Beyond a dream

 

Beyond a dream

The only thing connecting me to this person is that he studied with me in the first year of middle school, and we live in the same neighborhood. We are neither friends nor close in any way. I see him by chance in the street, there is nothing remarkable about him, I don’t even think about him for a second, he’s just a completely ordinary person. Despite all this distance, somehow, I dream about this person repeatedly, in different scenes and situations. It feels closer to reality with a relative, and closer to madness with a stranger.

Why him, exactly? What are dreams, anyway? A past life, another life, or thoughts turning into scenarios? Is there a meaning, a secret that needs to be understood, a sign to be followed, or are they simply dreams that disappear and are forgotten the moment we wake up?

There is no logical answer. I don’t care about spirituality, the supernatural, or all those other things they talk about in the holy books and elsewhere. I lean toward things that are real, tangible, with a scientific explanation within the limits of human understanding.

I wondered whether I should go to him and ask, does he dream about me too? Does he think about me for some reason? But he doesn’t seem like someone I could have a conversation like this with.

I moved to another city and forgot about him. I have the same dreams from time to time. I no longer look for an answer or a meaning.

What you cannot understand, ignore.

Years later, I returned to the city, driving through the bends of Tichka, fog, rain, and rocks falling from the mountains. Death itself. One small mistake and I would fly over a cliff, or a mountain would rain rocks down on me and turn everything upside down. That’s how it was, whether I would make it or not.

The rain stopped at the last bend in the village of Ighrem. Clear skies, as if there was a wall separating the two bends, each bend having its own weather. So I’ll make it.

One cigarette after another, one shot after another, until I reached the entrance to the city. Empty and quiet as usual. The clock showed three in the morning. I drove slowly, contemplating the city. Not much had changed…then complete silence…

I don’t know what happened or how it happened. All I heard was a loud impact against the rear door. I pressed the brakes, froze for a few seconds, then got out of the car. A motorcycle, split in two. A young man on the ground, blood running from his head. He wasn’t moving. I don’t know where a group of people came from. I sat on the sidewalk, stunned. A police officer asked me questions. I didn’t answer, my eyes fixed on the young man. A paramedic examined him and said, “Indeed, we belong to Allah, and indeed to Him we shall return.”

They carried him onto a stretcher, putting the cover over him. I noticed something. I quickly stood up and pulled the cover away from his face.

It was him. Exactly him. The person I had been dreaming about.

Ouarzazate, 12-8-26