Reikon

Foreward

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce you to my baby? 

This is little Reikon. He started small, but he's a growing, bouncy, baby boy. Soon, he'll grow into a big, strong, successful boy. There will be growing pains and I will do my best to guide him through those difficult times, but, you know, it takes a village. Which is where you come in. Let me start by telling you how Reikon was born.

When I was 19, a freshman in college, I took a creative writing course toward my English core requirement. I soon found the classes themselves to be boring and frustrating. The instructor would talk almost the entire time and not even about writing. I remember one day where he claimed his car was the downfall of his marriage. I had taken to just ignoring him and writing whatever the hell I wanted for the entire class. I had a few stories that were kicking around since I started writing fiction in 7th grade. So I would work on those and try some of the freewrites that were in the book he made us buy.

Then, one night, I had one of the most frightening dreams I'd ever experienced, but it won't seem like it when I tell it. It never does. It was one of those ones where you wake up in the dream in your own bed, so it doesn't feel like a dream at first. But, this time, there was another bed in my room. Mel Gibson and Helen Hunt were in it, watching What Women Want,  and apparently watching themselves in a movie is thirsty work because Mel asked me for a drink.

My chest clenched painfully and there was a hot ball of panic in my stomach. I didn't know why, but I was terrified to go downstairs. Mel must have sensed this because he offered me a giant, police-issue, Mag-lite. I took it and went downstairs.

At the time, the stairs were walled on the right side, all the way down, and the left wall stopped about two thirds of the way down and opened on the living room. The whole way down I could feel my heart hammering and I was breathing really fast and shakily. When I got to the part of the staircase where the wall opened up, my heart slammed into my throat because I saw a shadowed figure in the living room below. I slashed the Mag-lite in that direction at the same moment.

It was an Asian man, very George-Costanza-ish, but if George was from Japan instead of New York. He looked at me, smiling, and said, very politely, "I'm sorry to bother you, but I have something to show you."

Even though he was mild-mannered and courteous, my heart was still hammering away and that ball in my stomach was now the size of a grapefruit. But, despite all that, I followed him through the living room and into the kitchen, where the entry door was. He turned then and said something to me, but I didn't hear what he said. I was too busy having the most absurd thought I think I have ever had: "He's going to house-jack me. He's going to kill me and live in my house."

The man continued out the entry door and stepped down onto the driveway. Ahead, perched on the top of what seemed like a 12-foot-tall snowbank and perpendicular to the driveway, facing me, was a plum-colored Saturn sedan. The Asian man turned and pointed a large revolver at me. The smile was now a rictus and grotesque.

Then, as is typical of dreams, there was a jump-cut and I was now holding the gun, pointing it at him. He turned and ran down and across the driveway and the lawn toward the street, cackling and screaming that he would be back. I knew that I had to kill him before he could return and kill me. I tried to pull the trigger, but, and this happens a lot to me in dreams, pulling the trigger felt like there was a piece of rubber wedged behind it, like a pencil eraser, because there was some give to it. No matter how much pressure I put on the trigger, I couldn't pull enough to fire it.

That is where the dream ended.

For the first three hours after I woke, I was completely petrified. It was a feeling like you get after going on a roller coaster, but it's not exhilaration, it's terror. When I took a shower, I had to sweep the shower curtain open every 30 seconds, completely sure I would see the man in my bathroom.

I had Creative Writing that afternoon and never stopped writing the entire time while the instructor droned on.

Parts One through Three came out in 3 days. The rest came to me about 3 or 4 years later, telling me that the story wasn't done with me yet. It's changed since then, but isn't that true of all our babies?

So, be loving with what follows. Pass on your knowledge and thoughts. Help him improve himself to be the best he can be.

It takes a village.

Thank you for reading.

~G.R.