Under the Guise

I wake up at half-past four, and my head is spinning; spinning from the dream that seemed so real. The remnants of the affects still lingering, the potent emotions still throbbing, I sit up and try to rub the stress off my face. But it’s like a mosquito bite that won’t go away and all you can do is scratch it until it hurts; until it bleeds.
It was just a dream, or dare I say it, a nightmare? A nightmare, because there weren’t any green hairy monsters chasing me or freaky corpses trying to kill me, but because there was reality, and probability.
I look at the time again, now four forty-five a.m. I throw the blankets aside, and slip out of bed to get a good look at myself in the mirror. The bags under my eyes are getting bigger by the day, but I welcome them. Somehow, they are minor consequences of the day and tangible evidence of the so-called rest I get at night. What I don’t approve of, is my hair. It’s too perfectly combed and calm, so unlike the normal bed-hair people get when they wake up. It is especially not consistent with the kinds of nights I’ve been having. It’s such a lie, a phony. I mess up my hair on purpose, and surprisingly it makes me feel better. I look like I’ve had a terrible night, which I have.
I turn away, and head for the stairs. With every step I make, I try to retrace the ones that occurred in the altered reality of my dreams. But with each step, the events that took place in the figment of my imagination become more and more hazy.
With this blurred vision, I squint and try to remember. I’m already at the refrigerator now, pulling out the milk even though I hate it. Milk has always been just a companion for eating cereal; nothing more and nothing less. But now, I drink it because it’s all I got in the refrigerator. I pour it out slowly into a mug, still rummaging through what’s left of my memories of the dream.
It’s on the tip of my tongue, like when I can’t think of a famous person’s name but his face is dead clear behind my eyes, or like when I’m listening to a song that I can’t remember the title of but it’s about to roll out of my mouth. But just like that, it’s gone. I can’t recall it. What’s most aggravating, is that the emotions, the feelings, are still there. My reactions, my heart still needing to catch its breath, my sweaty nose, all these things coming together and making that nightmare true.
It happened, it must’ve happened. I felt it, and I still feel it through my veins. This is what made it real, and I know it had truth because my emotions were there with me. It is a token of proof that though this dream was just a part of my sleeping cycle, it was concrete.
This is what Alzheimer’s must feel like. Having everything to show for, and no idea how or where or why or when it got there and for what purpose. I feel like a valedictorian, asked to give a speech at the graduation. A great privilege no doubt, but something I’d rather pass on. The moment comes, and I blank out. I blank out, even though my speech is right in front of me. I can only stare back, with my mouth open a bit, at the full auditorium, at the same time wishing to God that I had the ability to imagine I was alone in that big room.
With me at that very moment, I had the certificates, but no recollection of how I possessed them. I remembered though, too clearly, that I was burning, burning, burning. Burning with rage, then burning with excitement, and then burning with sadness. These substances that burned inside, were so hot I could feel it tearing me up from inside out. I knew it was taking over, I wanted it to. With this surging proof, I willed myself to wake up. My head was spinning, and by now it had almost stopped. While gulping down the thick, white medicine, I think. I remember and understand all the steps and transitions of the evidence I hold. It’s wearing off, and disappearing too quickly. I almost want it to linger and wait awhile just in case it hits me again, but I know it won’t. So, I head back upstairs and slip in-between the covers, and stare at ceiling. It stares back at me.
I remember now, it wasn't a dream.
I wake up to the alarm.