Excerpt: Dream

"Do you remember what happened last night?" Carson whispered. I nodded slowly, wondering what he was talking about.

"You're not...?" I started, but I didn't know how to finish it without sounding like a complete and total idiot. I cleared my throat and tried again.

"Is this about...what I..." I took a deep breath, summoned all the courage I had in me (which wasn't much), and said, "What I dreamed last night?"

"Not so loud!" was the first thing that Carson said, glancing around to see if anyone was close enough to hear. Then he turned back to me and whispered, "What was the first thing that happened in your dreams?"

"Why do you want to know?" I asked. I didn't know why Carson was acting so strangly, unless he was always like this.

"It'll make sense after you tell me." he said. For about a second I thought about just going back into the band room and starting on the Italian homework my teacher had given me the previous period, but enough of me wanted to know what he was talking about to make me stay.

"I started out in a big white room," I started, then described my dream up until the point that he first came in.

"Do you have a headache?" He asked suddenly.

"No." I said. "I don't get headaches."

"That's...interesting."

"Interesting? How the hell is that interesting? And how is this all supposed to make sense? You said that it would, but it isn't yet."

"The thing is, Julia, I was actually-" he grunted and doubled over, clutching his head. He took some deep breaths and shook his head, straightening.

"Most people can't talk about it." he said slowly. "Everyone that I've ever met in the real world that...knew what I was talking about got a very intense migraine whenever they tried to talk about it; myself included. You're the first person that's ever been able to talk about it here in the real world."

"You're trying to say that that dream last night...wasn't just a dream?"

"Exactly." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather bag. "Look inside here and tell me that you still don't believe me."

I took the bag cautiously and opened it up. I felt around inside and touched something cool and smooth. I pulled it out and saw that it was the small vial with the green smoke.

"You're shitting me." I said, handing him back the vial.

"How would I know what color smoke was in it?" Carson asked, putting it back in his pocket. "Or even that it was in glass? You didn't get that far in your story, but I know because I was there."

"What...what the hell was that place, then?"

"I told you last night." Carson said.

"You called it..." I thought back, trying to remember what he had said. "...Dreamland?"

Carson nodded, then his hand flew to his head.

"Like I said before..." He started. Each word seemed like a difficulty, as if he was pushing them out one after another against a strong force. "I'll explain more tonight. I'll be there...when you come out."

He turned and hobbled back into the band room, and I stood there for a moment, shocked. There was no way that he knew what I had dreamed about last night. I didn’t keep a dream journal like some people, or even a regular diary. I don’t usually talk about my dreams, because to me dreams are just that: dreams, things that no one else is really supposed to know much about. But if I hadn’t told anyone about my dream (and I hadn’t before talking with Carson), then there was only one real explanation: Carson was right. He had to be right, to know that kind of thing.

Once I reached that conclusion, I realized something else: The thought of it scared the shit out of me.