Dr. Dreamy

     --In my experience, no matter how well you know someone, they perpetually surprise you. I can’t even count on myself sometimes. So when you ask me that question, 'what was she like?' You’re really asking, what was she like to me? Which is really asking what it's like to be me. And that cannot be answered. Words will do us no justice. She was... a part of me, a part of what it was like to be me and without her, being me is different.--

    --Different how? That's the same question! I don't know, it's just different. Colors look different, cold feels colder, parts of my body feel heavier and other parts feel lighter. I think differently. I value different things and enjoy the same things for different reasons. I like old music for new reasons and new music for reasons I haven’t yet internalized.-- 

    --Sometimes I still argue with her. I think, in the stress of losing her, I created a little ghost of her inside my brain that I throw derisive insults at occasionally. And plead with. And ignore bitterly. All the things I wish I’d done instead of fading away. But it's too late for that now I suppose.--

    --Yeah, she was beautiful. That’s a nice picture, where did you get that? Facebook, right, she blocked me long ago. Yeah. Ya know, I never really realized how much hair matters. She had beautiful hair. When I met her it was short and neat. Businesslike. But after a year or so it was long and lustrous. Thick, dark and earthy. It felt like a mixture between wood and water; soft and refreshing but also stinging and heavy. I remember it so well and in so many different ways. Falling over my face, creating a tunnel between mine and hers so that we could look at each other in total privacy, thin ribbons of light peeking through, coursing along the tunnel like veins. Corded, wrapped in my hands and pulled taught, twisting like DNA with smooth scalloped wakes and cresting ridges. Loose and tousled, streaming with careless design over her eyes in strategic positions, creating perfect little shadows and lending her an organic aspect. She let it grow so long that it almost covered her whole ass! I always likened it to Rapunzel but she said it made her look like a, “bad bitch.” Which... she really was. Class every morning, work every day, library every night, club all weekend. She had no time for nerds so how I made the cut, to this day remains a mystery.-- 

    --Sorry, sorry, I digress. You almost lost me there! What was it that you asked? Oh yes. I’ve been back four times now, in total. The first time was accidental, obviously. And the other three times have been purposeful--I thought you said you’d read my report? Oh. Yes, very well. For the viewers. Well, like I said, the first time was an accident; after a few short bewildering minutes I panicked, lost focus and found myself back in my dim basement, beer in hand. I need to be actively remembering to stay in control. The longest I’ve maintained stability was about thirteen hours, give or take.-- 

    --I haven’t been back because I began to notice something troubling on the last two trips. If I don’t remember something completely, that portion is filled by my unconscious creativity. This becomes particularly troubling when I don’t remember exactly how she reacted or what she said in certain situations. Her personality gets auto-filled with bits and pieces of memory and emotion and she begins to behave irrationally. Even though it's the same day over and over again, the same exact circumstance, differences began to sprout up between the memories. The last time I went in, it was like she remembered being there before, seeing me and spending the day with me. Remembered being a memory. Her left pinky had developed a twitch, a twitch that I never remember being there before. How did it come to be there? Is my memory of her somehow separate from me? If I fuck her in my dreams am I violating her out here in the real world? Oh, you can’t say, “fuck” on TV! Oh, I’ve said it again!--

    --Okay, okay. So, we still know very little about what’s going on here. The scientific ramifications are yet unexplored and potentially numerous. However, the question I find most intriguing is, does my memory, my perception of her, the way that I feel about her, exert an influence upon her in the real world? Obviously this is a very frightening question, for if it winds up that, yes, my thoughts about you, change you, then very probably everyone’s thoughts about everyone change everyone. We know at some level that we don’t have control over our lives, but it would certainly be frightening to reveal that our lives were essentially crowd-sourced impressions. On the other hand, it would prove, once and for all, that all human beings are connected and rely on one another for identity and happiness. It would turn out, in the end, that happy thoughts equal happy people. Who’d’a thunk?-- 

    --So for the last eight months my team and I have been preparing to answer this question. Yeah. No, it was difficult to be sure. She didn’t like the idea at all at first. I mean can you imagine? My assistant calls her out of the blue, tells her about my experience and my project? She wanted to sue us at first, issue a restraining order! To be fair it is a little weird, I know that. But I’m approaching it from a purely scientific perspective. No ulterior motives, no schemes. Just the spirit of exploration. So once my assistant explained everything to her and drew strict boundaries, isolating the specific nature of our relationship, her role within the experiment and her compensation for participating, she reluctantly agreed. For obvious reasons, her and I can’t have any contact before the experiment takes place.--

    --No. You cannot see what I can see while I’m in the memory, for that would be to replicate experience itself, but I can record my findings and narrate my experience to the room through the scanner. No, it’s only one-way communication at this point. I can project my thoughts through the scanner, but any outside influence might disrupt my focus and alter the inner-world irrevocably. It has to be like a real memory, completely insulated.-- 

    --What? Yes of course I’m nervous and of course I’m worried. We haven’t seen each other in so long, and obviously so much was left unspo--What? Oh about the show. Yes, well unfortunately it was necessary to acquire the proper funding. The entire thing will be broadcast live, hosted by Mario Lopez and Arsenio Hall as it stands. Enjoy PaunchBurger and all that. Yes, it's an unfortunate symptom of today that to get any money you’ve essentially got to submit to public humiliation. All the world’s a live-stream, now, it seems. I just don’t want to make a complete fool out of myself. After all, this is a scientific endeavor, and as such, is very, very serious.--

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     “That concludes ABC’s pre-game coverage of, Dr. Dreamy! Brought to you be PaunchBurger, put in your body! I’m your host, Mario Lopez and beside me is my illustrious co-host, Arsenio Haaaaall!”

    “Hey gang. Here’s the deal: Dude remembers his ex-girl so vividly, he can literally disappear into a memory and spend the day with’er! If that isn’t crazy enough, now he thinks it might be MORE than a memory. Spoooky.”

    “That’s right, Arsenio, and we’re here today to see if Dr. Dreamy’s right. When he disappears into his memory, will what occurs there have real-world consequences? Find out, right now!”

    “Eat PaunchBurger.”

     The commentators are visible in the screen’s top left as lights rise on a stark stage with no ceiling, divided by a wall. On either side of the wall sits a chair at the respective centers. A beautiful and composed woman in her late thirties, with long dark hair and unwavering eyes, walks slowly to the chair on the right and sits. She’s wearing an ankle-length skirt of gossamer-thin white cloth and an expensive-looking tan pea coat. She wears two red-and-gold earrings that are probably rubies, a slim gold watch, and a gold necklace with a large red pendant hanging innocently. About a minute later, a slim, light haired man with blue eyes and missing pinky steps lithely into the room. He’s wearing light khaki’s and a blue buttoned-down shirt with a loose collar. He has a helmet-like contraption strapped to his head. A wire runs from the helmet’s base to somewhere in the darkness in back. 

    He sits down, crosses his legs academically and says that when he closes his eyes, for the audience to be silent and still for however long it takes him to focus, press a large red button at his temple, and disappear. When he presses this button he will vanish from sight and appear in a memory he has of the woman sitting to his right. The woman fidgets slightly when she hears his voice, and looks, for the first time, at the wall separating them. She shifts her position during the approximately 42 seconds of silence that follow his announcement. Then the doctor presses the button at his temple and vanishes. The wire stays suspended in mid-air, but the helmet is nowhere to be seen. 

    “Whoaaa, did you see that, folks? Dr Dreamy disappeared! You saw it here first on ABC’s live event, Dr. Dreamy!”

    “Don’t forget to text the code, 3825-633 to ABC’s hotlines right now for a chance to win free liposuction surgery! That’s right, FREE liposuction surgery! But in the meantime, folks, eat PaunchBurger!”

    “HAHA, Okay Arsenio, let’s see what’s happening on stage.”

   The Dr.'s voice projects into the theater.

    --Okay everyone, I’m remembering. I’m waking up in our bed at our flat in Manhattan. It’s about 7:00am, Sunday morning. It’s summertime and the sun’s shining real bright through the curtains. It wakes me up, but Kris is still sleeping. I’m looking at her back. A strip of light runs across her little shoulder. I can’t see her face yet, she’s turned away from me.--

The woman on stage frowns when she hears her name.

    --I think about wakin’er but I let’er sleep. I turn over and grab my book. I’m reading Pastoralia. A while later I look up to find her staring at me from her pillow. It looks like she’s been staring for some time. I smile and she smiles back at me without breaking eye contact. We make love, I... I’ll spare the details.--

    Mario cuts in, “This IS an all-audiences program, folks. We’ll be right back after this commercial break!”

    Images of strong men eating huge hamburgers flit over the screen. Beautiful women crouch adroitly beneath them, snatching drippings from the air as they tumble from the grotesque sandwiches.

    “Aaand we’re back! I’m your host Arsenio Hall, and beside me is the esteemed, Mario Lopez!”

    “That’s right, Arsenio. So, the deed done, we revisit our intrepid doctor in his spooky memory...”

    The woman on stage looks intently into the camera. Jaw setting as the Dr. continues. 

    --We look at each other for some time without speaking. She asks me what I’m thinking. I tell her I’m thinking about her, what she must have been like before I’d met her. I say I wish I could see her whole life, her whole entire life since the day she was born. She says this is her life now--.

    --Time bends in the memory and now we’re making breakfast. We’re still naked. Chopping onions and mushrooms, cracking eggs, burning toast. We make coffee and eat and then take Ron to the park. We named our dog, Ron, after Ron Swanson. The park is empty. We spread a blanket on the grass but it's so wet that we get soaked anyway. We kiss and roll in the wet grass and Ron jumps on Kris because he thinks she’s attacking me. We all laugh and hug. But...--

    --Wait, something different.--

     “Oohh, here we go, folks!”

    --She’s looking at me strangely. Ron’s growling, hold on. It’s as if she can hear me... Remember that what you, the audience, is hearing are projections from my mind, my thoughts essentially, she shouldn’t be able to hear this. Can you hear me, Kris? She looked behind her! I’ll think it louder, CAN YOU HEAR ME, KRIS? She’s standing now and looking around. Now she’s staring at me.-- 

    --Am I talking to her? Am I narrating her life? Where is she? She’s asking me this. It’s okay babe, Kris? Settle down, there’s nothing to worry about. Okay, I’m going to refocus and try and put the experiment back on track. Oh, she heard that. She’s screaming!--

    The woman on stage stands up and runs over to the wall dividing the stage.

    “It looks like the good doctor may have a situation on his hands...” Arsenio posits.

    “He better diagnose this patient stat!”

    “Right you are, Mario. Okay folks we’ll be back after this message from our friends at PaunchBurger! Don’t go nowhere.”

     The same strong men from the last commercial now have their jeans around their ankles. Their hands are in the air and they look down as beautiful women eat burgers noisily where their dicks should be. Then Arsenio's white teeth fill the screen.

     “Welcome back to ABC’s live production of, Dr. Dreamy! Let’s see what’s become of our adventurous physician.”

    “And, don’t forget about our damsel in distress! Okay, Arsenio, back to the action!”

     The wall dividing the room has been taken away and the woman on stage paces nervously back and forth, staring at the doctor’s empty chair, stepping over the floating wire. Occasionally touching her left pinky. The doctor, finding the situation too stressful, has ceased narrating events and now speaks directly to the woman in his memory, adding asides when able. 

     --Kris, baby, calm down everything’s okay we’re gonna get through this. What? Oh, my mouth isn’t moving because I’m communicating with you telepathically. Basically. Yeah. But here, look, I’ll move my mouth so it looks like I’m actually talking to you. Well, if I actually did it would be all echoey.-- 

    --So look, here’s the situation. I found a way to relive my memories; right now, where we are now, this is a memory of us from about fourteen years ago. For some reason, or maybe for no reason at all, I have the ability to come back here and relive this day with you. But the last couple times I’ve come back, things started changing, you started changing. So I decided to come back down one more time and record everything. To see if what we do in here changes anything out there. You see wh- What? Umm yes, we slept together... we always sleep together this morning. Well, ye- Well I... No, I didn’t think about it like that, I jus- No I just didn’t think that, ya know, that you were you. No, that doesn’t sound better you’re right...--

    “Oooh, embarrassing amiright, folks?

    “Right you are, Mario, let’s see if the doctor’s got what it takes to weasel his way outta’ this one!”

    The woman on stage has resumed her seat. She looks heavy, burying her face in her hands. Her pea-coat has become unbuttoned and her hair looks considerably frizzier. The word, “hiss” flashes on the audience prompters, so the audience hisses. At who, is unclear at this point. 

    --Listen, Krissy, let’s just think this through. Shhh, no we can talk about that later, let’s focus. Do you remember what we do next, after the dog park? We go to the store to pick up ingredients for dinner, remember? They don’t have bok-choy or ginger at Safeway so we decide to get a frozen pizza instead? And ice cream. And we pick up a RedBox movie on the way out, remember? Hold on, let me try something. I’m going to close my eyes and remember this more clearly, get us back on track. That’s right, babe, there we go, shhhhh. Let’s head to store, that’s right. Grab Ron for me?--    

    The woman on stage shoots up clutching her left hand. “My pinky!” She screams, “It's gone!” She runs frantically from her chair to stage right. Stage-hands dressed all in black block her escape soundlessly. She appeals to the camera, looking directly at the dark lens, right at us. She screams, “I wouldn’t go, I wouldn’t go with him to the store! After that? Why! Why would I go w-”... and then even though her mouth continues to move, her voice no longer comes through to us. The commentators cut in,

    “On behalf of ABC we’d like to remind the woman on stage that this specially broadcast production, Dr. Dreamy, isn’t about her. Sheesh!”

    “That’s right, Mario, it’s NOT about her. Plus, I don’t think she had that pinky when she walked in here. Do you remember her havinga pinky? She’s hysterical, obviously.”

    “I’d say so, Arsenio, quite hysterical.”

    They look away from the camera for a moment to peer directly at the woman on stage.

    “Why doesn’t the woman on stage comply with her contractual agreement and sit quietly, like a woman on stage ought to?”

    “Yeah, Mario, that would make us all feel so much more comfortable, wouldn’t it?”

    “That’s right, Arsenio, that’s God damn right.”

    They nod, turn back to the camera, and are relegated to their corner of the screen again. The crowd cheers as two large men in black pick up the woman on stage and put her back in her chair. She folds her legs into her chest and cradles her left hand, which has begun to shake rather noticeably. Her hair seems shorter and lighter than it had earlier. Everyone falls silent as the Dr.'s narration continues.

    --That’s it, yeah. That’s it. We go to the store, park right out front and walk in elbow-in-elbow. We look around for Bok-Choy, ask the produce-lady but she shrugs and points to some Yau Choy! Ignorant wench! What’ll she do next, tell us the Kiwis are Ginger? So, laughing, we walk down the frozen isle. The pizza is right next to the ice-cream. We can’t resist ourselves so I grab the Digiorno and you choose some Breyer’s, Moose-Tracks. We skip to the self check-out lane and you massage my head while I scan and bag our dinner. It’s exactly six dollars and sixty-six sense and we giggle churlishly. Feeling kind of drunk we hang off the RedBox and choose a scary movie, Insidious 2, I think, it doesn’t matter. "High For This," is playing on the radio as you turn the ignition. We sing all the way home.--    

    --Twenty minutes later the pizza’s done and we’re in our sweatpants. On screen, Patrick Wilson goes once more into The Further which elicits giggles and yes, regrettably, also a fart. And then more giggling. With half the pizza still sitting on the coffee table, you kiss my neck and whisper something into my ear that I won't repeat. We make love, and when we finish, the movie’s almost over and you walk over to the fridge naked to get us ice cream. The next morning I wake up to the DVD menu blaring and discover that we’d fallen asleep on the couch.-- 

    --This was a perfect day.--

    There’s a pause. The woman on stage is shaking her head vehemently from side to side.

    --I... I don’t want to leave you, babe. I-well, yeah. Yeah, well, when we fall asleep, I always wake up in my older body and when I come next time the day starts over. That’s how it’s been every time. Yeah.-- 

    --I’ve tried but I simply don’t recall, with enough clarity, what occurs tomorrow and after that. The future I remember is all glitchy, non-sequential and vague. It can never be stable. What? Are you serious? Creativity does, somehow, seem to thrive in memory... Well...Now that’s an idea...--

    The woman on stage stands but looks surprised at having stood. She’s no longer wearing a skirt but instead has on khaki pants. Her hair seems lighter and shorter. Shivering slightly, her skin looks both loose and somehow uncomfortably tight. As if that cockroach-monster from Men In Black crept behind her and occupied her skin during a commercial break. One can imagine her screaming for sugar and water. 

    --Babe, do you see what I see? Hold my hand. There’s nothing in front of us, just...flesh colored, unformed memory. Is it memory? Okay. Okay...step forward and imagine us together forever. Imagine stepping into the future with me, living like today, everyday.--

    The woman on stage freezes, spreading her arms up and straight out to her side. Her chest puffs open and then implodes, becoming convex to its skeletal capacity and her lids seem too wide to house her eyes. And...it’s like her features dissolve into her center... as if her three-dimensionality has been revoked and she becomes a blank shadow. But you can see into her, like there’s a tunnel cut into the exact shape of her body, standing in the very air she occupied only seconds ago. From this grizzly tunnel (to the audience’s great surprise) steps Dr. Dreamy. 

    He’s narrating his exit, “Look, babe, what is that? I can see the audience! Take my hand,” and he steps through the tunnel where the woman on stage had been. His right hand’s still concealed from view, he’s clearly pulling something behind him. As he pulls his cargo through, the left arm of the woman-tunnel begins to disappear. First an arm appears from the hole (it’s difficult to describe, but it’s as if the tunnel is wrapping around the new flesh protruding from within the tunnel) and the doctor pulls. A beautiful girl emerges from the hole, the hole closing around her the instant her foot is free, like some viscous suit. She looks like the woman on stage’s daughter. Something in her eyes...and there’s blood all over the floor. Where from no one can tell. 

    “Ladies and gentlemen! The doctor has returned!”

    “...And with a lovely assistant!”

    “Wooo, Mario, you ain’t wrong. She’s a cutie. Good for you, Dr. Dreamy!”

    The doctor, smiling more broadly than his face normally allows, takes his new woman in his hands and walks off stage. Leaving bloody footprints as he exits. 

    “Okay lovers, this concludes ABC’s special live broadcast of, Dr. Dreamy!”

    “That’s right, Arsenio. But, for you ultra fans, never fear, the show goes on in the ABC post-game wrap-up!”

    “Don’t miss out! This has been, Mario Lopez and Arsenio Hall in ABC’s, Dr. Dreamy!” Thanks for tuning in, folks.”

___----___----___

    --Oh my. Yes it’s quite difficult to explain the elation I feel at this moment. Hahaha... What was that? Oh, yes I consider the experiment a complete success. I mean look at her! We’re so happy together! I literally couldn’t imagine a more conclusive finding. Hmm...? Oh yes, my questions (and my prayers it seems!) have been answered.-- 

    --What? This IS Kris, can you not see that? Look, this was her idea and we did it! We made it out of the memory and became who we were meant to be from the beginning. This is what is supposed to happen, nobody can change that, it's physics! Thank Christ for physics! No, look, no no. No more questions please. I will be taking my lovely lovely woman home to discuss our future.-- 

    --Okay yes, one more, what is it? Well I don’t know, she won’t very well resume her old position at the firm, that’s for sure. I mean I want a wife not a martyr! Maybe we can find something simpler, less time-consuming for her to do. But.... Ya know what? With the money we’ve made from this show, p’raps she simply won't work anymore.-- 

    --After all, she’s my woman now.--