Dreamers [#Wattys2020]

13.

Noah.

I'm smugly content with myself as I lay among the mountain of pillows and blankets on my bed. The happiness that surges through me makes me feel like a teenager again. I was hopeful and part of me is so glad to experience that again. The adult side of, however, still nags about the fact that this can't be possible. How am I able to actually meet Rover Baxton face to face? I know that the twitter message proves this, but there's a small percentage of my consciousness that rationalizes this as just being a pure coincidence. Luckily, last night was way too much fun for me to question it further.

Watching the sun peer out from behind my curtains, I decide to get up and get ready for my university classes that I don't plan on missing today.

I pull out my gray T-shirt with blue embroidery and a simple pair of jeans to battle the day in.

As I rummage through my kitchen for breakfast I'm also doing my best to pack up any books or pencils I would need for my classes.

"Good morning, sweetheart," my dad says as he walks in.

"Good morning," I return his welcome words.

"Are you in a hurry?" he asks as he turns on the coffee maker. "You're buzzing around like a bee."

"I'm just happy," I tell him.

"Okay, then," he says his eyes opening wide and brows lifting.

"I've got to go," I say.

"Well. have a good day," he replies.

I make sure to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, "Love you, daddy."

"Love you too," he says as I'm putting my shoes on and rushing out the door.

I'm on the first city bus into town, passing by the Ottawa river and towering buildings. 

The university takes up a pretty big chunk of the downtown core, some buildings old, some new. It's been here for what seems like forever, even my parents went here. In fact, this is where they met.

My first class today was just another one of my design classes. Learn theory, put it into practice, repeat. The professor is fairly decent at teaching, but I'm more interested in just being able to let my creativity out when she hands out projects.

My second and final class for the day is my last general education class, psychology.

"Welcome, welcome," my professor is quick to get us all seated.

He's on the younger side compared to most of the teachers at this school, but I guess if anyone would try and connect with us on a deeper level it would be him.

Professor Carling is a unique individual, at least that's what I've heard from people in his other classes. Apparently, as a child, he spent a whole year in a coma before waking up with knowledge he couldn't have known at the time. He was quickly tested and officially became a part of Mensa at nine-years-old.

"Today's class," he says leaning on the podium at the front of the lecture hall, "we are exploring a really fascinating subject. Dreams."

On the inside, my mind switches on my awareness to the point where I can't take my eyes off of whatever he's saying.

"I'm sure most of you," he starts, "have heard of the notion that dreams are the way your subconscious talks to you. Well, the truth is that nobody really knows."

He moves over to the chalkboard where he writes down Dream.

"Tell me what you know," he sends the invitation out to the class, "or tell me what you assume a dream is."

"A memory?" someone in the back of the class hesitantly calls out.

The professor writes it down before turning back to us, "What else?"

"Where I get to sleep with whoever I want," some guy calls out.

"Sexual fantasies," the professor says as he writes. "Anyone else?"

A few of the students chuckle at his candidness.

"What about lucid dreams?" I say from my seat.

"Interesting subject," he tells me as he puts it on the board.

As he spins on his feet to look at us again he places his piece of chalk back on the ledge of the board.

"Back hundreds, thousands, of years ago," he says with wonder, "dreams were associated with religious beliefs. For one, it was the way an individual could speak with their God or Gods. Freud had some interesting thoughts. Jung speculated that dreams were different parts of a person's being."

I couldn't help but believe that this was the universe's way of explicitly telling me that I might not be going crazy after all.

"Studies," Professor Carling continues, "report a lot on the different factors that can influence someone's dreams. Whether the dream itself is in black and white or colour. Got a crush? What about a secret? You're probably more likely to experience things that you've been thinking about a lot."

Once the class is dismissed after an hour or so, I can't help but try and get more answers about my dreams.

"Professor Carling?" I walk over to him.

He looks up to me as he packs his stuff, "What can I help you with?"

I go right into my question, "Have there ever been studies about people having the exact same dream?" 

For a second he stops to think before answering, "Personally, I haven't read any and the articles you'll find online are mostly unreliable. However, there have definitely been people who've reported that they've had a shared dream with multiple people. It could be mass hysteria or, most likely, other psychological problems."

"But not impossible?" I push further.

"Not impossible?" he questions back. "Are you asking because-"

I cut him off, "No, no! I'm just curious."

"Well, be careful," he giggles, "it's quite the rabbit hole to fall down into."

"I'll do my best to jump over it," I tell him, "but if you do ever see anything, could you let me know?"

"Sure," he smiles, "I'll make sure to keep an eye out."

"Thank you," I reply before leaving.