Black Eye Or Rye of The Storm
He said it’s the same every time.
He’s had this reoccurring dream ever since he can remember. A dream about a
He first sees the tornado out the rectangular window of his house. He’s himself, as a child, in his house. But it’s not the actual house he lived in during his childhood waking life. It’s just a dream house.
“I just had the feeling it was my house, you know what I mean?” he said. I nod.
When he first sees the tornado out the window, it’s small and far away. He walks up to the window and peers out the glass. He watches the tornado whipping around, a full cyclone now, coming closer and closer towards his dream house.
He doesn’t feel afraid, not even for a second. “I think I knew I was dreaming” he said.
He moves behind a dream couch, every time, to wait for the tornado to turn his world upside down.
“It was just like a movie” he said, “shit started flying around all over, right?” Like in Dorothy’s farmhouse in the Wizard Of Oz.
“What do you do?” I ask him, hanging onto every word.
He raises his hands without breaking eye contact, slowly but defiantly rotates his wrists outward, and with the first two fingers of each hand beckons the tornado to dare to come forward.
“Bring it!” he says, eyes like a hawk. “Fucking bring it.”
As the tornado comes closer, he stands still unwavering, like the eye of a storm, like a
he calmly watches it rip apart everything in the room around him. Everything he knows, everything he’s supposed to love. Still he feels nothing. Nothing.
“I just stand there and close my eyes”. He closes his eyes. As if he were still there. As if he were dreaming right now. Right this very second. He stands there with his arms raised like Jesus on a cross.
He embraces the tornado until he almost becomes the tornado. Until maybe his curiosity no longer outweighs his fear. “And then I open my eyes and make a button appear next to me. You know like those big red buttons? And I push it and I wake up. Boom!”
He said, “yeah, it’s the same every time.”