Me Two

“Kyle! Wake up. Are you okay?” She brushes his long hair away from his face. His brow is awashed in a hot sweat.

Sitting up he looks at her. Confusion awakens upon his face.

Kissing him lightly on the lips, her hand resting on his chest, she can feel his heartbeat. “Did you have a bad dream.”

He smiles at her touch, “Yeah. I dreamed I was running for president.”

“A nightmare.” She pulls her hand away.

Reaching back, he straightens the twisted pillow, “It was one of those dreams you have where you know you are dreaming but can’t wake up.”

The alarm clock sings, Kyle slaps the oversize button shutting off the sound.

"I was on stage at a debate. I was standing in the middle with the other candidates on my left and right. I recognized their faces but couldn’t remember their names. I was the one speaking. Thousand of people were in the audience and there were television cameras everywhere. I was talking about the tragedies of big government. The moderator, that guy from CBS, you know, the one with salt and pepper hair, the one you think is so good-looking, he keeps telling me my time is up. And then I was standing in the audience, but still on the stage. There were two of me. The one on stage and the one in the audience. I was looking up at the candidate-me trying to hear what I was saying, but there was a rather robust woman standing next to me, the me-two, breathing garishly. She sounded like your Dad's bulldog. He always sounds like he is snoring, even when he’s awake. That’s how she sounded. She had orange hair and was wearing a bright green t-shirt, to small for her. Written across the front of the shirt, right on top of her enormous boobs, BBW Feed America!”

“You dream about boobs?”

“No. She was just really a large woman who sounded like a bulldog. Number two me looks up at the stage, I can see candidate-me’s nose running. Thick yellow and green snot is running out of my nose. He...I, just keep talking like I don’t know it’s there. The other candidates are looking away, trying not to see the snot. Nobody says anything. I think, where the hell is the make-up girl? The snot just rolls amd rolls.”

“That’s gross.”

Ignoring her assessment, he continues, “Two large screens, one on each side of the stage, blare to life filled with a close up of candidate-me. The snot is glistening under the bright stage lights. The camera zooms in on my running nose as the snot reaches my upper lip. I keep talking about big government. The snot hangs on the edge of my lip before rolling into my mouth. People are laughing and laughing, and I keep talking and dripping, oblivious to the laughter and the neon nasal discharge. The fat lady starts singing a Bob Marley song, 'Don’t worry about a thing, cause every little thing gonna be all right.' I look at her bouncing up and down, singing Marley out of tune. She gets louder and louder. I can’t hear what candidate-me is saying. She’s almost screaming now, but she’s changes the words, ‘Don’t worry about a thing, cause every little thing gonna be ALL WHITE!’. I yell at her to shut up. I can’t hear what I, the other I, am saying. I look up at the stage and snot is now running down my face, my chin. My red tie is covered in yellow snot and I just keep talking about big government. The fat lady keeps singing. I turn to her to tell her to shut her fat trap when she reaches down the front of the green t-shirt and pulls out a pistol. Somebody yells gun and then everyone is running. She’s pulling the trigger over and over. Bang, bang, bang."

"Oh my God!"

"On the stage, all the other candidates are running, but not candidate-me. He has discovered his running nose and is wiping it on his sleeve. I turn back to the shooter. It’s a toy gun. A cap gun like I had when I was a kid. A long string of red cap-paper hangs out the side of the silver toy gun like a giant’s tongue. The air is filled with the odor of popped caps."

"I didn't know you could smell things in a dream." The girl offers.

Kyle ignores her, "White smoke floats around the fat lady's head. She is still butchering Marley’s song. The people don’t know it’s a toy gun, they are running everywhere trying to get away.”

“Kyle, you never remember your dreams.”

He continues, “Back on the stage, the other me looks out the crowd. He sees me looking at him. Our eyes meet. It's weird. 'Run!' I scream at him. He starts to run but slips on the snot-covered floor. Someone is laughing. I think it was me. The other me." He looks across the room at her vanity mirror. His tired face stares back at him.

"Then I heard you screaming. I push the fat lady out of the way and run towards your voice. So many people. All of them running.” He pauses, closing his eyes.

When he begins to speak, his voice cracks, “Then I saw you. You were lying on the floor. The people were running past you. Over you. No one tried to help. I tried to run but I couldn’t. My legs were so heavy. Then I was kneeling beside you. Blood was running out from beneath you. The floor was covered in red blood. Your blood.”

She puts her around him. Comforting him. He trembles in her arms. He looks up, she sees tears running down his cheeks and a stream of glistening snot running from his nose. She pulls away. “I was dead?”

“I think so. I can’t remember. The fat lady runs by me laughing and singing. I look up at the stage. The giant screens are showing a Nike commercial. The candidate-me is nowhere to be found. And then I woke up.”

He wipes his pajama sleeve across his face. A string of snot hangs like a tightrope from nose to arm swinging back and forth before breaking away and falling to the sheets.

She swings her legs over the side of the bed her bare feet slap against the floor.

Walking away she asks, “What the hell did you eat last night, Kyle?”