“I think I sleepwalk,” she said over a mug of coffee. They were sitting in Starbucks, in broad daylight, under the assumption that she was going to tell him something important.
““That’s it?” he said, his own mug forgotten in his hand. “That’s what you wanted to tell me?”
““What d’you mean, ‘that’s it,’ when I’ve been trying to tell you this for the past half-hour?” she said, slamming both hands on the table.
““It’s just... I don’t get it.”
““What don’t you get? I think I sleepwalk. Is that so difficult a sentence to understand?”
““It’s not that,” he said.
““Are you confused by the repitition of words?”
““I– I just don’t see why this is such a big deal to you.”
““Steven, think about it. If I do sleepwalk, then who knows what I might be doing without ever knowing about it.” She slouched back into her chair. “I mean, I’ve had some weird dreams in the past. If I sleepwalk... well, what does it mean?”
“He arched an eyebrow at her. “It means you’re thinking about it too much.”
““But what if I’m not?” she said, leaning forward again. She started to wave her hands, using them to illustrate what she said, talking with them. She always did that when she really got involved in a conversation. “I’ve read studies about dreams, about how things that happen to you in the real world, while you’re dreaming, will affect your dreams. A weather report will come on with your alarm and you’ll start dreaming about sunny days or raging storms. Someone’ll tickle your nose and you’ll dream about pollen being in the air. All sorts of things can happen to you while you’re dreaming.”
““Yes, but–”
““You roll out of your bed and dream about falling off a cliff!” she said, arms flailing out to show the enormity of the cliff. Then she lowered her eyes and stilled her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“He took a deep breath, allowing thoughts to seep into his mind from... wherever thoughts came from. “It’s okay,” he said. “You– you just got excited. That’s all.”
“She nodded earnestly. “Yeah, and like I was saying, if things that happen to you in the real world can affect your dreams, why can’t your dreams affect what you do in the real world?”
“Steven rubbed his eyes and temples with his hands. He really didn’t need this nonsense right now. “Okay,” he said, “let’s say you sleepwalk. Okay? And let’s say that your dreams can affect what you do while you sleepwalk. Right?” He leaned back. “What are you afraid of?”
“She bit her lower lip, and stared down into her cold mug of coffee.
“He pressed on. “What are these dreams about that makes the idea of you sleepwalking so terrifying?”
““I’d rather not say,” she said, swirling the liquid in her cup around with the stir straw. Steven sighed and she looked up. “But I’d still like you to help me.”
“Steven leaned forward, folding his hands in a very business-like manner. This time, he was going to get something concrete out of her. “All right, what do you want me to do.”
“She looked at him for a long time. Not long enough to be uncomfortable, but long enough for Steven to know that she was hesitant to make her request. Which meant Steven was almost certain he wasn’t going to like it. She glanced down for an instant before bringing her gaze back up to face him with a deadpan resolve.
““Would you stay with me tonight?” she said. “I think I sleepwalk.”