The Frigid Depth Below

Something happened last night. I had another dream where I was in my apartment and there was another me sleeping in my bed. I’ve been curious about why there’s a dream version of me who is always sleeping and what the dream version of me would be like if I woke it up. So, I went into my bathroom, filled a glass of water and then tossed it on him from across the room. As soon as the water hit the sleeping me I felt it hit my face too and I suddenly sat up in bed, wide awake, with water all over me. Along with that was the sound of glass breaking on my bathroom floor.

How could that be? Did I sleepwalk into the bathroom, fill up water, lay back in bed and recover myself, pour the water on my face and then toss the glass into the bathroom just before waking up? That’s certainly possible… more possible than what I’m starting to suspect at least.

Later today I went to the riverfront to find that homeless man. I waited for an hour by the glass statue. A street preacher came by and we talked, mostly about God and science. He had some interesting ideas about how science and faith are not opposed. He suggested that “the only problems with faith and science are the people who have science, but reject faith and the people who have faith, but reject science. The rest of us can find the real answers to the questions we seek.” right now I’m hoping he’s right, because I do have a lot of questions.

As the preacher was about to head on his way I quickly described the homeless man I was looking for and asked if he’d seen him. He had. Actually, he knew the homeless man, said his name was Arnold Lesting. Lesting was retired military who willingly moved to the streets years ago, didn’t use drugs, held some unique religious ideals and may or may not have some mild mental disorder. The preacher also said Arnold Lesting came to the riverfront every day at 6pm for prayer. It was 5:15 so I walked to nearby pizza shop and got 2 slices. At 6:15 I went back to the riverfront and found Arnold kneeling by a large willow at the east bank. I quietly approached him and got about 15 feet away when he shouted out (with his back still to me), “Why are you here, ghost?!” I stopped and paused for a second. “I assume you’re talking to me,” I responded. “I’m not a ghost – I’m a normal guy just like you. I’d just like to ask you a question.” “Go away!” he shouted. I walked closer. “Arnold Lesting, my name is Charles Sceales. I’m not going to hurt you, but I’m not going away either. I just want to know why you’re scared of me. Did I do something to frighten you?”

He was quiet for a moment then he stood up and turned to me, “So, you know my name. You talk to that preacher?” I replied, “I did.” “Well, I recon you ain’t no ghost. He don’t like’em sorts. Plus, I used that dollar you gave me – most places wont take ghost money.” He laughed at himself. “Arnold,” I said. “Why did you think I was a ghost?”

His eyes focused in on me. “I saw what you done when those men took that girl. I saw you grab that man then you vanished in to thin air. Scared the crap out’em. ‘Bout gave me a heart attack too. How’d you do that boy?” My head started spinning. He was describing a dream I recently had. How could he know about that?

I asked him to describe everything he saw in detail and it was spot on – plus he described parts before and after what I recall from the dream. He was talking about it as if had really happened. Did it? Surely I wasn’t sleep walking downtown too.

I know it sounds crazy, but what if I really was there. And if I was, what about the other dreams. Were they real too? And if so, how is that even possible?

I’m a little freaked out right now.

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About Charles Sceales

I'm a guy. I'm 27. I'm engaged. I'm off the meds.
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