Dreamer Easy

Approach

Dreamer Easy

***

        “But this…is my dream,” he said. “At least…I thought it was.” Jack said, fumbling with his words.

         “Yes, yes, Jack. That’s all very true,” Zoe explained. “But couldn’t this very well be one of my dreams as well? I mean, I’m having a pleasant time right now talking to you, silly, explaining this whole dream thing to you and whatnot.”

         “Hmmm…well,” Jack wondered. “Wouldn’t that make me part of your dreams?”

         “Exactly!” she said and tapped him on the shoulder. “You see, Jack…we’re all dreamers here. All the same like that.”

         Jack shook his head. “But I know the difference between reality and fiction. You don’t exist, but I do…out there in the real world.”

         “No, no, Jack. You’re seeing things all wrong.”

         “I’m sorry…I don’t understand…I’ve had a rough day.”

         “Well at least you’re here now, recuperating.” Zoe said.

         “Yeah, I guess so,” Jack said, sighing. “I’m happy when I’m with you.”

***

1.          Approach

        The sidewalk was full of hurried pedestrians. Jack weaved in and out of oncoming people, trying to take note of his current location from the street signs. He didn’t travel on foot that often, and was usually lost without the aid of public transportation. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a plain white business card and glanced down at it. He wasn’t very adept at doing two things at once and shortly thereafter bumped into a quick-stepping business man on his way to work. There was no verbal exchange, just an impatient sigh followed by a hateful glare. Jack didn’t like confrontation, and he was somewhat relieved that this man had been conversing on his cellular phone and didn’t have time to scold him on how he should watch where he was walking.

         “What the hell am I doing?” Jack mumbled under his breath as he weaved between pedestrians. He jay-walked across a block and then turned right towards a tall tower. Jack stood still. He knew where he was now. He grasped the card harder and looked down at it yet again. “This whole thing—is madness,” he thought to himself.

         The previous day, Jack had had a strange encounter with an interesting fellow in a bar not far from his current location. Leto’s Bar? Was that it? He couldn’t remember—probably because he was drunk out of his mind. For all he knew, he could have found this card under the influence, scribbled some words down, and then dreamt some reward-promising stranger gave it to him saying that this building was the end of his problems. Like some kind of alcoholic-induced hallucination. Jack shook his head. He really didn’t care at this point.

         “Might as well start what I finish,” he said aloud. “Er…” He was still a little hung-over from last night.

         He stepped quicker now, the sun casting shadows of huge buildings over the gritty pavement. It was a wonder that the sun shone at all.

         Clouds and smog mixed in the atmosphere, and it was almost impossible to tell one from the other. The sky was pale with grayish clouds spread around the bright yellow orb. It wasn’t a very brilliant day, but then again, they days weren’t very brilliant anymore. The day was ominous in a way only the sky can depict it. Unfortunately for Jack, he did not get a chance to glance at the sky that day—he was in too much of a hurry. But he wasn’t late. He was just anxious.

         Jack wasn’t the type of person who walked calmly towards the unknown. He sprinted there. It was like he wanted to get it over with or something. That’s ironically how he lived his life, too.

         Another three blocks down, he finally spotted a towering gray building, sparsely lit and with very few windows. It looked to be built entirely from cement or stone, and stood out like a sore thumb in the steel jungle. Jack glanced down at the card he was still gripping in his hand, scanned it for a brief second, then quickly looked back up and squinted at the engraving on the building. It seemed as though this was Jack’s destination, although he didn’t think the building was all that inviting.

         Jack’s stomach turned. He began to feel sick, largely uncomfortable, and considered a couple times of turning around. He felt out of place. He had lived his life in such a way that he felt any and all people or organizations would have absolutely no use of his particularly neglected skills. He asked himself why it was him who had been “chosen” for this job, but then reasoned that that identification of what he had been was far too flattering. He attempted to shut off the logical hemisphere of his brain, which did a majority of the work, and tap into his childhood idealism. At this point, ignorance and naivety were Jack Dresden’s best friends.

                In this day and age, if you were stupid and didn’t ask questions, you were better off than those clever ones who had to have “reasons” for things. Jack was, unfortunately enough, too clever. And the world, in response, told him to go fuck himself.

         Jack turned off his brain and walked forward.

         As he approached he began to breathe heavily and then proceeded to clasp his hands to his face in an effort to warm them up. He reached for the door and then stood still with his hand softly on the handle. The door seemed to suffer from the same imperfection that the building did, made from rusted steel with a large metal handle. He wondered why a building of this size did not use a revolving or double door configuration, but then he realized that this invitation was given to him by a figure who was just as questionable as this building seemed to be. Jack wondered why he had taken the man up on his offer and whether or not it would be alright if he just turned around and left. He was sure it would be. But then again, he wasn’t so sure if he would be alright with himself.

         He stood there for another three minutes. In the cold.

         His common sense, however, got the best of him and convinced him that in light of his present dreary situation, this “appointment” was not a decision but an obligation—one that apparently promised an end to his problems. Pessimism quickly began to tear his common sense down with questions along the lines of why a complete stranger would randomly offer him these things just by showing up at an appointment on a certain day, but he then determined that he had no other options at this point, and would regret not showing up if he decided against it.

         “Stop thinking,” he told himself. “For god’s sake, just walk in.”

         He clasped the cold metal handle, and, taking some of his strength and some backward leaning, slowly opened the door. He pushed his side up against the door and slowly walked through. The room was just as frighteningly bland as the façade was—dimly lit, pale walls, a grimy white-tiled floor (which was not so white anymore) and a single block in the wall behind which an aged security guard sat watching a small television behind some glass. There were two chairs, and a small coffee table. He turned around and shut the door loudly so the guard might hear his entrance. Nothing.

         The card was still held in his left hand and he glanced down at it yet again. Just the address, and penciled in on the bottom was the time—noon. He was early. He flipped it over. A single sentence. “Ask for Ian”.

         Jack pocketed the card and looked back up at the security guard. He was wearing a dark blue uniform. He had a light brown coat lying on his desk very similar to the one Jack was currently wearing, although the guard’s looked much newer.

         Jack wasn’t very good with people. As a matter of fact, Jack wasn’t very good at life itself. He was a pessimist, constantly analyzing the worst case scenario over and over until he convinced himself nothing good could come out of something and disbanded the notion altogether. But today, Jack didn’t have time for pessimism. He didn’t have time for worry. He didn’t have time for all this introverted, mind-numbing thought that made Jack who he was. He needed to step up and meet with the rest of civilization. Leave the remote island of his mind and join the rest of society.

         Jack had eluded life for a long, long time. He had eluded responsibility and friendship and meaning and goals and values and morals and questions and people. He had eluded the rest of the world. He had been fine by himself for a long, long time.

         Growing up, Jack had avoided responsibility. In school, he had never played any sports or joined any bands or had any large groups of friends. In church, he had never prayed. Everything important to Jack was in his own head, which was fine with him. But the rest of the world wasn’t fine with Jack. To survive, he needed to be more than himself. He needed to be someone else. He needed to find responsibility and friendships and meanings and goals and values and morals and questions and people. He needed to be somebody. And, as he was told, he was apparently nobody right now.

         He began to walk over to the counter, hoping that the guard would take notice of him and direct him to his appointment, instead of having to approach the guard himself. The officer still stared blankly at the television, facing the opposite direction of Jack, and took no notice of him at all. Jack produced a fake cough to attempt to get his attention. Still no luck.

         With a deep breath, he quickened his pace and finally came to the window. Looking in, he rapped on the clear plastic and the guard swiveled in his chair to face him. The guard spoke nothing but raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.

         “I’m looking for…” he began quietly. His voice was soft but deep. “I’m looking for Ian.”