Asunder Chapter 37

Chapter 8.1 (37)

The Man in Reverse

An Introduction to Dreaming

“Uma das maiores batalhas da vida é encontrar um equilíbrio com o progresso de nossa raça e a conservação da terra em que habitamos. A vida de cada criatura viva pode ser tão importante quanto a salvação de nossa própria alma(1).” - Archbishop Francisco Aparicio

1. One of life’s greatest battles is finding a balance between the progression of our race and the conservation of the earth in which we inhabit. The life of each living creature may be just as important as the salvation of our very souls.

- 269 years before the present day -

- The year 2019-

- Age 9 -

“I asked myself this morning,” the Egyptian-American woman held back a desperate tear as she spoke in her native Arabic language, “When I walked into Darius’s room, and I saw his things along the shelves...” Speaking of the memory brought her to the verge of no return, but she choked back the unrelenting sobs. She had cried nearly every tear a human possibly could in the past twenty-four hours since the passing of her young son. Azar had witnessed it. Composing herself, his grandmother, Yasmin, appeared collected and stoic as she finished her sentence. “I asked myself, would I do it all again? Would I raise him again, even knowing he would pass away at this young age? The answer is a resounding yes. I would raise my sweet boy a million lifetimes over, even if it meant he would pass away again.”

The words were authentic, raw, and honest. They stung Azar’s heart because they spoke the truth of his grandmother’s goodness. Azar thought he could cry no more because all his tears had been spilled for his uncle endlessly this past day, but with his Grandmother’s words, they flowed freely down his cheeks. Darius, his uncle who lay in the casket before them all, was not only his uncle but his best friend. The boy was only two years Azar’s senior and, as such, had been his loyal confidante since birth. They were inseparable, never leaving each other’s side.

Azar glanced at the casket at the front of the room as his grandmother continued her eulogy. Images from before the funeral flashed before his mind. That of the washing and placing the kafan, the white linen cloth shrouding the body and providing privacy for the deceased. His uncle’s body was so frail upon his passing. The cancer had taken him quickly. The surgery to remove the osteosarcoma tumor from his hip was unsuccessful, and the multiple rounds of radiation and chemotherapy only took what remaining energy the young boy had left, leaving his body and mind fractured. The last few months of Darius’s life became filled with pain, and so his eventual passing was not unexpected. Azar never left his side. This prolonged death was the actual reason they had no more tears to cry. They all had spent the past month shedding them for the beloved boy.

Now, Azar sat in the funeral parlor listening to the recitation of the Salat al-Janazah, the Islamic funeral prayer. The funeral was a mix of Islamic and American traditions. The expediency was in keeping with the Islamic rite of burial within twenty-four hours. In contrast, the funeral taking place in a parlor was an American tradition. Being only nine years old made it difficult for Azar to memorize the prayer, so he read it from the card his mother provided him. Not fully understanding the hand gestures as they recited the first takbir, he looked to his mother for guidance. The words of the du’a fell painfully from his lips as they recited the chosen phrase:

“O God, forgive our living and our dead, those who are present among us and those who are absent, our young and our old, our males and our females…”

The verse seemed to last forever in his nine-year-old mind, and images of him and Darius playing cars together under the staircase flooded his mind. Memories of uncontrollable laughter as they watched Azar’s grandmother pull a rubber rat from the pot of stew she was cooking. Listening to rap albums in the garage so their mothers wouldn’t know they were listening to unapproved music.

Tears filled his eyes as they finished the fourth takbir and recited the final taslim and salam.

The burial was a blur, and the reception afterward was attended by people he did not care to see. He went to the room he shared with his uncle and locked the door. Azar knew death well, even at such an early age. His grandfather had died just after Azar and his parents arrived in America. They couldn’t go to the funeral, as it was in Egypt, and he and his parents fled from the government of the African country, so there was no returning. The death of his grandfather sparked his grandmother and Darius to move to America with them. Still, not long after, Azar’s father died in a car accident, leaving Azar and his mother without financial security. His mother eventually took a job interpreting at a local hospital and cleaning rooms for a hotel down the street from their apartment. Luckily, living with his grandmother also helped keep food on the table.

Tears threatened Azar’s eyes again as he stared at the Egyptian Premiere League Al Ahly Sporting Club poster on the far wall above Darius’ bed—his uncle’s favorite football team from Cairo. Much of the medical supplies Darius required at the end of his life still lined the bookshelf—another remnant of his best friend’s life. His uncle’s bed still took on the concave shape of Darius’ frail body, even without him in it. Azar felt like he had stayed awake for the past two days straight, so he lay on his side, staring at the empty place in his Uncle’s bed. The memories of their young lives together played on repeat in his head, but they soon faded into darkness through puddles of tears as he fell asleep.

§

Azar sat on a park bench in the middle of a lush green field. Buildings along its periphery towered over the park. Azar’s eyes felt puffy and sore. He had been crying. Looking down, he found his hands filled with tears. Why was he crying? Then, unexpectedly, he remembered why he had been crying. A deep sorrow filled his heart. Looking back up, he assessed his surroundings. Where was he? The location held some resemblance in his mind, a vague memory. He couldn’t remember how he had ended up in this place. A calm wind ruffled his hair, and the scent of grass warming in the sun greeted his nose. It felt like he was in a dream, but no ordinary dream. He reached into the depths of his memories, trying to recall where he was and how he had gotten there.

Azar’s attention turned to a dog running across the edge of the field chasing a ball its owner had thrown. He remembered the setting: Central Park. But again, he still couldn’t recall how he had ended up here. Where was his mother? She would never allow him to be here alone. Though Azar knew it well, they had only lived in the city for a few years, and his mother had yet to let him leave the apartment alone.

Suddenly, Azar felt a shift in the atmosphere next to him. It was the feeling one gets when someone enters the room unannounced, as though the ability of a person’s matter filled time and space enough to create an impact of existence. He looked left to where no one existed moments ago, and now it appeared filled by a person—Darius. The young man’s legs crossed over each other, and he outstretched his arms over the back of the park bench. Azar gasped. How was it possible? Was he a ghost? A figment of Azar’s imagination? 

The young man appeared significantly taller than he had ever been before in his life. He looked much older as well, maybe in his early twenties. His head arched, bent down, attempting to catch his nephew and best friend’s attention with his big, bright smile. He slid his hand down from the back of the bench and clutched Azar’s shoulder. With his other hand, Darius waved it before him with palm up-stretched, attempting to convince Azar to lift his head and look up to take in the beauty that lay before him. Azar just stared at his uncle in astonishment. Reaching forward, Azar touched Darius’s face. The skin was warm to the touch. He could feel the hot breath expelled from his uncle’s nose. Darius nodded in agreement. He was real.

Azar sputtered, but no words escaped his mouth. Azar’s tears of sadness transitioned to tears of joy. Without forethought or compunction, Azar jumped forward and wrapped his arms around Darius’s neck, hugging his uncle tight. After a long moment, he let go of the embrace. Grabbing his knees, his uncle stood from the bench and beckoned Azar to follow him. The world around him suddenly came into focus. The sounds of the city leaked through to his ears now, muffled by the tall elms and oaks guarding the park. The sun’s rays warmed his neck. A light wind rustled the grass that stretched its green face down to a pond to his right. The gravel below his shoes crunched with each step. It had all been so real.

They traveled a short distance on a trail veering through a group of poplars. The poplars broke onto the pond’s edge, enclosed on all sides by low-set trees draping over the water. A reflection of a skyscraper settled on the glass-like water and pointed directly to the area where they stood. Azar’s uncle, still smiling, grabbed hold of his hand and began stepping into the water. A series of strange events proceeded to unfold. First, the water he stepped in did not quake with his steps but remained still as glass. It felt cold as ice as it penetrated deep into his bones and streamed up his legs even before he was ankle-deep. Lastly, the wind blowing overhead began blowing from underneath, and he suddenly stood atop the very same skyscraper that reflected on the water’s surface only moments before.

The teleportation to the top of the building, or whatever it was, revealed a cityscape before him—vast and familiar. It was the same city he had recently stood in, far below in Central Park. The wind whipped all about him. Beside him stood his uncle, Darius, scanning the buildings before them. Looking at the young man with surprise, Azar quickly grabbed Darius’ sleeve. Azar’s fear of heights overwhelmed him, and he felt the world below pulling him into its depths. Darius reached for his shoulder and steadied him. Then, placing his pointer finger on his temple, the young man closed his eyes. For some odd reason, this caused a sense of relief to flow through Azar as he watched his uncle, and he suddenly found himself relishing the moment. There he was, staring at his best friend’s face once again. The brown, dusty hair. The proptotic ears. The wide cheeks and skinny neck. He loved his uncle like he would love a brother. He missed Darius dearly, and Azar knew this moment would remain suspended in his mind for an eternity.

Then, all at once, his uncle's eyes flashed open, causing the young man’s pupils to constrict with the barrage of sunlight. His brown irises, instead, seemed to glow—a blue ethereal illumination. At this exact moment, from behind his uncle, the sky erupted into a deluge of storm clouds as though the sudden opening of his eyes initiated the beginning sonata to an energetic symphony. The clouds abruptly descended upon the city, and then, without notice, red streaks of fire rained down through the clouds, setting entire city blocks aflame.

Massive machines with spider-like legs stepped out of the clouds—their legs smashing into buildings in the process. From below the belly of the metal beasts, red molten energy sheared the earth in two. Azar held his uncle tight as the skyscraper they stood upon swayed with each step of the nearest giant monster. Unfazed by the chaos, Darius grabbed the scruff of Azar’s shirt and shoved them both off the edge of the building. They fell freely, parallel to the glass building. Terror filled Azar’s entire being. The wind whipped past him, rapidly fluttering his clothes all about. Why had his uncle done this? Didn’t he love Azar? None of what was happening made sense. He wished it were a dream and he could just wake up. Then, in his moment of dire despair, the strangest sensation began to take hold. Their fall began to shift, and they suddenly slammed into the side of the building, not because of a gust of wind but because the building itself pulled them toward it. His equilibrium tilted with the shift, and he felt as if the glass of the building had suddenly become the floor. They tumbled down the side of the building further, their fall slowing as the building pulled harder.

Claiming their position with backs against the glass, they slid down the side of the building until the shift in their gravity made the side of the building their new ground, skidding them to a stop. The road rash inflicted by the glass windows upon Azar’s knees and elbows burned, and his ribs ached from being tossed about.

They sat on the side of the building halfway down its length. The city rose above him like an endlessly rising wall. The world on its side caused his mind to bend. The flames and smoke rising from the surrounding buildings traveled sideways. Cars and people ran in all directions along the paths. The skyscraper they rested upon felt like they were standing upon an incomplete bridge spanning out into the open air. The experience was disorienting and unnerving. His fear of heights suddenly escalated as the sideways sky below them appeared endless, an eternal fall beneath his feet. His stomach turned with every gust of wind. He held on to the glass with every fiber of his being.

Darius rose to his feet and began running down the side of the building toward the city streets rising above and below them. Azar begrudgingly and painfully propped himself up and started a slow jog after his best friend, being careful not to be carried off the edge by the wind. They arrived at the street, which faced them like a wall. Darius reached his foot up as though to kick the sidewalk displayed vertically before them. Then he transitioned his weight and lifted himself, suddenly standing on the sidewalk sideways, looking like he would fall at any moment. Darius’ center of gravity was completely perpendicular to Azar's. Reaching down and grabbing his hand, Darius lifted Azar, causing Azar’s equilibrium to become upright with the city street just as Darius’. The world suddenly righted itself, and Azar finally felt a sense of steadiness.

Though he appreciated the correct orientation of the world, it was quickly replaced with terror as the terror about him came into view. Mayhem ensued all around them. People ran about with their mouths, appearing to scream, but no sound escaped. Parents clutched their children. Cars swerved and crashed about. Explosions from within a building threw glass onto the street. Undisturbed by the surrounding scenes, Darius looked down at their newfound ground as he noticed something. The young man bent over and picked up what he had found. Clutching the object in his hand, Darius propped it onto his thumb and flicked it high into the air. After a brief moment of suspension, he caught it with the same hand. Opening his palm, he revealed a silver dollar. Azar’s mind reeled. What was he doing picking up coins at a time like this, with the world erupting in chaos around them? Not that any of it had made any sense whatsoever with the multiple laws of physics broken simultaneously about him, but even with the rarity of such a coin, it didn’t seem like the time or place to focus on such an object.

Darius gestured for Azar to take it. Azar gave him a look of confusion and swept his hand about in a silent question, “Do you not realize all that is happening around us?” Darius shoved his hand again toward Azar, silently saying, “Take it.” A building down the block toppled on its side, causing the ground to shake violently and a wall of dust to billow toward them. In desperation to get them moving onward, he snatched the coin out of his uncle’s hand and gestured in a way to say, “Are you happy now?” Darius smiled and nodded, then looking over his shoulder, he pointed to a sign that read “SUBWAY” with an arrow pointing down a staircase. Darius nodded his head to imply it was their next destination.

Again, grabbing his hand, his uncle ran him to the staircase. It descended into a pitch-black abyss. As he rushed down the stairs with his uncle, Azar glanced back. The streets were empty of life, and the dust cloud was about to overtake them. At this exact point, an enormous mechanical leg from one of the giant machines came crashing down at the top of the staircase. It tossed concrete and vehicles about like a child kicking away its toys. He immediately sped after his uncle, following Darius into the underground tunnel.

After only a few seconds of running down the steps into the tunnel, the noises behind them faded. The stairs continued descending further down than any subway tunnel Azar could remember entering. Suddenly, a bright light appeared in the distance. The outline of the exit seemed like a jagged arch etched out of stone. The light emanating into the tunnel had not received its source from an artificial source but instead appeared to be a stream of sunlight. They reached a landing and then proceeded forth toward the mouth of the opening. As they reached the entrance, the brightness of the light strained his eyes, temporarily blinding him as they exited the dark tunnel. A cold wind caught his breath. After a moment of squinting, Azar’s eyes adjusted, and he found he was not within any room but instead standing along a steep rock-faced cliff overlooking a vast mountain-flanked valley.

Darius stood at the edge, unfazed by the change of scenery. The young man calmly smiled with his hands on his hips. Then, sweeping his hand forward, Darius raised his eyebrows in a way that implied, “Look at this place, isn’t something?” Confused, Azar looked back out across the empty hills of sagebrush. Then, something caught his eye in the distance: a horse atop one of the far-off hills. Aboard the horse sat a girl with long brown hair. He could not tell much more than this, but it appeared she, too, was staring back at them. Just as Azar began to ask Darius the meaning of all that was taking place and who this girl was, the sky suddenly began crumbling overhead into a million black shards of glass. As the images faded into the blackness, Azar yelled into the void to Darius. “Don’t leave me again!”

And with this, Azar awoke.

§

The dream left Azar unsettled the entire next day. He stood at his bedroom window overlooking the oak tree in the garden outside the apartment complex. Memories of him and his uncle climbing the branches and pretending they were pirates flashed through his mind. He felt a sense of closure at the thought of seeing his uncle again, but the closure became intermixed with the fear of what his uncle was trying to tell him in the dream. Why had Darius shown him the destructive and chaotic events?

He reached down to the floor where he had left his pajamas from the night before. As he lifted the pants to put them in the dirty clothes bin, something fell from the pocket. Bending down to assess the object, a glint of light revealed a silver coin—a silver dollar. He had never owned a coin like it. Trying to reason multiple explanations for the coin’s presence in his pocket, he suddenly remembered how Darius in the dream had given him a coin just like it. Was it the very same coin? He wondered. Could he have received something in a dream and brought it into the real world with him? He marveled at the possibility of the silver dollar transcending his dream to reality and the implications it brought with it.

Quickly running to his mother’s room, he stumbled upon her combing his two younger sisters’ hair for bedtime.

“Momma, Momma, look!” He held out the coin.

Her tired eyes barely looked up from the hair brushing. “What is it, Azar?”

“Momma, it's a coin from my dream.”

The mention of a dream suddenly sparked her attention.

“From your dream?” She stopped brushing and stared.

“I dreamt of Darius last night… except it wasn’t a dream… it was real… at least it felt real.” He began to question his explanation. But knowing how his mother, who loved to dream, always speaking of her unique gift of dreaming, would likely understand.

“Finally! Praise Allah!” She looked up to the sky in reverence. “I have waited for this day all my life.”

“For what day?” His youngest sister questioned.

His mother grabbed Azar by the shoulders. “For the day that one of my children would dream like me. Did it feel real, my boy? Like you were awake.”

“Yes, Momma!” He exclaimed as she understood how he had felt. “Except we couldn’t talk to each other.”

“Well, it does not matter. There are many rules I do not even understand, my son. All that matters is that you can dream!” She hugged him tightly, and tears streamed down her face.

“But Momma,” he whispered, “How did this coin come with me?”

“What do you mean, my love?” She pulled back and looked at the silver dollar Azar presented to her.

“Darius gave me this coin in the dream… and now I have it.”

“Hmmm…” she hummed musically. “This I do not fully understand.”

“Has it ever happened to you?”

“What? Receive something from the dream world which made it to the real world?”

“Yes…” Azar looked at her questioningly.

“Only once, my love,” and with this, she pulled from underneath the collar of her shirt a necklace carrying a key. “This was given to me by my Grandmother Zahra when I was about your age. The day she died. The day I first dreamt a real dream.”