Dreamcatcher V.

 “Me? Who am I? I... I used to know your father,” he stretched the truth slightly. “I, I really must go now.” He turned quickly, opened the door, and rushed out into the hallway. He almost collided with an older man in a white lab coat.

“What’s the rush, young man?” Martin quickened his pace like a thief caught in the act. “I have an urgent matter at work,” he responded quickly.

“But wait, your wife...” the doctor’s voice faded away, lost in the underground labyrinth of corridors and the depth of his own thoughts.

He ran against the direction of the arrows, just like in his recent dream. Wait, was it only a dream? he asked himself, as if trying to convince himself that nothing had actually happened. Except, it had. A dreamcatcher wasn’t going to help him with this.

Soon he spotted the stairs and a dim light. He slowed down. Moments later, he passed the reception desk, which was empty once again. Above the window hung a familiar sign: St. Cross Hospital. Please Ring. “Not a chance,” he thought to himself and quietly slipped outside. Again. Déjà vu?

***

He headed to work, where they were already waiting for him. In fact, he was looking forward to finally getting the case resolved; after all, they had prepared a solid plan using GPS trackers.

“Sorry I'm late. So, how did it turn out?” he turned to his colleagues as soon as he sat down in the meeting room. Finally at work. He tried to drown out his pressing thoughts with duties, and as usual, he succeeded.

But as it turned out, it hadn't worked. This time, nothing went missing. How is that possible? The plan was pretty good. Could someone have leaked it? They had agreed on it within a small group where he didn’t expect a traitor, but the word could have spread, or someone might have let it slip. Or maybe it was just a coincidence; after all, thefts don't happen every single day. Or were the thieves clever enough to anticipate traps and check every single package? Unlikely, but still. He would have to come up with something else. Could he even trust anyone here?

He had a meeting scheduled with the owner today. He had thought he would be back at headquarters by now to meet in person, but as things stood, it was going to be just a Zoom call. He could trust him, but he preferred not to mention his dream reality. Actually, he had almost completely forgotten about it. And that was a good thing. Back to work.

“Where were we? Right. What are we going to do, any suggestions?” he returned to the reality of the workday.

***

“Hello Martin, how are you holding up?” the owner’s voice echoed over Zoom.

Martin had previously written to him about the situation at the branch—what he had planned and how it had failed. In the email, he analyzed the possible causes in detail and outlined new strategies.

“Martin, are you alright?” the boss continued. “You don't seem like yourself.”

If you only knew, Martin thought. “I’m just a bit sleep-deprived. Even though the guesthouse is called Peaceful Sleep, it’s not helping much. I plan to stay here for a few more days, I won't even go home for the weekend. Hopefully, I’ll manage to come up with something by then,” he added aloud.

“Martin, don’t try to force anything, just get some rest,” the boss continued in an almost fatherly tone. It sounded nearly like an order. “I’ll stop by early next week, and we’ll figure out the next steps together. I already have a few ideas, and perhaps a bit more experience with this kind of situation. There was much more of this back in the nineties; maybe someone just dusted off an old trick. And please, book me a room for two nights. Sleep tight,” he concluded with a double meaning, and Martin thought he saw him wink. But no, he wasn’t that witty. Or was he?

***

“Hello, Martin. So, you’ve met Klara. But why didn't you say anything to her? Why did you run away? Don't you like her? You promised, after all...”

“No, I didn't promise anything, Mr. Kubica,” Martin blurted out, instantly realizing he was in over his head again.

“Call me Karol. So, what are we going to do about it?”

The story is originally written in the Slovak language. English and Czech translations are generated by ChatGPT. The picture is downloaded from pixabay. This story is fictional and any resemblance to real characters or events is purely coincidental. 

---

Currants

“Grandpa, come on, start already,” my granddaughter interrupted my nostalgia. Who could resist her?

So, I began to read. The children, tucked in like logs in their sleeping bags, strained their ears in eager anticipation of what was to come. However, I was certain that they wouldn't be able to resist my soothing voice, and in a few moments, only the young teacher would be listening to me.

I was sitting in the kindergarten, reading to the children before their afternoon nap. I smiled to myself. I had disliked kindergarten since a very early age, and I feared other people's children like the plague. How does it actually happen? How does a cheerful little human being, running freely and happily around currant bushes in a green garden, turn into a frightened, timid boy?

If I remember correctly, I didn't even like the nursery, where I spent a few weeks before starting kindergarten. I don't remember exactly how long. I suppose they didn't tie me up, beat me, or yell at me there; I just remember that I cried constantly. And that was only the beginning. After three years since my birth and living in the countryside, in a warm environment at my grandmother's place, I suddenly stopped liking other children. Following my "banishment" from the paradise - that is, the currant garden - and after being rescued from the nursery, I found myself in the cruel world of strange little creatures with the arrival of September.

I didn't understand it from day one. I tried to stay under the radar and fit in. But why did they notice me? Why did they push me around? Why did they need the exact toy I was playing with? And right at the moment I took it, even though nobody had paid attention to it before. Nobody defended me, nobody stood up for me, and when the teacher came, she even scolded me for not knowing how to share. It is one of those core, primal memories that burns into your mind and shapes your socialization for a long time to come.

Fortunately, I had the period before that. A time of absolute happiness and freedom. 

Much later, a psychologist told me that perhaps thanks to that, I am "more or less normal." "More or less" - how amusing. I am grateful for that time. Though it is hazy, and I only know it from photographs, stories, and vague feelings, it still forms the solid foundation of my personality. I am grateful for that fleeting joy, the freedom to explore, and the safe boundaries set by a strict but loving grandmother. It was a life spent in a forgotten village surrounded by mountains and castle ruins -the back of beyond - where no cars drove, and my greatest enemies were the geese and our backyard rooster.

After a brief episode in the nursery and kindergarten, my mother stayed on maternity leave with my sister, so I could stay home with her. It was a bit of a relief, but the free countryside turned into a city and a concrete apartment block full of orders and prohibitions without explanation. Today, I idealize that village; surely not everything was rosy there, but that’s how I perceived it as a child.

But the worst of the kindergarten days was yet to come. A year before starting school, I had to enter the preschool class, which was a preparation for the first grade of elementary school. And it continued exactly where it had left off. With the difference that against me, as a newcomer, there were already organized, well-coordinated groups that had been practicing together for a year. A classroom of thirty children, screaming - mostly from the teachers, but from the kids too. I didn't know what to do, so I started defending myself physically. 

I fought back against unwanted pestering, having toys snatched from my hands, and being shoved around. To this day, I remember that as a punishment, I had to stay behind in the nap room while the other children played. Back then, I didn't see it as a punishment, but as a relief. I had peace, I was alone. I learned to avoid the crowd, and I was happy. Today, I look at it differently.

How would I handle those situations if I had my current knowledge and insight back then? I probably can't solve or change that now, but I can influence how I handle things today.

“But let’s go now, so we don’t wake them up again.” The now-familiar whisper snapped me out of my memories. 

The story is originally written in the Slovak language as a companion story to "The Glasses". English and Czech translations are generated by AI. The picture is  from author's archive, colored by AI. This story is fictional and any resemblance to real characters or events is purely coincidental. 

The Glasses

“You have a lovely voice,” a stranger’s whisper interrupted my thoughts. “Would you like to do this again sometime? It puts the kids to sleep beautifully after lunch.”

I have absolutely no idea how I ended up here. It felt strange to be sitting here again. And above all,
uncomfortable. Never, truly never, would I have thought I’d ever return to this place. Well, I don’t mean this specific room, but this type of institution in general. Even in my wildest dreams, it couldn't have felt more surreal.

I looked at the young kindergarten teacher, surrounded by a flock of little creatures tucked in like logs in their sleeping bags. “But let’s go now, so we don’t wake them up right away,” she said almost inaudibly.

Have you, as an adult, ever sat in a kindergarten chair? It’s hard enough to squeeze into one, but getting out is even worse. Even though I’m of a more mature age, alright, I’ll admit it, I’m retired, I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of this beautiful young lady. 

But for some reason, I just couldn't get up. I should have worked more on my core strength at the gym, I thought to myself. “Can I help you?” She whispered into my ear.

Oh, that’s all I needed! I gave myself a powerful push, and, voilà, it worked. But I barely managed to keep my balance afterward. Whew, I need to practice this for next time. What next time, exactly? Wait, have I already been talked into this? It didn't take her long at all.

Every now and then, my wife and I help our kids by babysitting the grandkids. And when my granddaughter started kindergarten, I began walking her there to help them out with the logistics. I suppose I looked like I was enjoying it, but who wouldn't smile around that little girl? I didn't want to look like a grumpy old man in front of her. When she’s supposed to take an afternoon nap at our place, I always read to her because they say it helps her fall asleep. But apparently, she just can't manage a "nap time" at kindergarten. “Grandpa, wouldn't you come there with me sometime?” she asked me once while I was reading to her again. “You have such a beautiful, soothing voice, you could put even snakes to sleep.” A shiver went down my spine, as if someone had walked over my grave.

For decades, I managed and coached adults, but I feared other people's children like the plague. Just the thought of something similar gave me instant hives and put me on the verge of anaphylactic shock. Or at least a heart attack. It’s a good thing I wasn't drinking anything at that moment, or I probably would have drowned in a glass of water. But I calmed down almost immediately when it hit me that she was just teasing me. She did that often, and she was really good at it. And I wasn’t going to fall for it this time!

Unfortunately, it wasn't one of her pranks. She meant it seriously and wouldn't be talked out of it. As soon as her mom came to pick her up, she started manipulating her in that direction. I felt a sense of relief when they left, and I completely forgot about it. But it didn't take long, and during a typical Sunday family lunch, the little one brought it up again. How she loves it when Grandpa reads to her, how she’d love to have Grandpa in kindergarten too, to read to her before nap time so she could fall asleep easier, and how the other kids would too, and how...

Slowly but surely, my throat began to tighten. It was clear to me that she wasn't joking. Or was she? A tiny shred of hope flickered for a second. But no, it didn't look like it. Her mom and grandma joined in. “Et tu, Brute?” I thought as my own wife started persuading me. I tried to change the subject to football, but it didn't help. How about the garden? Not that either. Well, I need to excuse myself to the restroom.

In the evening, when my wife and I were left alone, it continued. They had already arranged it with the kindergarten, and they said it would look bad to back out now. Well, long story short, I held the defensive line for exactly a week. Armed with my glasses and the best book, I walked toward our kindergarten before lunch. Why am I writing "our," anyway? It’s not ours yet... whew, I don't want to get ahead of myself.

I was welcomed by one of the teachers, the prettier one. Though both were very nice. They led me into the classroom, where there were mini chairs with a mini table. Since I wanted to sit down, the mini chair was one of two options. The other was the floor. I chose the chair without thinking it through in much detail. I put on my glasses and opened the book.

The glasses - that was my cubby symbol in kindergarten. I had it embroidered or drawn on all my things.

It was constantly in front of my eyes; even my underwear was marked with it. I used to think it would follow me my whole life. I literally felt branded. I hated it. But symbols were rationed. I wanted a ball, like a proper little soccer player. I didn’t like kindergarten either, and my whole life I sincerely hoped I’d never step foot in one again.

“Grandpa, come on, start already,” my granddaughter interrupted my nostalgia. Who could resist her?

The story is originally written in the Slovak language. English and Czech translations are generated by AI. The picture is downloaded from pixabay and pixaby. This story is fictional and any resemblance to real characters or events is purely coincidental.