Since When Did Dreams Weigh
by Jonathan Ornelas
When writing my emotions, I seem to write myself in this maze, in the center is an unknown object which will inform me of an unknown subject that I’ve known has always existed; I know nothing awaits at the center, but now I think my bed has been at the center this whole time. When gleam surfaces my eyelids, I wake in bed and gain this weight on my chest which the doctor informs me is anxiety. To relieve this great weight, I think of myself lying in bed when the day is over, how I’ll undress myself until being fully naked (the benefits of sleeping naked outweigh the negatives). I ravel under my covers, leaving this stressful world as I dream of my bed.
I live in a subjective state of affairs; I die every night, I’m reborn in the morning. If only every part of me would die; my stressful state of mind, the knowledge I’ve gain in these 24 years of living, the memory others carry of me; memories of irrational behavior is all what others think of me these days, perhaps that would erase this anxiety I gain from leaving my bed.
The reason of writing this is because writing about my bed helps me understand this obsession. I’m hoping to reach the center of this maze so I can replace my bed with something that dreams of me. I seem to daydream too much about my bed these days (my bed thinks nothing of me). I daydream about my bed in conversations with other students at campus, I find myself annoying them because of my constant requests of having them repeat themselves of details of assignments, their routines, and of other subjects which may unfold during a conversation. Anahit seemed annoyed when I drifted off into a memory of a dream I had two nights before; a dream of her lying in bed with me, not a sexual dream; she sat by my side and dreamed for dreams of excitement. Dreaming that dream didn’t fulfill my dream of asking her out for coffee.
I step out of bed the following morning, the weight in my chest begins forming so I daydream about the day finishing. The weight in my chest remains. I drive towards campus, I stop at a red light, the weight in my chest increases two-fold. I park my car on the side of the road, grab the handle on the side of the seat, lying down until falling asleep. I wake up, look to my clock and see that I’ve slept for 3 hours; l missed two classes. One of those classes Anahit sits next to me.
With no destination I decide to drive home and start on an 8-page essay; which is due in 48 hours. I find the front door wide open. Could of swore I locked the door? My house is trashed; family photos smashed, televisions stolen, my dogs killed. I enter my room and see the floor I mopped still reflecting the ceiling fan, my books organized, everything still in place. Except for my bed, which is missing.
The frame of my bed has a note I have Anahit, she’ll be at 134 Bradley Ave, if you come get her, fine, if you don’t come within 24 hours, I’ll burn your mattress with Anahit tied to it.
To be honest, if that person just took Anahit, I wouldn’t go risk my life, but the fact that this person took the only thing that relieves my anxiety; I must go, I don’t have the money to buy a new bed.
I drive towards the destination, I daydream about the linins of my mattress soaking gasoline, I also think of Anahit and wonder who could have kidnapped her, I also wonder why this kidnapper would expect me to be the type of person who dreams themselves as a hero. I remember this guy who constantly looks at me in the hallways before I enter the class I have with Anahit; he sneers when Anahit laughs at my jokes. I remember asking her who that guy is, she tells me not to worry about him; that person dreams of a mattress with her yet no sleep occurs.
I reach the destination. Weight increases. Feels as though the foundation of the house that’s entering my imagination is my heart. I can’t daydream of what to do. Should I go in undetected on the tip of my toes? Should I take off my shoes so the noise doesn’t travel? What if I have to run, should I leave my shoes in the car? No, I’ll just go in there as if the house is mine; the note said if I get her, fine. He could be lying? Each question adds a story to the house crushing my heart.
I enter the home next to 134 Bradley Ave, the front yard has a ‘for sale’ sign from some real estate company, no one is in this house. I rush into the first room I see and see a mattress and the weight in my chest vanishes. I lie down. I drift into a dream of being with my mattress.
I wake up. I look to the time on my phone. Oh, no. I only have 5 minutes until the 24-hour deadline is up. I slept for 10 hours.
I leave that house and see a woman in business attire looking at me with an open mouth; an eyebrow curved. What are you doing here, she asks. Sorry, wrong house, I’m supposed to be in that house, I say pointing at the 134 address.
Entering 134 Bradley Ave, I immediately see Anahit tied to my mattress. The person Anahit told me not to dream about ignites matches ten paces away from the mattress. You’re late, he says. Weight increases in my chest. I rush towards his direction. The weight hasn’t come back since.
Jonathan Ornelas is an emerging writer, now at the point in his career where he is beginning to submit his work for publication. Jonathan has witnessed earth orbit the sun 24 times and wants to see it orbit forever.