[Del]'s Diary

ENTRY TWENTY-FOUR

I had a dream last night. The first dream since day one. Or the first I’ve bothered to write down.

In the dream, I feel myself step inside the body of a young man. Invading him. Only he remains in control; I’m just an impotent parasitic twin. We are walking through what appears to be a large campus, winding our way through the maze of old stoic buildings intermingled with modernist architecture.

We walk through a series of glass doors and I notice my broad thick features. Around the bridge of the nose and the forehead and eyes, my host carries a bit of a Neanderthal look about him at odds with the crisp buzz cut and horn-rimmed glasses he wears. Both the cuffs on our jeans are rolled up, and I carry a set of books under my right arm: A Compendium of English Literature, Metaphysical Poets, and a plain Moleskine notebook. I pass a gaggle of girls in skirts and bobby-socks who all giggle at me, and I can feel my eyes rolling at them.

I walk up a flight of institutional stairs, and enter a set of double doors. Then I realize, I’m now in the ward of a hospital.

I walk into a room with a few desks and chairs, with others — all students — seated at them. A professor-looking type acknowledges my presence and nods.

I sit down at a desk and open up the Moleskine notebook and ready my pen. The professor takes his time walking towards me, and I tap my foot impatiently. I’m eager for his arrival, taste his every footstep on my tongue.

Finally, he makes his way towards me. He takes a tissue paper out of his breast pocket, unfolds it, and hands me a tiny square of paper. “Just write what you see, feel and experience as per usual,” he says as I pop the square of paper onto my tongue.

I poise my pen to paper and realize how much this journal looks familiar to me. It is the same as Logos. I wish to flip it back to the first page to check, but remember that I can’t will the person I’m inside of into action: I’m just a long for the ride.