It’s locked. But even so, the car starts with this action. You startle, and step away nervously. Maybe it’s self-driving, and it will leave on its own. This seems to be the case at first, as the engine revs...but then, rather than moving forward, the whole vehicle begins to float, as though gravity has ceased.
That’s impossible, you think, remembering all at once the laws of physics, and that this doesn’t seem to fit. “How the-” you start to ask aloud, staring up at the car, and then this universe steps in, silences your protests of reality. The world blurs.
You’re in a lobby, with glossy black marble flooring, a long wooden front desk, and modern red chairs lined up in little rows. You look down to find yourself wearing business attire, with dark gray dress pants, a perfectly fitted blue button up, an open suit jacket in the same gray shade, and shined black dress shoes that wink back up at you.
Confused, you approach the front counter. A heavily made-up young secretary looks up from the computer, then smiles with perfect white teeth, despite the bad news she gives. “You’re late,” she chastises. “The meeting started ten minutes ago.”
You surge, pushed into action as this universe plugs in the details: there’s a budget meeting this morning, you’re supposed to give a presentation, you want that big promotion and need to impress your boss. You’re trying to be there in time, you really are, but the floor you’re let out on seems to have hallways that are endless. Seemingly endless cubicles are passed, as you make twists and turns, taking back stairwells that end out of nowhere, and force you to turn back.
Cursing and sweating, you squeeze your eyes shut and run your hand through your hair. You try going to two doors, then the janitorial closet, and open out into the boardroom entryway. Whatever excuse you planned to give for being late, you forget it immediately as soon as you go in.
The meeting is in full swing, as you were told. A woman stops mid sentence from her Powerpoint explanation to glare at you; perfectly dressed and trimmed business elites are gathered around an oval-shaped table, which is littered with papers and briefcases. The only issue is, this is all taking place on the ceiling. And you seem to be the only person who cares, or even notices.
“Thank you for joining us,” your boss says sarcastically, and waves to an empty chair dismissively. But you stay in the doorway, looking around. The room on the other side is no longer the janitor’s closet, but your living room. You also see in the third person now, watching yourself delve into fury.
“What is going on?!” You shout, refusing to comply with the plot anymore. This doesn’t make any sense, and you’re angry. “What are you doing in my house?”
“You let us rent out the space,” a man says slowly, furrowing his brow. His face implies that you’re the one who’s not being logical, but his tone sounds like a question, a suggestion you might be willing to accept.
“Why are you on the ceiling? How did you even do that?”
The elites look at each other, then at the woman giving the Powerpoint. She bites her lip and glances around, clearing fighting for an answer. Then she brightens and seems to find one. She meets your face, opens her mouth, and starts beeping.
You stare at her, and she just stands like that, mouth open and beeping, loud and repetitive, while still looking at you expectantly. “Shut up,” you yell, and realize you as you are right now are not real. You’re dreaming, and you recognize the noise the woman is making all too well.
“Okay, okay, fine,” you groan over the noise, covering your ears. “I get it. Just- stop.”
Rolling over, you reach out your arm and smack the alarm’s snooze button with a loud thwack. Your eyes squint open at the sun as it filters through the blinds in your room. For a minute you just lie on your back, silently staring into space, blinking your way into full consciousness. Then, with a sigh, you throw off your blankets and turn the clock’s alarm off completely. Your universe has called you back.
You’re still tired.
Photo: Anonymous