"How are you doing today?" Dr. Hoffman asked.
"I'm feeling a lot better these days, you've been a great help."
"Is there anything you'd like to talk about today? Anything in particular?"
I hadn't really come in today with anything on my mind. I Looked down at my hands for a second and thought. "I had an odd dream last night, I guess."
"Do tell." He implored.
"It was normal at first, I was in a bedroom, and my friend and his girlfriend were sitting on the bed. We were talking about what we should do this weekend. Nothing strange. I was walking back and forth across the room. It was small, and the only piece of furniture was a queen sized bed in the center. Our conversation went on for a bit until, like a shot in the face, I was struck with this feeling. A feeling that everything was nonexistent. I hadn't realized I was dreaming, though, I still perceived it to be waking life. But that feeling...I can't describe it. I turned to my friends on the bed, I could feel my body turn cold, and said 'A-are you guys real?' shakily. They looked concerned. 'Yeah man, are you alright?' I turned around and walked to the wall. My voice was fleeting, but I pushed the words out of my mouth. 'You're not real.' I slid down the wall to sit on the floor. This feeling was overwhelming, and I needed to relax. My friend, the guy, got up and came over to me. He sat down on the floor beside me, and put his arm around me. The feeling grew stronger and stronger, I couldn't move or speak, I was hyperventilating. He looked me in the eyes and whispered: 'You're not dying. You're not dying.' And for a split second, time froze as the dreamscape melted around me. It was just him and I, now, in an infinite space of this purple-ish color. I thought I had gone insane. 'You're not dying.' He said one more time. As I looked into his eyes, his face morphed into different shapes. His body began morphing as well, it slowly got smaller, until he was gone. I was alone in this void, not at all conscious of the dream. His saying echoed in my mind, but soon faded away. I began falling, very quickly. I landed in the my bed, awake."
"I hope you're not thinking too much of it, after all it was just a dream."
"Oh no, I just brought it up because I couldn't really think of anything else. Our meetings have pushed any and all negative thoughts I could possibly have out of my head."
"Well that's wonderful. Do you think you'll want to come in tomorrow?
"The surgery's tomorrow."
"I know, I thought maybe you'd like to come in the morning, just in case you were feeling nervous."
"I think I'll be alright." I said.
"The offer's on the table," he said, "Let me take you back to your room."
We walked side by side down the dim, stale hallway. A nurse pushed a woman in a wheelchair past us. We came to my room, and shook hands in farewell. I thanked Dr. Hoffman for these sessions, and went inside. It was six o'clock. I sat in my bed and reached for the remote. I'm glad I didn't share a room with anyone, so I could watch whatever I wanted to. But there was seldom anything interesting. I settled for the local news. There was a car accident a couple blocks down from the hospital, none killed. I could see traffic backed up from my window. The high for tomorrow is 81, and it's going to be sunny and cloudless. We should do the surgery outside, I joked to myself. Six thirty. I turned off the TV and cracked open Dr. Hoffman's book that he had given me. It's Gonna Be All Right. I don't think I could think of a more generic title if I tried. I was on chapter three, "Dealing With Things". I guess I didn't have to think of one, he already had it covered. It was your typical therapist book, nothing original, but I read it anyway. I read late into the night. I finished the whole thing before ten, and went to sleep.
I'm sitting on the couch in Dr. Hoffman's office. "That's quite a strange dream." He said. His diploma fell off the wall, the frame shattered, he didn't even turn to look at it. "What is it?" He asked.
"What?"
"That color."
" I don't know what to say." It's Gonna Be All Right fell off the bookshelf. Not a flinch.
"Read it to me," He said, "Read that passage."
His book was next to me on the couch, I opened it, but it was nothing but gibberish. "I can't." I said. The door opened, and another doctor walked in.
"Is he ready, Dr. Hoffman?"
I awoke to the sun shining directly in my eyes and cursed the weatherman for getting it right for once. Why didn't I close the blinds when I went to sleep? The high's supposed to be 81, but with that sun on me, it felt like it couldn't be less than 100. I got up and turned on the fan. Didn't make it any cooler, but it couldn't make it any hotter either. The weatherman wasn't all right, he promised no clouds, but I see a few. Of course they diminished in the breeze. The surgery was scheduled for noon, it was nine. I didn't know what to do to pass the time, so I just sat down for a minute, and turned the TV back on. I didn't bother channel surfing. It was some nature program. Our host was running around the woods, shouting "Geez! Look at that!" in an excessively Australian accent. I wasn't paying too much attention to it. I was thinking about the surgery. It should be fine. A golf match followed. Is that the right term? Match? I don't watch golf. But I did now, it was calming my nerves. Maybe I should've gone to see Dr. Hoffman, but before I knew it it was the eighteenth hole, and 11:45. I turned off the TV and let out a sigh. The doctor came in and put me on the stretcher. He wheeled me off to the operating room.
I lied there, while they did the prep work, and soon a man came and put a mask over my mouth and told me to count backwards from a hundred. 99. 98. Nothing seems real. 97. I don't want to do this, I can't. 96. I'm dreaming, I have to be, I should've been out by now. 95. Dr. Hoffman? What are you doing in here? He bent down and whispered to me, "You're not dying." 94.........
"You think he would've felt better if he knew?"
"No one wants to know they're going to die, doctor. No one truly wants to know the future. It can be rather ugly."