by Tom DeLonge
Jonas felt a spark of attraction, but he tried to play it cool. “Were you looking for me?” he asked, even though he knew it was a ridiculous question. Of course she wasn’t looking for him.
“Well, yeah,” she said. “Weren’t you looking for me?”
Jonas stared at her. “No,” he answered honestly.
Samantha’s lips parted. “Oh, but…you’re madly in love with me,” she said, and smiled sheepishly. Jonas stared at her. He had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.
“Are you okay?” he asked. The lights above continued to flicker, and Samantha tried to shrug off her embarrassment.
“Just kidding. Never mind,” she said quickly, waving away her words. “And I’m fine. Sorry I scared you.”
“You didn’t scare me,” Jonas said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just thought you were trying to murder me is all.”
Samantha choked out a laugh, her features softening. “In hindsight I was being kind of creepy, huh?” she said. “I just wanted to see where you were going.” Jonas raised his eyebrows, and Samantha laughed again. “No, wait,” she added. “That sounded worse.” Her cheeks began to glow red with embarrassment.
Jonas licked his lips and smiled. “Wow, Miss Birnam-Wood,” he said. “If I checked your locker, would I find a bunch of surveillance photos of me with my eyes scratched out?”
“Of course not,” she said. “But you might find my shrine to the last guy.”
“I’m jealous.”
Samantha tilted her head. Jonas wasn’t sure how it happened, but this girl was totally into him. He hadn’t even tried that hard to charm her. The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch and Samantha jumped and looked around as the hall flooded with students.
“Sam,” a girl called, walking over. Samantha shot Jonas a panicked look, and he read immediately that she didn’t want to be seen with him. His earlier pat on the back was forgotten. Right—I’m just some kid living in the basement of a hotel.
“I should go,” Samantha said, not looking at him. “I’ll see you around…Jonas.” She shook her head as if trying to clear it and then, without a backward glance, fed into the stream of students and met up with her friend who shot an uncertain look in Jonas’s direction.
Jonas watched them leave, puzzled over why Samantha was looking for him in the first place. And what the hell she’d been talking about. Girls, man, Alan would have said. They think you can read their minds and shit.
With the thought of his brother, Jonas hiked his bag onto his shoulder and headed for his next class.
At the end of the day, Jonas’s nerves had started to wind their way into his gut. He didn’t know what Doctor Moss was like. What she’d say. There still wasn’t rain and Jonas took this as a sign of good things to come. He started toward the bus stop to head to the Sleep Center.
Students were gathered outside the school, hanging out and talking, and Jonas tried to slip by without being noticed, although it was difficult. Yep, he thought. New weird kid. Feel free to stare.
He was about to cross the street when he saw a red Mustang parked at the curb. He couldn’t help it, he changed course and walked toward it, running his finger along the shiny paint. “You are gorgeous,” he murmured. It wasn’t vintage like his car—Alan’s car. Their dad’s car. But it was a sight. Jonas paused, leaning down to look in the window at the camel-colored leather. Pristine condition.
“Hey, asshole,” a guy said from behind him. “Step away from the car.” The locks clicked with a beep, setting the alarm, and Jonas turned to find three guys walking up.
Ah, the dick parade has arrived. “I was just looking, man,” Jonas said, backing away with his hands up to show respect. “It’s a nice car.”
“Yeah, I know,” the tall, blond guy replied. “And that’s why it costs more than your life. So fuck off.”
Jonas gritted his teeth, reminded of how much he hated high school. The tall, blond guy had a large nose and perfectly straight teeth. His friends were anonymous minions hulking behind his shoulders, ready to fight if he told them to. Jonas wasn’t looking for a fight, though. He didn’t care enough to risk getting suspended. But he did know that this guy didn’t deserve this car and he felt sorry leaving it in his care.
Jonas gave him a mocking salute and then walked between him and his friends, head held high even though he half-expected one of them to body-check him. They didn’t.
“Fucking burnout,” the blond said.
Jonas walked away from the car and saw Samantha Birnam-Wood walking in his direction. A nervous look crossed her face, and Jonas kept his head down, hoping she hadn’t seen him get told off a minute ago. He lifted his eyes to hers just as they passed on the sidewalk.
There was a flash, like a memory, but not quite. Jonas blinked quickly, and slowed, turning to watch Samantha pass. She looked over her shoulder at him. He imagined her sitting across from him in a restaurant, smiling. But he’d never been out with her. He didn’t even know her.
Samantha turned around, and to Jonas’s horror, she stopped at the red Mustang. She dipped her head and climbed in the passenger side. Jonas flicked his gaze to the blond guy now at the driver’s door. He noticed Jonas staring, and his mouth pulled into a smug grin. One that said, Yeah. My girl.
Jonas scoffed and turned away, flipping up his hood and heading for the Sleep Center.
Jonas stood at the bottom of the stone steps of the Center for Sleep Sciences and looked up at the massive building. The cloudy sky had begun to grow gray, the ominous threat of rain always on the horizon. He wasn’t sure he could go inside. So long as he was out here, there was hope—hope that could last forever. If Doctor Moss told him she couldn’t help Alan, it would be over. He would be lost.
“Is there ever a bright side with you?” Alan had asked him once. “You’re all doom and gloom, and I gotta tell you, Jonas, you’re bringing me the fuck down.”
Jonas had shot him a dirty look and continued to sulk, his sneakers perched on the wall of his bedroom. There were dozens of shoe prints in the white paint around it. “You think I should be happy?” Jonas had asked him. He turned, showing Alan how the skin under his eye had puffed out, the first darkening of bruising.
Alan dropped the McDonald’s bag he’d been holding on the dresser and stomped toward the bed. He grabbed Jonas’s chin and tilted it up, checking over his injuries. “Who did this?” he demanded. “I’ll fucking bash their brains in.”
Jonas batted his hand away. “Where’s the optimism? I thought you were all puppies and rainbows, Alan. I was going to get you a pony, but with your temper, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea anymore.”
“Stop it, smart ass,” he said, tightening his lips as he sat on the edge of Jonas’s bed. “Was it over a girl?”
Jonas smiled despite the ache in his cheek. “Not this time. And to be honest, I did say some unflattering things about his tiny dick. I was just guessing, but I must have hit on a bit of truth. And I can attest,” he pointed to his face, “sometimes the truth hurts.”
Alan laughed, but a somber look fell over him. “Are you going to get kicked out of school?” he asked.
“Naw,” Jonas said. “We were off campus.”
Alan lowered his head, staring down at his lap. “You give up too easily,” he said. “And I’m not talking about getting in fights. You don’t try to find another way. You haven’t since Mom and Dad…” He stopped, his voice getting thick. “I’m just saying,” he told him, “I wish you would put a little more faith in people. Maybe let yourself hope once in a while. You might be surprised.”
“Jesus, Alan,” Jonas said, shaking his head as he laughed. “Go write that on a Hallmark card and then pass me my chicken nuggets.”
A car horn beeped on the street and Jonas jumped, startled out of the memory. The Seattle Center for Sleep Sciences came back into focus. There was a distant rumbl
e of thunder, and Jonas took a deep breath.
I’m taking your advice, Alan, he thought as he started up the stairs. Now you have to do your part. He opened the door. And wake the hell up.
Jonas walked inside the large modern-style lobby. There were clear plastic chairs and breakable-looking vases set out on small pillars. The rug in the middle of the space was pure white, and Jonas couldn’t get over what a bad decision that was in a rainy Seattle environment.
“Can I help you?” a pleasant voice asked. Jonas saw a woman with fire-red hair sitting behind a desk in the corner of the room. She smiled. “Of course,” she said before he could answer. “You must be Jonas Anderson.”
“Uh, yeah,” he said. “I’m supposed to meet with Doctor Moss about my brother’s treatment?” Sickness bubbled up in his stomach, but Jonas did his best to appear calm and collected. He would only let himself imagine one outcome from this meeting. Everything else was unacceptable.
“Of course,” she said. “It’ll be just a moment.” She indicated one of the chairs and Jonas sat down, surprised it was more comfortable than it appeared. The woman picked up her phone and talked quietly, careful not to look at Jonas as she did so. She hung up and smiled. “Doctor Moss is on her way down.”
Jonas thanked her and glanced around the lobby while he waited. In the corner was a table with an array of coffee choices, all of which were labeled “decaf.” There were also bottles of water sitting in a punch bowl of ice, and fresh fruit. Jonas snorted at the plaque hanging above the table that read “Sweet Dreams are Made of These.”
“Jonas?” a woman’s voice called.
Jonas looked up and found a woman standing close by dressed in a red blouse and black skirt, and a white lab coat with her name printed over her heart.
“Doctor Moss,” Jonas said, getting to his feet to offer his hand. She shook it, her fingers cold in his. “Thank you for meeting with me.” It all felt oddly formal, and because of that, he was completely out of sorts—like he was playing at adulthood.
“Let’s go to my office,” the doctor said. Jonas followed to the elevator, and they said little as they rode to the second floor.
Everything was sterile—the white paint, the bland décor, the silence. Jonas had a crazy thought that it should be louder if she really wanted to wake up people in a coma. The patients were on the third floor, she informed him, and promised to take him to Alan the minute they were finished speaking.
They walked into a small square office with only a desk and computer and a couple of leather chairs across from it. Jonas eased himself into the seat, and rubbed his palms over the knees of his jeans.
“I’ve had a chance to examine your brother,” Doctor Moss said as she set a file in front of her. “The hospital also sent over his records, and the good news is that there hasn’t been any change in his condition.”
“That’s the good news?”
“In a sense, yes. Despite their fears, on closer inspection, it’s clear his condition hasn’t deteriorated—he’s stable. The big test was when we moved him. We expected at least a dip, but Alan is very strong. To be honest, the initial results indicate that he’d be able to survive without the ventilator.”
Alan wasn’t going to die—that was what she’d just told him. Jonas closed his eyes, lowering his head while he got control of himself, not wanting to cry in front of her.
“Understand,” Doctor Moss said, her voice sympathetic, “that the caregivers at the hospital weren’t wrong in their assessments, but they weren’t optimistic. They don’t take into account the same factors that I do.” She ran her hand down the words of the file, scanning it. She smiled encouragingly. “We’re going to run some more tests, but there’s no reason why your brother can’t be admitted here for long-term care while we figure out what exactly is keeping him unconscious. Seems he’s trapped in a state of REM.”
Jonas looked at her, a sudden sense of dread falling over him.
“Rapid Eye Movement,” the doctor continues, “is when we believe a person dreams most. Like others, coma patients experience dreams, but without the ability to wake, they can be stuck there. Dreaming indefinitely.”
Jonas swallowed hard, scared to hope too much. “Hypothetically speaking,” he started, crossing his legs and trying to appear sensible, “if Alan is trapped in this REM state, if he were to realize it was a dream, could he wake up?”
“You mean lucid dreaming?” she asked. Jonas nodded, wondering how much this center knew about that sort of thing. “It’s certainly possible,” she said.
Jonas took a shaky breath, nearly overcome. “So you think he can recover?”
Doctor Moss smiled. “Of course. I wouldn’t have taken this on if I didn’t believe I could help him. Now,” she closed the file, “if you don’t mind, I thought I could give you a tour of the facility and then we’ll stop by and visit with Alan for a bit to discuss his arrangements.”
“That’d be great,” Jonas said. He stood, realizing how much he’d missed his brother. It’d only been a little while since he’d seen him, but it felt like an eternity. He just had to know that Alan was okay.
After touring the offices and the cafeteria, Doctor Moss brought Jonas up to the third level that was used for patient rooms. Like the other areas of the building, it was dull and lifeless—so bland it actually made him want to sleep. But it was certainly clean, so Jonas wasn’t going to complain about the décor.
“Not all of my patients are coma patients,” Doctor Moss said as they stepped off the elevator. Her shoes tapped and the sound echoed off the walls. “Some are here for sleep trouble or sleep studies. A few have been living on the streets because their sleep patterns prevent them from holding down a steady job. I try to help them manage their afflictions.”
A door opened and an older man came out of a room. He had a scruffy salt-and-pepper beard and puffy black circles under his eyes, and he was wearing a hospital gown that was still open in the back.
“Oh, hey,” Jonas said, diverting his eyes when he saw a flash of the man’s bare ass.
“Hello,” the man said to both Jonas and the doctor, seeming unaware of his disheveled appearance until Doctor Moss took him by the shoulders to turn him around and tie his gown closed.
“This is William,” the doctor said. “He came to us a few months ago. William, this is Jonas.” Doctor Moss stepped back and Jonas figured it was safe to look.
“How’s it going, dude?” Jonas asked politely. William’s eyes got large, and he licked his lips like he couldn’t wait to talk.
“You’re Alan’s brother,” he said, excitedly. Tingles raced over Jonas’s skin and he looked between him and the doctor.
“Yeah,” he said. “How’d you know that?”
“He told me,” William said, still smiling.
Jonas’s gut hit the floor. “What?” he asked.
“Sorry,” Doctor Moss interrupted, stepping between them and crashing Jonas’s wave of emotion. “William is part of our sleep study,” she said. “One week awake, one week asleep. He…he gets a bit confused around this time.”
“I haven’t slept in six days,” William said, grinning. “But sometimes,” he leaned in and Jonas noted a sour smell, like medication seeping from his pores, “the sleepers, they talk to me.” He nodded, but Jonas took a step back, swallowing hard.
“William likes to talk with the coma patients,” Doctor Moss said. “He’s one of the members of our dream team.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “We’re testing the effects of sleep deprivation on dreams. And so far, the longer a patient is awake before sleeping, the deeper they can go into their dreams. Fascinating stuff.”
“Lots of nightmares,” William said, still staring at Jonas in a kind of awe that made him supremely uncomfortable.
“The down side,” Doctor Moss added, “is that participants sometimes experience hallucinations. The inability t
o distinguish between a dream and reality. Luckily we’re in a controlled environment.” She turned to William. “We’re safe here.”
“Oh, yes,” William said, his posture straightening as if his mind had cleared. “Since I came in three months ago, I haven’t had any outbursts. Aside from the occasional writing.” He smiled sheepishly at Doctor Moss and she laughed.
“Yes, for a while everyone called him Shakespeare because he would write sonnets on the wall of his room,” she said. “It was great stuff, though.”
“Now I have a journal,” William told Jonas, encouraged by the doctor’s praise. “I write everything down, especially my songs. I don’t forget anything anymore.”
“You’ve made amazing progress,” the doctor told him, but Jonas considered his statement. A journal, a dream journal—maybe it could help him remember his dreams, and in turn, help him find Alan.
“Well, it was nice talking to you, William,” Doctor Moss said. “Jonas and I are going to visit with his brother. We’ll talk more in therapy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” William said, bowing a goodbye. The doctor started down the hall, and Jonas held up his hand in a wave to William, but as he passed, the man reached out to take his arm. “It was nice seeing you again,” he said with a private smile.
“Uh, yeah,” Jonas said, furrowing his brow. “Nice meeting you, too.” He disentangled himself and jogged to catch up with Doctor Moss. When he turned back, William had gone inside his room, his door clicking shut.
Jonas shook off the weirdness and Doctor Moss indicated a room near the end of the hallway. “Just to reiterate,” she said, pausing with her hand on the door handle. “There hasn’t been a change in Alan’s condition. We’ll know more after the CT scan, so I don’t want to give you a false impression.”
With his heart a little heavier, Jonas told her he understood. The doctor pressed her lips together sympathetically, and she opened the door and walked inside. Jonas followed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans when he saw his brother, still hooked up to a ventilator, but somehow looking more comfortable.
