Anyway, here's today's words:
The air horn thing worked pretty well for them. Siri used it to chase off a giant teddy bear. Oscar used it dispel a new round of fireflies. After several occurrences, though, they were no closer to understanding what triggered the true dreams. They happened very infrequently, which may have been the worst part about it.
Every night, Oscar and Simi put their son to bed with dread in their hearts. Most nights, it wasn’t realized, but that didn’t make the dread go away. They got sick more often, and their doctor informed the both of them that their blood pressure had gone up considerably. Both of them began putting on weight. For Simi, the weight seemed to only collect in all the right places, but Oscar had to start sucking in his breath when he did up his pants, and an all new, unsightly paunch hung over his beltline when he was done. Living under the constant stress of what might happen when they went to bed each night was taking a big toll on the two of them.
Their night fears didn’t haunt them during the day, though. Despite the fact that they probably should feel resentment and anger towards their child, they did not. Maybe it was just the natural parental feelings of protectiveness and unconditional love, or maybe it was that Trevon was an extra cute baby, but the daytime with Trevon was all happiness. It was only when the dusk began to descend over the city that the fear and stress settled on them.
It was after Oscar had been forced to drive off a blanket monster that was intent on suffocating him in its folds with the air horn that the thought that it was all Trevon’s fault first entered his mind. He immediately berated himself for blaming his innocent baby. But, sitting there, panting as his adrenaline slowly settled back to normal levels, he couldn’t banish the thought entirely.
If Trevon were older, they could talk with him, and find out what was going on in his head, in his dreams when his dream monsters manifested in real life. But he was just a gurgling little anklebiter. He could crawl and cruise, and was beginning to take some hesitant steps away from the furniture he was clinging to before falling down hard on his diaper-padded butt, but he couldn’t talk. He couldn’t even say one word, much less string enough together to make a sentence and be truly understood. Sentences were perhaps as far away as two years, and knowing enough words to make those sentences really communicate something was even farther out.
Yet the ability to create monsters out of the ether while he slept was already present and accounted for. The ability to terrorize his parents with the vomit his subconscious spewed forth in the form of dreams and nightmares was already well-developed. They had no idea how or why Trevon had this ability. They had no idea how it could be controlled, or even if it could. They didn’t know whether it would be a lifelong gift, or something that would fade as he grew older like colic does. But Oscar did know one thing, Trevon was the source of this horror, and it was ruining his life, Simi’s too, he supposed. They’d be so much better off if they’d never had him.
Again his mind balked. No, that wasn’t true. They wouldn’t be better off. They might not have this issue to face, but they would be missing so much joy that he brought to their lives too. The happiness was so great that it outweighed the misery. He really felt that. And besides, Trevon was his son. It was his duty and his honor to care for him, protect him, and provide him with safety and security. How dare he even entertain thoughts like that!
They would be fine carrying on with things as they were. The blanket monsters, giant teddy bears, fireflies, and false Simis all fled at the sound of the air horn. It was working, and would continue to for as long as it was necessary.At least, that’s what he thought before that day they went to the Golden Gate Aquarium.