The Dream Trotters

Chapter 3

Across the country, babies were born.  Cows were milked.  Pies were baked.  Exams were finished, and students ran out of schools, ready to grab their swimsuits and welcome the summer in chlorine infested water.  Yet Simon didn’t share in any of these events.  Instead, he lay on the putrid floor of his cell, body contorted in pain.  For the past ten years, he had whittled away his life in this room.  He had wished to feel something, to live.  Now, what he felt was glorified pain, and he wished that he could go back to the numb, emptiness which had once filled his head and stomach.  If only he had been able to control his urges; there must have been something in the coffee, besides the sleeping medicine.

He thought of his wife and daughter, who in his mind had not aged a day.  But in reality, a decade had passed.  If he was ever to return, he would have missed the whole childhood of his daughter.  In his own mind, Simon had missed auburn afternoons, spent aging with his wife.  Grey strands had crept into his hair, brought on by time and worry.  Another wave of pain raged over his body, and he felt once again like a child.  He was brought back to a time were his family had visited the ocean.  Simon had run out into the freezing waves and was knocked over by the swelling tide.  As he tried to stand, another wave had washed over him, continuing a cycle which could never be stopped.  Each attack of pain left him broken, no more prepared for that ahead of him.  He felt warm liquid run inside his nose, and begin to dribble down his chin and mouth.  

Simon had thought about death many times in his brief life.  But never was it real.  Just like a country can prepare for a tsunami or earthquake, there is nothing that can truly prepare you for the moment that the disaster strikes and the morals and strengths of all involved are tested with split second decisions.  Simon had no decisions to make.  There was nothing he could do, but bring his knees to his chest and pretend like the last decade was a dream, a feverish nightmare of a young man.  But nothing happened.  

A thin melody leaked through his walls, barely audible through concrete.  Simon crawled will all his effort towards the wall, trying to hear better.  Just barely, he could hear a woman’s voice.  She sang a song, as if a mother, kneeling by the bedside of her son, whisking him off to dreamland.

I am yours, You are mine,

and together we’ll be fine

take my hand, fall asleep.

Try and count all the sheep.

all that counts is you’re mine,

till the end of all time.

I’m here through the fray,

And with you I will stay.

She barely made it through half the ditty, without breaking out into scattered sobs.  The song made Simon think of the days he had spent with his daughter and how sweet they had been.  Pictures of her curly hair swirled through his vision, accompanied by a smile sullied by chocolate.   With the next wave of pain that came, he was ready.  Her song had brought up a feeling that had been buried deep within him, twisted in the long hair on his arms.  He found anger and a will to live.  Even if he had missed the childhood of his daughter, he was not going to miss the rest.  If not for bring you dad to school day, he would be there for the father daughter dance at her wedding.  Simon would be in Pipa’s room for the delivery of a child, that would make him a grandfather.  With these thoughts, he sat by the cold wall and continued to listen to the beautiful sadness which ensued from the next cell.  Suddenly, she stopped. No sound, not even a sad hiccup.  Soon restless sleep overtook his senses.