Dream Riders

by Taylor Kole

  “Most authors interpret the word to mean, literally, ‘Beings that are concealed from the senses.’” Corey shook his head uncontrollably. He closed the internet window and pushed the mouse away. He stood and let out tiny belches in succession for thirty seconds until he filled a cup with water and drank. The thing in Walt was a Jinni, but he had to stop thinking about it in grand terms. He needed to approach this whole conundrum like an academic

  Theorize. Research. Hypothesize. Absorb the information. Debate your thesis. Those five steps were how you reached your best answer. Corey used that guide to become engrossed in philosophy, the process of going from ignorant to aware.

  Those five steps also instigated Corey’s break.

  His insatiable passion for reading, listening, and absorbing modern psychological teachings, combined with ancient beliefs and a millennium worth of story, deposited a reverent understanding of humanity in Corey. With each new study, he rose above his peers, who floated above the common man on the subject of why, in all of its forms.

  Compounding information pulled him into mysticism, where he identified chakras, fasted, and meditated, all the while growing closer to a universal revelation of comprehension. He presumed the upcoming truth would grant him charisma and endow him with the ability to guide others along the path of enlightenment.

  Yet, queasiness swam underneath his quest. Like the scientists at CERN attempting to smash atoms together and create a black hole on Earth, parts of him whispered that he approached an event horizon.

  The CERN scientists predicted their man-made black hole would expand to nine feet in circumference in a matter of seconds and die out, giving them enough data for years of analysis.

  However, once created, who actually knew what would happen. Perhaps their black hole would continue eating matter—as black holes did—growing past ten feet, twenty, until it swallowed equipment, walls, its first person, ballooning out until it devoured Earth itself, ending life as we know it.

  Their fears could be quantified, discussed, and minimized. The innate concerns blooming in Corey had compounded as he studied, but possessed no merits beyond intuition. His decision to cease further inquiry, of any and all subjects forever, arrived with a bang.

  While reading Nietzsche’s infamous Beyond Good and Evil, for the third time, Corey reached passage twenty-nine. In the years of intellectual growth since the last time he’d read the book, he found new meaning and perceived a warning in the previously benign statement:

  “Intellect is for the few and the brave. With every new understanding the learned man separates himself from other men, until one day he is alone on an island of wisdom. Having progressed and moved beyond the problems and interests of the common man, their interests will bore him. Isolated, burdened, he will have so out-paced his fellow man, they will lack sympathy for his ailments. This will cast the learned man into a self-imposed banishment.”

  Corey had a near out of body experience after reading that. He saw himself as an old man, reading from a text book while Marci, an adult Janey, and her family all sat in the sun. One of his grandkids approached. He looked at the boy without expression as the boy tugged on his arm saying, “Come throw the ball with me.” Although he didn’t reply, he was thinking, “You’re too small for your height. You’ll never play professional sports, therefore tossing the ball is a waste of both of our times. Since time if finite, the boy should choose better activities.”

  Marci came into the house. Much older, still full of energy and beautiful. She continued with her conversation as she shooed the boy from him. She talked with a teenage child about the garden. Corey returned to his book. Marci filled a cup of water while talking and returned outside without speaking to him.

  Corey saw in that vision that he and Marci rarely talked and that he preferred it that way. He could see a version of himself becoming that man and actually believing he was superior to everyone, even Marci.

  Corey decided to abandon his studies. Some called that his break. Only Marci had been respectful. She sympathized with his concerns and nudged him to dozens of new career ideas. Instead he’d done nothing since. Passage twenty-nine showed him a future he didn’t want, but he hadn’t fully recovered. Maybe because it was unavoidable. He’d now know things no one else did. At least he had Marci to share this knowledge with.

  Abandoning his studies had been the right move. Seekers of knowledge also boasted extremely high suicide rates. Corey loved Marci and Janey more than anything.

  This whole Dream Riding and Jinn living in people threatened to send him back to books full-time.

  Leaning forward, he opened the internet window and noticed a new comment on Dreamriders.com. Assuming the comment was from Walt, he clicked it, read, and frowned at the words: “Dream riding works! Nothing is better!—anonymous.”

  Corey ran both of his hands through his long hair numerous times. He could understand why someone as wealthy as Walt would leave an anonymous post, but its dull nature reflected Corey’s poor manners.

  That was how Marci would see it.

  Whenever one of them left their house, they took the shared Smartphone. He suspected Marci had read the comment a dozen times by now.

  He spent the next ninety minutes preparing, then baking a cheese, bean, and tofu pie. Ten minutes after pulling it from the oven, Marci and Janey arrived home.

  “Look what I got, Daddy,” Janey said as she raced over to him with a plastic bag flopping in each hand. The first held a book, Pauncho Rabbit and the Coyote.” The other bag toted a variety of items: a ball filled with catnip, a wind-up mouse, and a plastic rod with an elastic string attached to a fuzzy ball. Janey’s excitement infected Corey to the point where he temporarily forgot Walt’s comment. Seeing Marci brought it back nice and clear.

  “Something smells good,” Marci said as Janey pulled out the fuzzy pink toy and jiggled it before Smokey.

  Corey watched his wife for signs of malice. Detecting none actually made things worse. He would have preferred knowing she spent the last few hours cooling off. He imaged the eruption in real time and winced. Perhaps she wouldn’t blame him? She’d simply accept the bland anonymous comment was better than nothing. Wishing in that vein, he replied, “It needs another thirty minutes to cool.”

  Marci leaned close and whispered, “We went a little overboard at the store, so I ‘forgot’ about the ice cream. We’re hungry.” Inspecting his work area, she nodded in satisfaction and leaned over for a kiss. “Did you see our new message?”

  Confused by her happy demeanor, he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I did, and I’m sorry it wasn’t the ideal comment.”

  “Comment?” She furrowed her brow. “Walt left a negative comment?”

  “No. It wasn’t negative. It wasn’t very detailed is all. Just two short sentences, ‘Dream Riding works. It’s great.’ Something like that. I thought you said you just read it?”

  Retrieving the Smartphone, she scrolled to the message, and stared for a moment. “Well, it could have been better, but any positive comment helps.”

  “Okay, but didn’t you just ask me if I saw our message?”

  “Yeah,” she grinned. “Our email from Marty Carnes in Reno. I’ve been on the phone with him for the past half hour. He’s having issues with a reoccurring dream. I told him we could drive to Reno this Friday, if he pays travel expenses, and then I negotiated our fee up to three-hundred and twenty-five dollars!” She raised her hand for a high-five.

  Corey’s smile dropped as he remembered their last ride, but having avoided disappointing her, he met her hand.

  Selecting a knife and cutting into the steaming pie, she said, “It will cost us fifty in gas and an extra forty to Lisa, but we pocket the rest.”

  “This coming Friday?”

  “Yep.”

  That gave him less than a week to recover.

  “Mom?” Janey lowered the cat toy, allowing Smokey to clutch the fluffy pink ball between four claws and chew aggressively.

  “Yes, hone
y?”

  “If we have no plans tomorrow, can we go to the church where Cindi goes?”

  “Church?” Marci said with a glance toward Corey. “Why would you want to spend your Sunday there?”

  “Every Monday morning Cindi Minor talks about how it’s the most fun she’s ever had. She said they learn about how Jesus changed the world and they eat cookies and drink cherry Kool-Aid and make paper airplanes and that anybody can come, even us.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Marci said.

  Corey’s eyes grew wide, a lightness entered his chest. After believing he located a demon’s lair, the word church gonged like a bell of salvation. He said, “That’s a great idea.” Without looking to Marci, he moved to the edge on the cushion to Google directions. “Church might be just the thing we need.”

  SIX

  Hope’s Corner consisted of an asphalt parking lot, grayed from exposure, a two-story brick building topped with a white steeple and cross, and a big sign out front that read: Hope’s Corner, Christian Services.

  In the spirit of Janey’s excitement, Marci had curled their hair and found Janey a red velvet dress and a pair of high-sheen taps.

  Marci wore barrettes in her hair—which Corey adored—and a three-quarter length printed dress, along with black heels.

  The last time he had dressed this nice: with his hair gelled on top, three rubber bands knotting his ponytail, khakis, Docker shoes, and a navy blue button up, had been during a psych class, sophomore year. The professor had them dress, for three days, in a genre of clothing opposite their norm. Being Northern California, some of the students dressed as cowpokes, hip-hopsters. One even went from studious to full Goth. The point of the exercise became clear on the third morning, when Corey found, just from dressing like an ivy leaguer; his posture had adjusted, he spritzed himself with cologne multiple times a day, enunciated better, and read The Catcher in the Rye for fun.

  When the results were explained, Corey had been embarrassed by how easily he altered his personality to match his new appearance. Most surprising, two of the students stayed with their new identities. He reverted back to the observant progressive, but even now, occasionally missed the alternate him.

  With maturity and the pride that accompanied arriving at church with his beautiful family, Corey vowed to bring them to more places so they could see the ways other people lived. Maybe they’d enjoy a lifestyle and assimilate.

  “I smell cookies,” Janey said, even though the windows were up, the A/C roared, and they had yet to find a spot in the crowded parking lot.

  “Are there churches without denominations?” Marci said.

  “I’m not sure.” He double-checked the sign for one and found nothing.

  Despite arriving half an hour early, vehicles filled most of the parking spaces. The mid-morning heat blasted him as he stepped out of the car. Years in Nevada, and he still hadn’t adjusted to how quick the morning went from frigid to bowels of Hell hot. Gathering behind the Jetta, Marci looked him over.

  “You look nice.”

  “Well you look marvelous,” he said in a haughty voice, drawing Marci’s frown into neutral dispassion.

  “Come on, guys,” Janey grabbed her mother’s hand and led them toward the concrete steps.

  Judging from the steady stream of church-goers, Hope’s Corner median age was late twenties to early thirties.

  The man ahead of them held the door until Corey accepted its outer edge. Inside, the priest or pastor or father—he wasn’t exactly sure—greeted everyone. Modern television’s displayed colorful characters, who shared upcoming events and welcomed patrons.

  The priest didn’t wear the black shirt and white collar, just his Sunday’s best, like the Padeskys.

  Corey inspected the high-ceiling. He liked the smell of the place—mainly cookies—and the gentle music playing. He felt comfortable and knew this building was inaccessible for things like the Jinni in Walt’s dream.

  “Welcome, welcome. I’m Pastor K.” The man seemed to be in his early thirties. He had his hair parted to the side, and soft, inviting features.

  “I’m Corey. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Pastor Kay?” Marci asked as they shook hands.

  Fingers crossed, Corey hoped she didn’t do as she had earlier threatened and ask him if his sermon involved rattlesnakes or just injections of the Holy Spirit.

  Corey wondered how he’d react if the sermon did involve snakes. Smile tightly, gather his family close, and leave without drawing attention.

  “Well, it’s Pastor Konzeniewski, but having everyone pronounce that eats up a lot of time,” he smiled. Finding Janey, he squatted to her level. “And what’s your name?”

  “Janey Marie Padesky.”

  “I have something for you, Janey Marie Padesky.” Pastor K reached into his pocket, retrieved an artificial red flower: five red petals and a wire stem. “It matches your dress.”

  Janey turned her head and pulled back her hair, offering her right ear to Pastor K, “Put it here, please.”

  After a glance for confirmation from Marci, he did as asked.

  A young boy, near Janey’s age, entered wearing a baby blue suit with a three-button vest. His dark hair was parted down the middle. Before his parents corralled him, he ran to Janey and stopped in front of her. “I like your flower.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My name is Chevy.”

  “I’m Janey.”

  “Want to walk with me to Sunday school?”

  Chevy’s parents stepped behind him. The adults shared grins while Pastor K explained.

  “The kids usually attend a more tailored study group in the basement. They’re broken into two rooms by age.”

  “Can I go, mom?”

  Seeing uncertainty on Marci’s face, Chevy’s mother, a broad shouldered, thick-bodied woman, spoke, “Mrs. Grainger instructs the younger kids. She’s a kindergarten teacher by day and she makes their lessons really fun. Chevy looks forward to them all week.”

  “Can I go, mom?” Janey and Chevy had locked hands.

  “Yes, but you stay in that class until we come get you.”

  “Yes, mom.” The kids released their grips and raced down the stairs. Janey’s too-large shoes forced her to clop down one step at a time.

  Pastor K turned to the couple, “Corey and Marci Padesky, I’d like you to meet Justin and Madeline Collins.”

  Justin stood the same height as Corey, double his weight, with the look of a lumberjack, right down to a pressed maroon flannel tucked into jeans, a close trimmed beard, and work boots that looked to have been wiped clean. By the scuffs and scrapes, the boots must have stayed dusty during the week.

  They shook hands and then Justin addressed Pastor K, “I guess we didn’t need to strategize with these two. Chevy made the introduction for you.”

  “Strategize?” Marci asked.

  “Well, it’s not a written-out plan or anything,” Pastor K said, “but it seems I do the greeting and then pass our new visitors onto Justin here, who’s our resident saint. After a dose of him, most people stick around. He’s my secret weapon in the increasingly difficult battle for church retention.”

  Justin shrugged. “I’m no saint. I just carry plenty of guilt, which used to be shame, for things I’ve done, so I try to live good enough to make up for my sins.”

  Pastor K rolled his eyes, patted the hefty man on the back, and said, “We have twenty minutes until everyone starts to take their seats, if you want, Justin can give you a quick tour.”

  “I’d like to see the basement, where Janey is.” Marci said.

  “Sure, we’ll start with the Sunday school rooms.” As they descended past concrete walls painted white, Justin asked, “What brings you here today?”

  “Our daughter made us come,” Marci said. Corey withheld his wince. Why did Marci, or most non-believers for that matter, reserve animosity for religion? Knowing his wife, and having fresh insight, Corey believed they used that anger to beat
back their gut instinct that humanity had a higher reason to exist, that humans were a further step in the evolutionary path to enlightenment.

  As if silenced by the small edge to Marci’s voice, Justin waited until they reached the bottom of the stairs and then faced the couple. “I take it you don’t attend service regularly?” Justin laced the tone with interest, and a hint of pity so slight Corey wasn’t sure it existed.

  “We have our thoughts on the matter,” Corey said. That line used to ring true. Marci was an atheist, Corey was uninterested, but times changed. “We’ve always believed Janey has the right to make her own choice.”

  “Leave it up to the child,” Justin said, “without inserting personal bias, and they’ll choose faith every time.”

  “We just assumed she’d develop an interest much later in life,” Marci said. “So she’d be able to attend on her own.”

  “The universal faith of children is one of the five pillars that tethers my belief. It seems every child has an interest in learning about God. When parents stay neutral, they take to Scripture like ducks to a pond. How old is Janey?”

  “Almost six.”

  “Yep. I have three children myself. Only my youngest, Chevy,” he nodded across the room, “lives in Nevada. They’re hungry for information at that age: the world, themselves, questions of God.”

  “Last year Janey was really into the Tooth Fairy,” Marci said.

  Justin nodded, and addressed Corey. “Are you a Christian?” He held up his hand, “No pressure, only curious. I’m going to wish you a great life regardless.”

  “He’s agnostic,” Marci said.

  “Ag-nostic,” Justin said. “I’ve heard the term. I’m just not sure what it means.”

  “An agnostic studies various religions, realizes comprehending God or the genesis of life is beyond him.” Corey said. “The word is derived as the opposite to gnostics, who have no doubts on salvation. I think, live good, and if there’s a God, he’ll know that.”