Enlarging a dream fragment

By Shevlin Sebastian

When I awoke on a recent morning, I saw an image of me standing on a sidewalk and staring at a movie hall on the opposite side.

I expanded on the image later in the day.

This was what I wrote:

I am standing on a pavement. Opposite me, there is a huge billboard which is advertising a film. The movie hall is behind it. I stare at the board. People are walking past, left to right, right to left. Cars are also going past.

A man walks down the street. He wears a white suit and white shoes. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. He stops in front of me.

I say, “Who are you?” 

He turns to look at me. Slight stubble on his upper lip. 

“I am the hero of this film,” he says, pointing at the billboard. 

“And your name?” I ask. 

“Chris Jones,” he replies. 

“You came to see the audience's reaction?” I say. 

“Exactly,” he says. “Do you want to see it?”

“Sure, why not, if you are buying the ticket?” I say. 

Chris grins and says, “Sure, of course.” 

We cross the street. He buys the tickets at the counter. We enter the foyer and climb the steps to the first floor. 

As we stand outside the door of the hall, I say, “Is there time for a chat?” 

Chris looks at his watch. Then he nods and says, “About two minutes.” 

I ask about his life.

Chris is originally from Burbank, California. His father was a chef, his mother a teacher. They did not discourage him when he said he wanted to be an actor. 

“Just see that you have a talent for acting,” his father Eddie said. 

“And do you?” I say. 

Chris smiles. 

“Not major league,” he says. “So far, it’s second tier.” 

“Very honest,” I say, as I pat his arm in appreciation and add, “Why have you come into my dream?”

Chris narrows his eyes and says, “I didn’t know I am in a dream.”

“Yes, you are,” I say. “Mine.” 

Chris stares at me.

“I don’t know why I have come,” he says.  

“Maybe you represent an archetype,” I say. 

“What does that mean?” he says. 

“Never mind,” I say. “Let’s enjoy the movie.” 

When Chris sits, his knees almost hit the head of the person sitting in front of him. ‘Wow, long legs,’ I think. 

We watch silently. There is not much of a crowd. Or a crowd reaction. People remain quiet throughout. No claps or standing ovations. Occasionally, Chris looks around. Then he rubs his hand through his hair in slow motion. I know he is not feeling good. I see him look once or twice at the ceiling. 

When the movie gets over, we walk out silently. 

On the road, he turns to look at me and said, “So what do you think?”

I know I have to be diplomatic.

“It’s okay,” I said. 

He knows I have been polite. 

“Let’s have something,” he said.

We walk into a cafe.

He orders a café au lait and cookies. I do the same. 

We look at each other. 

“I am sorry,” I said. 

“Yeah, the film is not doing well,” he said. “They will yank it after the last show on Thursday.” 

I nod. 

“Hits and misses,” he said. “That’s what life is all about. You may have a hit by meeting the right woman who becomes your wife, but your film can be a flop.”

We laugh spontaneously. 

“Well said,” I reply. 

“Thank you,” he said, as he takes a sip of his coffee. I also sip from my cup. 

I reach out and shake his hand. 

“Look, it’s time for me to get up,” I said. “I have to bring this dream to an end. Morning chores await me. Buying milk, reading the newspaper, making breakfast.” 

He nods, “Okay, it was nice to have met you.” 

We shake hands.

I open my eyes and get out of bed.