The Dream Machine

Twenty-Two

LIZZIE

I saw him standing there. Sandler Jacobson, my best friend since elementary school. This had to be a dream. But, how was I aware that I was dreaming? 

The walls around us were white. They showed no indication that it was a wall, besides the fact that when you touched it, you felt it. The rest of the room was nothing, except the people in it: Wright, me, and that strange guy standing in the back. Who was he? He didn't look familiar at all. 

Suddenly, however, something flashed in my memory. I was in second grade again. This boy was playing with me. We were messing with some random toy object, before I walked over and met Sandler. He looked exactly like the man standing in front of me, only, of course, a lot younger. What was his name again? Oh, I remember. 

"Harry?" I asked the man standing behind Sandler. The room remained silent. I wasn't crazy, that had to be him, "Harry, I know that's you."

Sandler murmured to Harry, "Is she talking about you?" 

"I don't think so," Harry answered back, "Isn't that Lizzie?"

"It is," Sandler breathed. 

"Yes, it is," I exclaimed, running to him. Once I reached his personal space, I wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tightly, "Where are we?"

Harry answered for him, "In a dreamscape, you're dreaming, Lizzie."

I unlocked my arms from Sandler and walked over to him, "It's been awhile, Harry."

"My name's not Harry," he replied. 

"Yes, it is," I demanded, "We used to play together in second grade."

"You must be crazy, because I don't remember that."

Sandler cut into the conversation, "Oh my gosh." 

"What now?" Harry complained. 

Sandler seemed to be connecting the dots, "Remember when I went back in time to the day I first met Lizzie and you were shape-shifted into that toddler." 

"I guess," said Harry, "but I don't remember shape-shifting any other time in my life." 

"Then how..."

I interrupted, "In second grade, we used to play together. Dominos, blocks, the whole enchilada."

"I'm drawing a blank," Harry mused. 

"I have an idea to test Lizzie's theory," Sandler declared. All of a sudden, a table appeared from the middle of the room. On it, was a bottle full of mysterious clear liquid, and a roll of paper towels. Was the liquid, chloroform?

"This is insane! My name isn't Harry, it's Frederick!" Harry screamed. 

"Only one way to find out," Sandler walked over to the chloroform, rolled him some paper towels, opened the bottle, poured some onto the paper towels, and moved it to his nose and mouth. 

"Sandler, are you crazy?!" I ran for him, but it was too late. Sandler had disappeared, no poof, no cloud of dust, just gone. I yelled to Harry, "What did he do?" 

Harry sighed, "He went back to the day you and him met. Best be going with him." Harry forced me to the table and started rolling us some paper towels. 

"Are we going back in time or just in our dreams?" 

"Both," Harry replied as he poured the liquid on the towels. 

I started hyperventilating, "Isn't there another way?" 

"Nope," Harry said as he handed me my paper towels and disappeared from the whiteness of this room. 

Oh, what the heck. I thought, moving the paper towels to my face. Here we go...

I awoke in a hallway. The same hallway I had visited every day for one school year in second grade. Sandler was right, this really sent us back. He was standing right next to me, clutching my shoulder, with Harry standing against the wall, "Prove what you gotta prove. I'm not in there," he said, picking at his fingernails.

I looked into the plate-glass window and saw me and Harry playing with blocks together. This was the same image I had recollected earlier. It was true. He was there. This Frederick person was Harry. 

"Frederick, I think you might wanna come see this," Sandler ushered to Harry with his hand. 

Annoyed, Harry shuffled to the door, staring through the window. I could tell his heart stopped by the expression he showed on his face. He knew it was him. His face resembled someone's whose parents had just died, but his hadn't as far as I know. 

"It's me," he breathed, "I'm him." Harry opened the door and stepped into the room. Slowly, he walked over to second-grade Harry and bent down, "Hi," Little Harry managed a shy wave to Big Harry while Little Me acted like nothing had changed. 

"What's your name?" Big Harry asked him. 

"Ha-wee," peeped the little child.

"What's your last name?" 

The little kid thought for a second and said, "Gallagher,"

My heart stopped. No way was he related to me, Gallagher is a somewhat common name. 

"And who are you playing with?" Big Harry asked.

Little Harry gulped, "My sister."