Bus

“How do you sleep?”

“Pardon?” She asked, looking up her eyes met the gaze of a smiling young man. He was about five foot eleven, wore pressed deep blue jeans, and a white short sleeve button down shirt. He had a beard, but it was very close cut, it felt like he had just started growing it the week before, but probably in reality had been trimming it for weeks. She inched away from him slightly pressing up against the bus window, not realizing that this might be misconstrued as an invitation to sit. He smiled even bigger and took the opportunity to sit down next to her.

“I said, how do you sleep?” He repeated with more gusto.

“What do you mean, how do I sleep? How does anyone sleep? lying down, I guess,” she said sort of flabbergasted that somebody would have asked such a stupid question. He stared at her with a near blank face, just the hint of a smile; She stared back trying to break his wall, but couldn't even create a crack. Why are there always creepers on the bus, she thought to herself.

“I know how people physically sleep…” he started.

“Oh good, well that’s nice to know.” She interjected, hoping to annoy him enough to leave her alone. She then turned to look out the window.

“But that’s not what I meant,” he continued, completely unfazed by her actions. “I meant, do you dream? How long does it take you to go to sleep? What do you think about? Do you wonder what brings sleep about?”

She had never thought about these questions, and oddly she did find them interesting, like she needed to answer them. Instead she responded, “Do I know you? You’re sort of creeping me out with all these questions. Are you a serial killer?” She took a moment at the last question she asked, “on second thought, I don’t know why I asked that. Every one should answer that last one the same way, and if they don’t I guess that’s a big red flag…”

He looked fixedly at her as she trailed off lamely. He sat in silence as he pondered her question. “No, I’m just on a bus, talking to people, I’m sorry if I offended you or came off as ‘creepy’. But I find life dreadfully boring if we all face forward and never talk to each other. I am sorry I bothered you.” He turned to get up, but she was caught off guard by his statement. Most guys would get angry offended and call her a name. But he seemed genuine, platonic, friendly.

“Wait.” She said to him, “How do you sleep?” He turned back and looked her in the face before choosing his words.

Delightedly he babbled, “I lie there, in bed on my back, staring at the ceiling, motionless. Then I hear music, something my mind constructs, its different every time, but it is always beautiful and amazing. Then I linger on the thoughts of the day, and turn to my side. Every thing goes dark and the dream scape opens for me.”

-V-

Dream Hero

From the journal of Edwin F. Fauk dated January 17th, 1967:

Eugene Gustaw was what most would call a normal everyday sort of person. He was born in the Midwest and moved to the big city after finishing four years of college. He kept to himself most of the time, he didn’t much care for confrontations and stayed away from them as best he could. Worked a standard nondescript nine to five desk-job. He was in his late twenties, had brown hair, brown eyes, stood five-foot ten-inches tall. Usually wore gray suits and packed his lunch every day. He lived in a small studio apartment off of 23rd street where the rent was high but still manageable on his pay. He didn’t go out much, didn’t have a girl or guy that he was interested in. I guess, one could say that Eugene was just plain old boring.

It was a boring that was so complete it would cause you to possibly stop and make note of it, well if it weren’t such a waste of time to do, and that’s the way Eugene wanted it. He had worked his entire life building up this identity. Making sure that he was a person for whom notice was never really taken. You see, underneath all the uninteresting layers Eugene was really and truly a super hero. Not your comic book has special powers, per se, type of super hero. And not your other comic book has loads of money and secret layers full of gadgets super hero. But the genuine kind, he was a person who saved lives and fought evil.

At night when everyone would go to sleep Eugene would go to work, he was a dream hero. He inherited the trade from his father. He had the ability to surf through other people’s dreams and assist them. At first this might not seem very interesting, but if there are people like Eugene on the side of good, then you know that there are people out there causing problems. Whenever you have a nightmare, one of these agents of evil is trying to kill you. You know the old adage dreams are as real as real life, get seriously hurt in one and the damage will carry over. Perhaps not physically, but not all scars show up on the outside of us.

I had the joy of meeting him once in person and once in my dreams, it’s how I know about him. I know he would never want the world to know of his existence so I waited till now, now that he is departed, to put any of this in my journal. And I’ve carried the scars for so long now. He is a hero and I wish more would have known him, known more about him. Truth is, I think I’m about to go, and it might not make much sense now, but they are out there. The Dream Heroes, just like Eugene. Saving us as best they can. They live among us, protect us, and most of us have no idea.

Here’s to you Eugene, thank you so much for keeping me alive. I really do wish they didn’t find you in the real world. At this point it doesn’t matter much if they find me, I’m ready now.

-V-