Sentilia

“Maxine? Max, c’mon it’s ten past twelve.”

Dad? Why was my father here? I looked around and after a minute of confusion: “Oh, it was just a dream.” Of course it was.

My dad smiled as he walked out of the room.

I stretched as I unfolded out of my bed, my hand pressing down on my pounding heart. I looked around my room, taupe curtains over a wall of windows to my right, a grey metal desk in the corner, a black plastic chair standing on the cement floor, and a white closet door to my left. Everything seemed normal, but everything seemed drab. I wasn’t sad, for waking up was inevitable, but I was amazed that my mind had the power to do such a thing, to simulate me living in the era that I wanted to belong to so much. It had been short, but it made me feel so emotional. Maybe, just maybe it would happen again, and that was all I could hope for, because it was as close as I could ever get to living in that time.

I went to get breakfast wondering how come I had been conscious in my last two dreams, and as I always do when something is new to me, I decided to do some research. The system we had in each home had access to all public records, so all I had to do was ask, and it would come up with all the answers it could find.

But there were no records of anyone being conscious in a dream. I was disappointed, but wasn’t surprised. I always felt I was different, and though I had forced myself to believe it wasn’t true, maybe I really was.

Before giving up on my search, I decided I’d try to see if there were any records of people who wished they could go back in time. I knew, in our society, that these records would probably be kept in the medical facility archive, and these were protected from the public by the Respect of Anonymity Law. Of course, because of my technical training, I knew how to get passed the simple security barrier in place. After just a few seconds, I was on the medical facilities’ database, and researching any special cases where patients wanted to go back in time, or wished they were born in another era. Aimlessly looking through the hundreds of files, one particular folder caught my eye. It was named “Advisor project” and was blocked with a second security measure, which I thought was extremely strange. Most security measures were simply put for people not to access a file by mistake. What was the use of protecting a file that was within an already secured archive?

Without thinking about it twice, I started breaching the second security barrier, this time making sure no one could trace the breach back to me. This was a nifty trick my dad had taught me when I was a couple years younger. He had told me it was only to be used to do good, and I still didn’t quite understand what he meant by that.

Then, my screen turned white with the letters SEN written in bold; I had time to read 5 patient names before a red error message started flashing on my screen. A second later, I was already logged out and deleted any trace of any search I had done.

Taken aback by what had just happened, I wondered what secret could be so important that the medical facility would go so far to try and protect it. I knew I wouldn’t get an answer to my question without getting in trouble, so I had no choice but to let it go. After all, it probably had nothing to do with what I was searching. If I’d once felt like our society was bound to keep some secrets from the general public, the feeling was now multiplied.

Mechanically going on with my day, I reached in my closet for my clothes, hesitated for a moment, and chose lighter clothes instead. Maybe it was ridiculous, but I had been wearing the same clothes in the smoldering forest, as I had been wearing earlier that same day.

After my lessons, I had some spare time. I wanted to distract myself; that was the trick for falling into a profound sleep, quickly. Maybe then I would dream again.

My parents had to step out and that was always a relief. I thoroughly enjoyed spending time alone, lost in thoughts. They left after telling me they were going over to our neighbour’s apartment, to plan our annual dinner.

So I had the apartment to myself for about an hour, maybe less. I decided I’d try to find the old radio station I’d seen at the museum, to see if it really existed. I slouched on the couch and started searching. After manually scanning channels for nearly 10 minutes—the computer didn’t understand what I was asking it to find—I had almost given up. But then I heard something different from the other stations. The announcer was talking with a weird accent; something about the weather, which was apparent from my window, and then he went on about how he loved his job. Five minutes passed, and I was about to close the station when he announced the next song. The song was called dawn, and it was the most beautiful song I had ever heard. The melody was sweet and soft, and the voice of the singer was smooth like honey. Instinctively, my head and my feet started moving. Soon my arms were at it too, and I was up, dancing; it probably didn’t look very natural, but it felt like it. The lyrics were beautiful; it took only seconds to get used to the sound of the singers voice.

I closed my eyes, forgetting about everything else, including my parents. I don’t know how long they had been watching me before I noticed they were stranding in the living room.

I stopped abruptly and turned a bright red face towards them. I felt ashamed, as if I had broken the law.

My mom chuckled and gave me a peck on the forehead before turning towards the kitchen. My dad winked and lowered the volume before whispering: “we have neighbours, you know”.

Five minutes later we were sitting at the table. It was obvious the small talk was an attempt to lessen my discomfort. It was making it worse. They asked me if I wanted to join them for dinner at the Clipperd’s house tomorrow, as if I had anywhere else to go.

Since there already was a weird atmosphere floating around the too-big dining table, and guilt eventually got the best of me, I apologized to my parent for being a wreck these past few weeks. I had been nothing else than moody, irritable, and they’ve even had to endure an unreasonable fit or two. Being rude was not something to be casual about. I told them that I knew very well that even if I was very tired, it wasn’t an excuse for my behaviour.

As I expected, my mom had already forgiven me. Ever since I can remember, my parents had always been so nice and forgiving people. My dad tried to get me to open up; he always wanted me to talk about the things that bothered me, saying that it would help me get through them faster. He also liked to remind me that they would be the last people to judge me.

So, this time, when he insisted, even though my head was screaming at me to keep my mouth shut, I gave up and decided to tell them half the truth. I wasn’t going to tell them about the dreams: that’s where I drew the line.

I took a deep breath before opening my mouth. “Well, the thing is... when I went to the museum, I realized how wonderfully people lived in the past—I mean, in the 21st century—and I’ve been kind of hating my life since then. Well, even before that, I’ve always felt like I didn’t quite fit in. Not in this time and place. It makes me helpless to know that I can’t do anything about it, that I’m bound to feel like an outcast for the rest of my life. I’m sorry this is probably shocking and crazy to you, and you can be mad at me for having to put up with my bad mood, but you can’t be mad at me for how I feel...” I stopped and smiled a little, realizing I had blurted everything out at lightening speed, and then hung my head in shame.

I couldn’t believe I had just said it. It sounded ridiculous out loud, but it was too late to take it back. I had been honest, and if they were fair with me, they would not be upset. I still couldn’t look up to see their faces; I knew they would be disappointed, probably think all of this was absurd. But I trusted them not to get us all locked up in a medical facility.

“Max...”

“Mom, please, before you say anything, try...just try to see it from my point of view. Even if you don’t understand, don’t be mad, please...don’t make me regret being honest with you.” I glanced at them, hoping they would see the guilt in my eyes. I didn’t want to fight with my parents again. The tension in the small apartment was becoming tangible.

“Max, listen to me...”

I let out a sigh. I didn’t really have a choice, I had told them my point of view, and they had theirs. I took a deep breath, hunching my shoulders, and lifted my head up.

My dad didn’t seem to be listening at all, his face was turned away, and his lips were moving as if he was muttering to himself. For once, it seemed like he was pretending to be lost in thought, because he kept eying me nervously every time I turned towards my mom. Worry washed through me as I saw her face, which I expected to be surprised, shocked, offended even. But, while her face was mimicking concern, her eyes looked lit up.

A moment passed.

She opened her mouth to speak; I braced myself. She closed it again. I could hear the ticking of the vintage clock she had just purchased.

“I think we should all go to bed, now.”

What?

“I...don’t understand...I...I don’t want you to get mad but...that’s it? That’s all you’re going to say? We should go to sleep?”

My mother took a deep breath; my father looked up, as if someone had just kicked him under the table, and frowned. She ignored him: “Max, sweetie, a few years ago, I was in your shoes.” I thought I saw my dad tense up a little. “Your father didn’t know what to do with me, but I finally got over it. I realized that I would be right here, right now, for the rest of my life, so I had to move on if I wanted to be happy with him. I guess... I guess it happens to everyone.” My dad jerked his head up to look at her. She glanced at him and turned back towards me: “I know it’s going to be even harder for you now, with no motivation to forget about the whole thing. We’re going to have to let you figure this out by yourself, honey. I know it’s the only way.” That’s what I had been trying to say, by not saying anything.

I turned towards my dad; his shoulders relaxed and he nodded, elaborately summing up: “Yeah... what she said.” My mom rolled her eyes, got up, and kissed my cheek.

They both went to bed, but I stayed frozen in place for a while, going over what had just happened. None of it made sense. I had never been so unprepared to hear something. But I wasn’t going to question her further about it, now that she had let this one go.

After all that had happened, I unsurprisingly managed to fall asleep quickly. Talk about a distraction...