Dreams that Passed

My eyes open to the view of a neatly organised living room dyed by the hues of a setting sun. Considering the size of the space, how far away the kitchen is and the elevated views present out the window, I conclude that I’m inside an apartment. This in itself is not abnormal, since I do live in an apartment. What makes this scenery feel off is that everything is higher than it needs to be. It’s as if I've shrunken down to a smaller size. What’s also bizarre is that I have full control of my seemingly smaller body. 

I’m able to walk up to the furniture in front of me, which is an overly large TV you’d find in a typical household in the 2000’s standing on top of an oak colored drawer. I’m able to hear the ambiance of the TV static fill the room, the faint clanks of cutlery echoing from the kitchen, a faint whine of a washing machine rumbling from a distant room. 

I’m able to inspect the pictures hung on the wall, which displayed the captured moments of a happy looking family. They were littered across the remaining wall-space that wasn’t already covered by shelves filled with memorabilia.

This room is filled with the memories of a living family. That’s why this situation is absurd. On that wall are pictures of me and my family from my younger years.

A family that no longer exists.

     “Ah! There you are!”
The sudden appearance of a voice scared me speechless. I got so absorbed in the relaxing atmosphere of this space that I failed to notice a female voice approaching. A voice I thought I'd forgotten.
    “My dear John! Please don’t run away from your dinner like that, you bad boy!”
Mom rushed to me from my right. Despite sounding slightly stern and annoyed, she still smiled at me wholeheartedly. She probably found this scene to be adorable.
But wait. Me? Run away from what? Oh, don’t tell me it’s-
     “Come on John, you’ll only get ice cream after you’ve finished aaaaaaaall of your veggies!”
So it was the vegetables. I never was a fan of those brussel sprouts that mom made. Her offer was followed up by another familiar voice that came from the distant room’s direction.
    “Did John run away again?”
Dad’s here too? How are the two of them here?
    “Hehe, he’s just as much of a scaredy-cat as you!”
    “Hah! I’ll have you know that I eat all of my vegetables.”
The two begin to do their usual routine of poking at each other. Mom focused on the figure that now occupied the doorway leading to the other rooms and began to exaggeratedly act out her words.

    “So then! What about aaaaall those tomatoes and mushrooms you leave behind, hmmmm?”
    “Well, first off, tomatoes are a fruit and fungi-”
    “Stop!”
Mom shot her hand out at Dad with a stop sign inspired gesture.
    “Don’t even THINK about bringing up that poor attempt at an excuse. As a proud and manly father, you should present as an example of an elevated male that can handle a few mere vegetables. Ah! I know!”
She suddenly spun towards me and began to exaggeratedly act out her speech turned song.
    “Little John! If you! Eat more veggies than your Dad! You’ll get more ice cream than him too! Now how does THAT sound? Like a deal?”
    “Don’t overfeed him on ice cream! That’ll ruin the point of having a healthy dinner.”
Mom turned her attention back to the bickering coming from Dad, who hasn't moved from that doorway.
    “Soooooo what? It’ll only be a once off reward! That is... unless yooooooou keep leaving behind those vegetables!”

Their little theatrically exaggerated spat about ice cream and vegetables continued. You could tell that they enjoyed acting out their little private play. In this moment they were two actors up on a stage, performing just for me, their sole audience member.
…
Their bickering became muffled as I drowned myself in thought. Just what is this, exactly?
The only conclusion I can come to is that this scene is a memory of mine, one I’m able to re-experience. This is a reminder that there were times like these.

That’s right.
This is one snapshot of those peaceful days, those priceless moments.
All of it did happen, and I was there to witness it.
These happy times are still a part of me. I needed to be reminded of this fact.
Despite it all, I was here, and I was happy.

The sudden start of an alarm halted the performance.
Without missing a beat, Mom was the first to take action.
    “AH! The timer! Come on John! We need to turn it off now now now!”
She grabbed my small hand and began leading me towards the kitchen. The beeping became more uncomfortable the closer we inched towards the kitchen doorway.
    “Don’t drag him like that.”
    “But the alarm!”
    “You know, it will keep ringing until you turn it off. There is no rush.”
    “That’s exactly why we need to turn it off now now now!”

Despite Mom physically pulling me towards the kitchen, she still managed to act out some of her words at Dad. She continued dragging me through that memory, that warmly tinted moment in time. We crossed the border to the kitchen, and then I-

Everything turned black.

My consciousness is involuntarily turned on.
That alarm continues to ring.
I’m forced to acknowledge that I’ve awoken into reality.

    “A dream…”
Why that scene? Why did I have to see it again?
…
These questions are a waste of time. I dreamed about a moment from my past. So what? Why should I care?
…
That was bad. I have to care for these moments. Those times are what give me the will to continue. The will to not end it all.
And yet, I find that I still haven't sprung out of bed.
I still lie there, underneath the bed-sheets. That alarm keeps blaring, echoing off the award-decorated walls of this cheap apartment room. It seems that today is one of those rare days. A day I feel unmotivated, thanks in part to that dream. The alarm that I've set for 5:55 continues to poke at my eardrums, taunting me for my moment of weakness.

That’s right. I need to toughen up immediately. If anyone else sees this weakened version of me, that means I’ll be over. I can’t let this mountain of work I’ve done crumble down.

With random tears dropping down my cheeks, I force myself up and turn that alarm off.
    “Ha… ha… ha…”
It took extraordinary effort to get out of bed today. That means today will be extraordinarily difficult. Even if it will be harder than normal, I don’t have any other choice in the matter. I need to commit to everything, no matter what. I can’t show a moment of weakness to anyone. Not in this environment.

My feet guide me to one of my remaining sources of determination. It’s a small framed photograph of us at an amusement park, back when it used to come around yearly at our home town.
Sorry, Mom, Dad. My strength does waver sometimes. I’m not the invincible son you wanted. But I will still strive to do better. I will do better than everyone else. That is my guarantee. That is my unbroken promise. For your sakes, I will come out on top of it all. I’ll show them all.

With my re-found energy, I set off to do my morning run. The rest of the routine will follow after that. I need to be in tip top shape today. As someone who’s been at the top of this university for a year, the principal asked me to greet these newcomers as their reliable senior. Considering the typical excitement and ego of first years, I imagine I'd get more challengers to defeat. This is a very serious matter to me, considering my status as the unbeaten one.

Not once have I lost a duel of any kind, be it in a sport or a test. That is my pride in this university for the elites. I am better than them. I have the results that prove this fact. I drive this fact into their face whenever any results get released. That nobody that you dismiss, that you don’t even know of, someone with no important background, outdid you. That is what keeps me going. That proof of my record, of my achievements, that evidence that shows, undoubtedly, that I am better.

I keep repeating my greatest achievement to myself over and over. This undeniable fact of reality is what keeps me going.

After the run, shower, breakfast and email routines, I give a quick glance around the living room before I leave for university. The numerous awards on all four walls reflect their achievements back at me. They are the material result of all my hard work. I will continue to work as I have for another day.
I lock the door behind me at 8:00.

The commute to the university takes around twenty minutes on foot. The path I usually take leads through the finance district where the tallest high-rise buildings reside. The streets are litter-less and freshly paved with those signature shiny gray tiles. Some trees are present, providing some shelter from any parts of the sun that manage to get around the buildings. The streets are relatively empty at the moment. This makes it too easy to spot a familiar black car passing by at a slow speed, as if it were stopped moments ago. This could mean only one thing.
    “George, the semester hasn’t started yet. Why are you already following me around?”
    “Ah, it seems that I’ve been caught. Nothing ever goes by you unnoticed, does it John?”
    “Your car is very noticeable, just like the intentions behind its passing.”
I stop my movement and turn around to spot the man walking casually towards me, dressed in a fine black suit accompanied by a dark red tie. He lifted both of his hands into the air and looked down smugly. He purposely set this interaction up to react like this.
    “You caught me yet again.”
    “Yeah, good morning to you too, George.”
He let gravity push his arms back down and readjusted his glasses as he approached my side.
    “Why yes, what a wonderful sunny morning, isn't it John? The weather is perfect for greeting the incoming generation.”
    “Yeah.”

It's a clear and cool autumn morning, with the sunrise hues dyeing all of the scenery in that signature yellow tint. The wind is just barely noticeable, while the air feels crisp enough to be pleasant to walk through in fairly light clothing. George's suit doesn't look like it can keep in a lot of heat, so it's perfect for a walk in such weather.
While walking in such nice weather is an understandable choice to make, something about this situation felt off. It wasn't the fact that George was walking with me again, it's the intentions behind this repeated action.
    “Seriously, George, why do you keep walking with me in the mornings?”
    “Seriously, John, I already told you.”
    “I don’t buy your reason. You’re rarely straight with me.”
This caused an uncharacteristic laughter to come out of George.
    “Haha, nice double meaning. I give it… five points.”
    “Out of what?”
He stops to think for a few seconds. He even does the thinking pose.
    “Hmmmmmm. Eight.”
    “Why eight?”
    “It was the first number that came to mind.”
No it wasn’t.
    “It was five.”
    “So confident! And true! You got me again, John.”
George lifted his arms up in defeat once more. He’s making this interaction overly exaggerated.
    “I told you, you’re never str-eight with me.”
This caused George to spit out in laughter.
    “Hahaha! You’re on the ball today John! Did something good happen?”
    “No? My morning was just like every other.”
That was a bit of a lie.

George Brillion. This is the man that keeps sticking by my side, constantly challenging me to spontaneous tests or matches. Throughout the past year, he has grown to be a thorn in my side, one which cannot simply be labeled as good or bad. While his constant attempts at competition cause my victories to grow, it can be sometimes annoying to deal with his… personality.

One thing that I can say is that… sometimes… these conversations with him are nice. Totally pointless, unnecessary, but nice.
The soft morning colours surrounding me, along with this carefree conversation between what could look like two friends, remind me of those feelings I felt during that dream. Same colours, different time and different people. Yet, the same feeling is present.
At this moment in time, there is a faint happiness. A rare moment of peace.

...
I had to break that peace.

    “So, what do you think the principal meant by “show yourself off” to the crowd?”
    “He definitely did not mean anything related to your appearance.”
    “Thanks. I wasn’t thinking that.”
    “But now you are.”
This guy, I swear. I feel myself automatically nodding in disapproval of his implied words.
    “George, please.”
    “Right, right. I’m surprised you're even asking. Just show yourself. It’s not that difficult, considering your GRADES AND RESULTS THAT TOWER OVER EVERYONE ELSE’S.”
    “Ah. You’re right.”
    “THAT INCLUDES MY OWN.”
    “You don’t have to shout.”
George shot me a dead-man’s look.
    “Yes I do. You know that.”
    “Yeah, I do.”

He clicked his tongue in frustration as he turned his head away to readjust his glasses. I knew he’d be salty about that. It’s on him to become better, to work even harder.
I begin to wonder if George will work harder this year. I hope he gets over that thing that keeps holding him back. That's what it felt like every time he challenged me. Something is preventing him from being better than me.
A small part of me wishes for him to get over that barrier, for him to become someone better in both mind and ability. But that would make winning harder. That would mean that the achievement of overcoming someone who’s at their peak will be greater than the others. But that could also lead to a loss.
I cannot lose, but I want him to become better.
…
I’ll stick to my own abilities. If he’ll get better, then so be it. I’ll put in even more work to compensate. That’s how I've always tackled this problem, so that’s how I’ll continue to handle it.

I begin to think about another opportunity; the incoming students. How many will try to challenge me? I’ll need to plan out my schedule to account for such encounters. However, considering the situation at hand, such changes can wait.
Right now, I gotta focus on coming up with a plan.

How will I start this show for this new audience?