Wakers: Sayonara Sleep

by Michaela Hoffman

  “The Cave of Remembrance,” he said. “A portal to crucial times in your life.”

  I inspected the watery images. “Who are these people?” I asked. The expanse of them seemed to overwhelm every space of this cascade. Their flip patterns sounded like thousands of dropped coins.

  “The Wakers who have passed on from this realm,” Renezen explained. “And those who still exist here. This is a collection of their most treasured memories.” One touch of my finger caused a frenzy of tile spinning and water spraying. To my amazement, the watery images had become recognizable: my family, my friends. I could discern the live-motion captures, when they took place, and what was happening inside. Each tile housed a memory replay.

  The Czar placed a hand on my shoulder. “When you or your belongings contact the water, your individual story takes over,” he said. “Tap one memory, and you will be transported to that time.”

  “The memories of my father and sister,” I said. “If I go back, maybe I can piece together what happened to them.”

  “That was my thought,” he said. “So get going. Make peace with your past.” Without thinking, I hugged him. Renezen staggered backwards and timidly patted my shoulder. “Don’t Cross Over when inside,” he advised. “Consciously stay in this realm, even when tempted to switch over.”

  “What will happen otherwise?”

  “It’s possible to get trapped in the memory.” Lovely. Then I’d exist in what, three realms? Shouldn’t there be a limit? After releasing him, I hesitantly moved closer to the panels of flipping images. While closing my eyes, I pleaded for the needed memories of my father. In moments, an assortment of those memories were in front of my face.

  “Can you come with me,” I asked Renezen. When he didn’t respond, I turned towards him. “Not out of fear. I just… want to make the most rational decisions. It would be wiser to have an objective witness. There’s a lot to untangle.” Without a word, Renezen laced his hand through mine. I lit up in response. With the Czar’s confirming nod, I punched a fist into the first tile.

  Water from the falls slowly enveloped us, though we were still weighted to the ground. A blurry visage appeared beyond the water expanse. When the Czar and I stepped beyond the boundary, we found ourselves on the old Falconbridge grounds. My father was sitting on a bench, watching younger versions of me and Bruce prepare a soil bed. That was our first garden. We were beyond elated at the time.

  Sitting beside my father, I took in his humble elegance: the lab coat loosely hanging over his brown features, his crooked name badge, the tousled, explosive hair. As a child, I was so preoccupied with friends and games, because, of course, he would always be there. I reached out to touch his face and my hand sank through it. The small me was busy in the dirt, fully unaware of just how little time she had left with him. To draw me away from the roaming thoughts, Renezen took my other hand.

  “What’s important in this memory?” He prompted. “A clue of some sort.”

  My father began speaking to the kids, jovial and exuberant, like usual. “It’s a privilege to have two forest sages helping me with this.” He intensified his slouch and began yawning. “I’ll check on things after my nap.” In protest, Bruce and I pounced on him, savagely soiling his white coat.

  “Papa!” I exclaimed, tugging on his collar. “The garden is your new project. So you have to help.”

  “It’s our new project,” he said. “I just modified the seeds.” When Bruce looked perplexed, I unabashedly dominated the conversation. Pigtailed, dirt-smeared and smelling of earth.

  “Papa changed the herb seeds so that they have a growth factor. When you eat the plants, it will make your brain grow a new part. That new part will let you live a second life— in another place.” After my dad set a hand on my head, I beamed in triumph.

  “In a new reality,” he said. “For anyone who needs a break from this one.”

  Why didn’t I remember that part of the memory? Migraine-like symptoms assaulted my insides, as if shards of my past were ripping through a kind of subconscious oblivion. I collapsed to my knees. Breathing here, I felt narcoleptic, the pull from the Other Side growing stronger. My wrist tattoo started burning.

  Renezen dropped to my side, mouthing the word “stay” over and over until I willed myself to stay. In an instant, the memory collapsed and a new one surrounded us. The herb garden had grown significantly, the rosemary particularly dense and fragrant. Bruce and I looked a little older. Jax was pouting as he dragged out the hose.

  “Why do I have to do this?” He whined. “I don’t live here.” Jax pulled the trigger near the nozzle but nothing came out. Unaware that I had bent the rubber tubing, he turned the hose head to his nose as I unleashed my grip. He got completely soaked. The three of us laughed and sprayed one another, wrestling to the ground for hose privileges. I remembered tasting mud and pinning Jax to the ground. This was a precious memory, but there was more to glean here. Renezen and I ventured away from the children, searching for hints inside Falconbridge.

  We followed my father while he was going down a hallway. Dad pressed his badge to a bookcase and the wall opened up for him. His colleagues were busy in an immense laboratory, preparing flasks, managing equipment, or conversing while pointing at large monitors. There was a row of about twenty beds. My father hopped up on one and stretched his arms overhead.

  “You really have no sense of time, do you Darkus?” Dr. Bensimhon said, hooking him up to electrodes. Nearby monitors lit up, tracking my father’s vitals.

  “A trait I’ve passed on to Nightworld,” he said with a wink. My father took a vial from his lab coat. Rosemary leaves were swimming in water. He gave it a swirl, opened the cap, and before taking a swig, he squeezed in half of a lemon.

  “Do you have a fruit bowl in that coat of yours?” Bensimhon quipped, examining her clipboard. He placed an apple on her board and it almost rolled to the floor. With a grin, Dad laid down on the bed and strapped himself in with buckles.

  “The formulas are prepared and labeled in the fridge,” he said, holding out his arm for the IV.

  “Very good,” she said. “Enjoy your dream, Darkus. And do try to come back to us.” When Dad was put to sleep, his body convulsed and seized for a few moments. Then finally he was still. A small smile lingered on his face.

  We returned to the kids outside. It was becoming dark, but we were still playing Hide and Transform. Jax stopped us in the middle of the game, pointing a shaky finger at the herb garden.

  “The rosemary… glows,” he whispered. And it was true: the stems and leaves were eerily lit up, standing apart from the other herb patches in the garden. We clung to each other, frightened. Aza approached us from behind and we almost jumped out of our skins. She was wearing thigh-high black boots.

  “Whoa chill,” she said. “What’s going on? Dad was supposed to bring you two back hours ago.” We ran to her legs and embraced them. Part in affection, mostly in fear.

  “The rosemary glows,” Bruce said, clinging tighter. Aza came down to our level and comforted us. She told me and Jax to gather our toys so she could take us home to our moms. And for Bruce to go to bed. After the children hurried away, Renezen and I stayed with the young Aza. Intrepid by nature, she took a knife from her boot and sliced off a few stems. The plants were stuffed in her purse.

  Once the memory dissolved, Renezen and I became passenger’s in Aza’s car. The younger me was in the front seat. Aza unclipped her seatbelt and opened her door. “I’ll be right back,” she said to me. Renezen and I followed her into Falconbridge. She, too, was accustomed to using the secret doorways. Unfortunately, the lab entrance wasn’t so easy to access. Aza pounded on the bookcase and even kicked it forcefully. After some effort on her part, Dad finally came out. He appeared scruffier than usual, eyes bloodshot. Aza folded her arms. “Great to see you, Dad. It’s only been, what, a month?” Our father, usually buoyant and carefree, looked ashen and somber. Even his voice sounded different. Almost mournful.

  “Azu
ra, forgive me,” he said, pocketing his hands. “I’m needed during the trials.” Aza stepped closer to him, glass in her tone.

  “You’re needed as a father too,” she said. “Did you forget what day it is?” After a pause, Dad leaned against the bookshelf and shook his head. This didn’t settle well with her. “It’s Lava’s birthday. And we’re going to LoveLand.” She took a deep breath. “Dad, come with us. Just for a few hours—”

  “I can’t,” his voice was sharper than before. “There are too many important things to—”

  With the sweep of an arm, Aza knocked a row of books to the floor. They fell at Dad’s feet, sacred texts in the eyes of a scientist. For a moment, they just stared at each other. Aza red with rage, Dad pale with exhaustion.

  “When did we become unimportant?” She asked, slowly backing away. And when she walked down the hall, he didn’t call after her. Nor did he reach out for her. Instead, my father removed his hands from his pockets; they were trembling.

  Aza and I got on just about every carnival ride that night. She even won me a stuffed flamingo. After our third round on the teacups, we took a water break. The younger me was visibly overjoyed, holding Aza’s hand at every opportunity, and chattering away. Though Aza tried to be present, her distant eyes roamed the light displays. And when I told a joke or a short story, she offered meek smiles at most.

  Her demeanor didn’t change at the brothel later. She made me rosemary tea and a salad. I sat next to Ginger Jugs, who was painting her toenails on the kitchen table. She was wearing a dress without underwear.

  “Doesn’t the draft bother you?” I asked while chewing.

  “Sugar, air out your cutchie early in life. Otherwise you’ll get infections.”

  “Aza,” I yelled over my shoulder. “The tea is my favorite.”

  She was leaning against the counter in a tank top, watching us with a faint smile. “I grew the rosemary,” she said, taking a sip from her glass. Within minutes of finishing my meal, I developed chills and Aza carried me to her bed. The young me began hallucinating and calling out to animals I believed to be in my room. Aza remained by my side, stroking my forehead and audibly befriending the animals until I fell asleep. “Maybe now we’ll be important enough,” she whispered into my hair. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll keep you safe.” She squeezed me with a hug, until Aza, too, finally slept. The memory faded out.

  Some time later, the young me woke up. But Aza didn’t. I tapped her face, jerked her arms, but nothing roused her. I was panic-stricken, wailing for help, my tears dampening Aza’s beautiful hair. The brothel sisters had to pry me off of her. “You think it was Heroin?” One asked.

  “She never touches it,” the other said.

  “Well what else could it be?”

  They called my father’s phone and a colleague picked up. He arrived shortly to get me, his eyes falling on my small wrist tattoo when picking me up. EMS arrived at the same time to take Aza to the hospital. Back at Falconbridge, Bensimhon greeted us as the door. She knelt down to hug me, then eyed her colleague. “Maybe now he’ll reason with us,” she said.

  And the memory faded out. Renezen and I were back in the Cave of Remembrance again. So that’s what happened. There were still gaps, and more things I wanted to know. But at least I had a definitive arrow pointing at Bensimhon now. My wrist tattoo was throbbing still, and I couldn’t ignore it anymore. It was time to face Reality. “Let’s go back to the castle,” Renezen said.

  “Wait.” As he turned to me, I flushed crimson. No one had ever known this much about me. Boil my carrots, I didn’t even know this much. There was so much ugliness and strangeness. But he stayed beside me. “Can we go inside of yours?” I asked. “Your precious memories.”

  He hesitated, glancing at the water tiles. “Now’s not the time,” he said.

  “Well whenever you want to,” I pressed, stepping closer. “I’ll stay by your side.” I really meant it. And for some reason, I wanted him to know this. The Czar looked down before turning away from me. Then he walked out of the cavern without a word. Together we crossed another rainbow bridge and made it back to the castle.

  “Do you feel okay going back now?” He asked, standing at my bedroom door. I nodded drowsily.

  “You know what’s funny,” I said.“To me, this place feels more real than Reality.”

  Before I closed the door, our eyes met. My words had clearly touched him. It was an unspoken seal, marking a new precious memory. For the both of us.

  ***

  Chapter 20

  Waker Life Day 20

  The development of the Waker child is unlike anything I could have predicted. Eight days after birth, he exhibits the neurodevelopmental age of an eight-year-old. Consumed by exploration and curiosity— I’ll find him high up in trees and creating tools out of anything he finds. He is articulate, and has the ability to reason and problem solve. However, to his mother’s grievance, the boy is also aware that he is unlike the rest of us. I, too, am at a loss as to how to describe this to him. After all, the child is a manifest of a dream. Nothing more.

  Clover invited us over for dinner at her tiny-house community. Outside, “family” members were busy in the communal areas. Doing laundry, cooking, gardening. One of the brothers had a wheelchair accessible home that he let us borrow. We squeezed into the entryway with comfortable closeness. Aside from the overhead loft, the space amounted to a rectangular kitchen with basic amenities. Jax, Uncle Mason, Clover, and I slid into an oak booth that semi-circled a matching table. Mauricio parked his wheelchair across from us. My uncle came as a chaperone due to my house arrest. If such a thing wounded the pride of a teenager, just imagine its effect on a twenty-seven-year-old.

  Uncle Mason and I were late to the party because of my delay in Crossing Over. The lie was that I overslept while napping. But from my sluggishness, I looked more sleep deprived than anything else. Journal reading in the car didn’t help; nor did the candle lighting during dinner. Clover elbowed me so I’d tune in to the pre-meal conversation. With an affirming yawn, I placed my chin in my hand to look more alert. Tired was my new normal, a fact that my friends were keenly aware of, though they didn’t understand why.

  I wondered what the Czar was doing right now. Was he in Reality too, dozing off somewhere? Was he thinking of me? “Have you been sleeping all right?” Jax asked from across the table, eyes sharpened on me. Uncle Mason comfortably draped an arm around his neck.

  “Better than a bear in hibernation my friend,” he said, taking a gulp of homemade lemonade. With eyes lit up and he turned to Clover, pointing to his glass. “This is the best drink I’ve ever tasted.” She beamed, and toasted her glass with his.

  “Lava sleeps more than she stays awake,” Mauricio noted with concern. He turned to me. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I glanced over at Jax, still embraced by my lively uncle, but boring into me with a judgmental stare. This is what happens when I tell people things; they get too involved. Once again, someone answered for me.

  “His name’s Renezen, right?” Clover poured Uncle Mason another glass of lemonade. Then she leaned over to top off mine. Wide-eyed, I froze. Even my uncle took notice.

  “There’s a reaction we haven’t seen in a while,” he whistled, guzzling his drink with fervor. Drips were saturating his button up shirt and Jax looked over at him with mild disgust. “Looks like you’ve got some competition.” Uncle Mason elbowed Jax and released a powerful belch. Jax quickly shrugged himself free of the happy man, waving his hand to dissipate the smell.

  “You say his name in your sleep,” Clover explained. “Can we meet him sometime?” Oh for the love of persimmons.

  “Yeah, Lava,” Jax shot with arms crossed, loading his verbal rifle. “When can we meet him?” In the nick of time, Clover’s mom rushed in with the largest salad I had ever seen in my life. Topped off with broccoli, peppers, kidney beans, and fresh garlic. All grown from their land. She used her prosthetic arm to add cilantro garnish. With just as much pizzaz as Clover, s
he squealed and shook her hands in the air.

  “What a day to celebrate!” Mrs. Cools enveloped Clover into an affectionate hug and rocked her from side to side. They were so adorable, I could almost see heart bubbles floating over their heads. After she scurried out, I nudged Clover.

  “What are we celebrating?” Yes, this was an effort to change the topic. The others grew strangely quiet. Clover reddened and curled a lock of hair with her fingers.