I might have received him loudly like Mom does when I return home that it masked the sound of the car door opening and closing, for behind us stood Seth. He was so tall I’m not certain how he got in the back to begin with, his walking stick had become a full-length staff, and he was dry, bone dry! He read the plain expression on my face and spoke:
“You must have plenty of questions.”
“I sure do,” I almost didn’t wait for him to finish. “Do you know who those three were, and why were they so frightened of you?”
“Some minor ghouls, trying to steal your Mr. Chew. He’s very precious, you know.”
“Wait, what does that mean and how do you know? Just who are you, is your name even Seth?”
“It’s one of the many names I’ve been known by, yes.”
“But—”
“My young friend,” he interrupted, “I had intended to bring you here because of your reckless drive, your careless disregard for the need to rest before facing life’s challenges, but now that I have gotten to know you better, I see that you are deserving of another chance. Mr. Chew’s got many, I’m sure he won’t mind sparing you one so the two of you can spend more time together.”
With that, Mr. Chew made a noise unlike the usual screech at Seth, but more of a definite me-ow, then quieted down.
“I’ll get off here, thank you so much for the ride. Take care of each other, and good luck at the competition!”
My curiosity could’ve have kept me going, but I felt my feet taking me back to the driver’s seat, where I sat Mr. Chew next to me and left the other Seth in the mirror. I thought I saw his staff swivel and the reflection of a large blade come into view, but the light from the stop faded almost immediately as the freeway became lit with poles and signs.
One of them was for an upcoming rest area, where I got off and decided to nap; after all, sign-in wasn’t until noon. “What an adventure.” Mr. Chew was already asleep. “As far as driving companions go, I choose you, Mr. Chew.”

I had two or three large pillows in my arms and didn’t want to be seen carrying them by the fancy restaurant clientele so I made for the nearest exit out of the marble-floored building. Across the street was a plaza with a well-known comicbook store adorned with its brands in a plain large typeset, which I recognized as New York City, again. There must be a way to confirm my location before contacting nearby relatives, even in this dream, maybe if I looked it up online, somehow completely forgetting that phones have had GPS for years. (It embarrasses me further that Google has record I performed such search.) I sat down on a bench between two attractive women, one younger and friendlier, the other in a flowing long white coat and couldn’t be bothered on her call. She didn’t seem to care and walked off when a brown dog approached and tugged on my eyeball socket while a voice, presumably a speaker it was carrying asked me how I was doing. They’ll be putting Alexa on collars, mark my word.

[Title and meme from this new track for old people like us.] Actually, I’m quite enjoying my daily visits to the am/pm down the street, where I would stop on my way to work 9-10 years ago for that refill of crunch ice and Mountain Dew on dispenser lines that must be corroded with just the right chemical buildup it’s borderline toxic and intoxicating. The rewards app helps, and I can’t help be amused that I’m charged 3¢ for tax on my free drink.