Trouble Sleeping

When I was a boy, I would have awful dreams. They were vivid and I would remember them verbatim. I’d wake up in a cold sweat and wouldn’t get back to sleep.

When I told my parents about these dreams they looked at each other. A thousand questions followed.

But usually ended up with my dad asking “What the hell did you eat last night??”

But it wasn’t what I ate. I began telling my brother, Joe about these dreams. Surely, he would help me understand these dreams.

“Man! What the hell did you eat last night? He would ask me.

Fucking great.

He suggested writing them down after I had them. So, a notepad and a pencil were by me every night when I went to bed.

When I was twelve, I dreamt I was a black boy, about five years younger than I was. The time period was about the 40’s and I lived in a one room apartment.

I was waiting for my father as he was late. He was never late. I became anxious, and then there was a knock at the door.

I remember turning and saw my reflection in the mirror. There I was small frame, curly hair and blue coveralls. At the door were two police officers.

“Is your father home, young man?”

“No, he isn’t here”

“Do you know when he is supposed to be home?”

“No, sir. He should-a been home already. I’m a little scared cause he ain’t never late”

“Well what’s your name, kid.”

“I’m Willie”

“Willie, we want to ask him about some women he works with, tell him he is to come down to the station when he gets home, you understand? He is to come down as soon as he gets home, understand Willie?” Said the police man.

I nodded and they left. I closed the door, sat on the bed and cried. I waited for a bit and then I heard the door handle turn. It turned and it opened slowly. In it was a tall black man. He came in saying, “Boy, what are you doing up?”

“The police were here” I said and went to the kitchen table.

“What did they want?” he said.

“They want you go down to the police station about some women you work with. Why they want to talk to you about them?”

He looked at me and just smiled, “Oh you know, they got themselves killed…murdered”

“But why they want to talk to you about them? You didn’t kill them?”

He looked at me and just smiled and laughed, “But that’s the thing Willie, I did. I did kill them”, And then he went to the bed, lifted the mattress and pulled out a long kitchen knife, covered in dried blood.

“You see, they were bothering me at work and I just took care of them. Just like I’m going to take care of you Willie…” and then he started coming for me

And then he turned the side as if listening to someone, and then said, “Or should I say Andy. I’m gonna take care of you, just Like I took care of them. It’s a shame you can’t see the way this blood looks on this knife, it’s so pretty”

And then I looked at him and saw myself in the mirror, and there I was not the black young man but myself. A pudgy twelve-year-old with glasses and I started to scream.

The man turned to me and said, “You can’t see it because you can’t see red in your dreams, you dream in black and white” and he lifted the knife up and…

I was awake, turning every light on in my room and gasping for air because it scared the shit out of me. I wrote it down on my notepad. And found it very hard to get back to sleep.