VIN (a.k.a. "Untitled") PT 6

...will give life to my insanity. It will confirm everything. Or it will scare him away. On the other hand, I can’t sit in this gazebo forever.

I close my eyes and see the library with the French doors leading to the sunny garden just beyond. I watch the fire burning in the fireplace. If I concentrate, I can smell the burning wood, the brewed coffee on the side table, the food. Most clearly, I can see him. I watch in amazement as he looks for me, sees me standing in the entry, and smiles. Taking an unexplainable leap of faith, I close my eyes and describe it all to Earnest.

“That’s good.” Earnest says. “Why are you standing in the entry?”

“I’m always standing in the entry. I never go inside completely.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not real.”

“How do you know that it’s not real if you never go inside the room?”

“It's beginning to sound like we’re both a little bit off our rockers.”

Earnest smiles.

“I’m not crazy and you’re not either.” He says. “Have you ever wondered why you went to all of this trouble to create this room?” He asks. “Maybe you stored something important in there.”

“What?”

“Your deepest, most secret dream for the future, your purpose, a piece of you that you’ve never let anyone else see. Something important that you want to keep safe. You’ll never find out if you don’t go inside the room.”

“What if I go in and can’t get back out?”

“You’ll always be able to come back out as long as you remember that anything that’s stopping you from leaving is all in your head. I’ll be with you the whole time.” Earnest reassures me. He thinks that he’s reassuring me at any rate.

“How many organs will you be harvesting while you wait?” I ask.

“Do I look like the kind of man who would harvest your organs?”

“No. You look friendly. Serial killers are usually those friendly, quiet men that help out with community events. The ones that no one ever has anything bad to say about and then one day...poof! Twenty bodies are discovered in their basement. What do the neighbors all say? ‘He was such a nice guy. Always kept his trash cans put away.’ You disappear without warning and reappear without explanation. It doesn’t exactly scream boy scout.”

“Close your eyes.” He repeats. “Turn it off. Turn everything off that’s going on inside of your head.”

As I’ve said before this is not a typical day and at this point I’m willing to try anything. I close my eyes. If something does go wrong, I hope that whatever happens to me is quick and that the police find my body right away so Kelly has some sort of closure.

“Turn it all off.” He says again. “The random thoughts, the insecurities, the criticisms. Turn every last bit of it off.” Earnest says. “Have you turned it off?”

“Yes. Most of it.”

“Okay. Now I want you to picture that room.”

I’m still conscious, I don’t feel myself bleeding. Good. I decide that Earnest might be trying to help.

“Where are you?” He asks.

“Standing in the entry, as always.”

“Go inside.”

“What if I can’t come back out?”

“You said that it isn’t real. If it isn’t real then you can’t get stuck inside, can you?”

“Don’t crazy people get lost in their minds all the time?” I ask.

“There’s a difference. Crazy people don’t wonder if they’re crazy. You do. You’re practically obsessing about it. You aren’t crazy. Now go into the room.”

I slowly slide one foot over the threshold.

“Keep going.”

“How far?”

“Far enough that the man sees you.”

“Where are you going with this?” I ask.

“Just do it.”

I stop sliding my feet and step inside. Looking around the room, I don’t see the handsome stranger immediately. Then something moves along my peripheral vision. I turn towards it and see a foot. He must be sitting in a reading chair.

Two deep brown leather wing back chairs sit next to the fireplace.

“Feel free to come closer, it’s your dream after all.” A voice says. It’s gentle, yet deep.

I feel comforted when I hear it. I follow the voice to the handsome man in my dream, sitting in the chair. He is tall, on the thin side, with fair hair and blue eyes.

“So tell me, what have you been up to since we last met my dear.”

I sit down in the matching chair that faces him and calmly tell him everything.

"Earnest, the name of a serious soul." He says.

"Earnest says that I have something important stored in this room and that I should come in even though it's not real."

"What do you think?" He asks.

"I don't know whether it's safe to trust the man."

"You can always trust a man named Earnest to be serious, steadfast, and honest with his pursuits."

"So he's not a serial killer or anything?" I ask.

"I didn't say that. But if a man named Earnest means to do you harm, you can be sure that he will tell you up front. Did he?"

"Did he what?"

"Indicate that he means to do you harm."

"He insists that he wants to help."

"Then he must be helping my dear."

“He’s not. Earnest can’t be helping as long as he encourages me to return here. To return to my dreams.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I have to stop dreaming. I spend too much time in my dreams. They’re not real. They’re never going to be real.”

The man looks at me with a thoughtful expression. “No, not entirely.” He admits.

A sound of disapproval crosses my lips. “That’s not the most helpful answer.”

“You wanted me to tell you that you’re wrong to dream. I can’t do that. I won’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Because you can make it real.”

I look at him.

“Before we get into that, think about this, if you don’t dream what will you write about? Maybe you have these dreams for a reason. To tell stories.”

I begin to argue.

“I’m not finished yet. What about this room, this house? If you always dream of this house and really want one like it, look for a house like this one, when you find it buy it, rent it, lease it...heck build one like it and move in. Put a desk over there,” he says as he makes a gesture with his head. “Put a side table along the entry wall, put two chairs like these in front of a fireplace, plant a garden outside just beyond a pair of French doors. Voila, the dream is real.”

“That would take a long time.” I point out.

“Making dreams come true takes a long time. It’s a lot of work.”

“What about you? You’re in my dreams.”

“I can’t be a part of your reality.”