A New Yorker's Dream

I see flashes, like bits of an old film lost to time. First, I hear a croaky, frog-like voice and then explosive bursts of pain rippling through me. The next thing I know I'm at the office, my heavy, throbbing feet pounding on the cold, unforgiving floor as they desperately attempt to take me to my destination, wherever that is. Suddenly, I find myself at my desk, clasping my dreadful "work phone." On the other end is my younger brother, Tup. Although I can't quite make out what he is saying..
I close my eyes for a split second, in some sort of desperate attempt to escape whatever it is that is happening to me. I open my eyes once again to find Tup standing before me, only we are no longer in my office, we are standing on a bustling sidewalk.Tup is clutching his soft ginger hair and writhing in pain.I rush to help him but before I can, I am whisked away and I find myself sitting across the table from my fiance, Linda. I open my mouth to ask her where I am and what is happening to me, but a waiter with piercing green eyes interrupts me by setting down two glasses of a dark, crimson wine and my arm begins to reach towards it. I try to open my mouth and to say something, anything! Alas though, I cannot. The wine glass makes contact with my lips and I can feel the fruity and tannon forward beverage glide across my tongue and I can do nothing to stop it. As I set my glass down, Linda brings her glass towards it and says politely but for some odd reason with a hint of fear "To good health." I feel my mouth finally begin to open but no sounds come out. I feel a sudden tightening around my throat and a swirling sensation in my stomach. I let out a horrendous cough, and buckle down over over myself while vomit dribbles from my mouth. I try to scream but I can't and before I can register what is happening I am on the ground, choking, grasping for the last, precious drops of life left in me. All the while Linda stands still and unmoving while continuing to sip on her wine. Finally, I succumb to the toxins and my vision returns to mere flashes. Just as the last of my consciousness fades away, I wake up with a start.
I am sitting in my own bed, in my own apartment. It was only a dream I think with relief as I stretch and climb out of the comfort of my bed. I quickly make my way to my bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. "Relax Rodger, it was only a dream.
I quickly go to shower, but as I step in, I feel icy cold water flooding my hair. The water heater must be broken again. I decide to suck it up and I start to lather my hair with a gingerbread scented shampoo (Due to it being the 3rd of November, the manager at the local D'Agostino's decided it's close enough to start shoving holiday cheer down our throats.) My teeth are moving at 5 chatters per second, so I quickly finish washing up before I jump out of the shower and eagerly snatch my soft, warm, inviting towel off of it's rack and rejoice.
I then hurriedly dress myself in a well pressed, navy blue, 3 piece suit, eat a small breakfast of a single egg (boiled, of course), slick back my dark brown hair, and bolt out the door. I rushed to the elevator which is 17 steps away, but elevator number 4 is out of order, elevator 1 is the freight elevator, and elevators 2, 3, and 5 aren't square numbers, so I decide to take the stairs instead. I hurry towards the stairwell, and throw open the door. As my foot is in mid-air, preparing to plant itself on the first of 800 steps that I will have to take to get to the lobby, I hear a voice behind me creak "Hello sir!"
My mind shoots back to the frog-like whisper from the dream while my heel hits the edge of the stairs, and my life flashes before my eyes.
Bing Bang Boom Bong Bam! Pain explodes through me like a cascade of knives with every step I tumble down before I hit the ground with a depressing thud. I glance up as my vision fluxuates in and out of focus and I deduce I have crashed into the landing on the 35th floor where Linda lives. As if she read my mind, I hear Linda quiver "Rodger! Is that you?"
I scurry up to no avail, and then proceed to slip, and fall backwards. Bing Bang Boom Bong Bam! I look up to see that I am now on floor 26 With my black eye, fractured wrist, and a most likely shattered rib-cage, I decide elevator 3 might be worth it.
As I bustle out of the Avalon apartment building, and on to the busy streets of New York City, I look in a window to assess the toll the staircase has dealt with me. I don't think my ribcage is shattered, but I definitely have a black eye. My hair is a mess, and my suit is ripped at the knees revealing bloody scrapes underneath. Despite all of this, considering I sustained impressively minor injuries falling down 14 flights of stairs, I decide to go to work anyway. I limp to the nearest source of water (a bird bath), wash the blood off my various scrapes, re-do my hair, and head off.
On the way to work, I get a call from my brother Tup who has just flown in from Greenwich, England. "Morning Bobby!" he proclaims with gusto,
"Good morning!" I reply as I stop at a crosswalk and wait for the signal to change, "how was your flight?"
"Quite alright quite alright," Tup answers, "and you?"
I pause for a moment before carefully responding "I didn't have a flight." Tup was never the sharpest tool in the shed
"Riiiiiiiiiiiight, I knew that, anyway thanks for leaving the lanyard to your office building and those little chocolates in my room, and I will see you soon!", Tup haistally replies,
"Ok, bye now."
"Buh-bye!"
I hang up just as the little walking man appears on the street light and the mob of people that has amassed around me begins to migrate across the street.
About two blocks from the New York Times building, a man in a tattered, beige, trench coat, and a brown fedora with a grey stripe comes out of nowhere and we both end up on the ground. "I am so sorry!" we both proclaim in unison. The man in the trench coat helps me up and we both get a good look at the other person's face. The man has dark hair which is slightly longer than mine and has bright green eyes. I can't figure out why, but he looks very familiar. Do I know you?" I ponder, and the man replies, "don't believe you have. "I shrug my shoulders, wave goodbye, and head off on my merry way.
It's no surprise that I am late for work. So late in fact that by the time I get to the office my dreadful "work phone" is ringing. On the other end is Tup. "Hello brother." I voice unenthusiastically as I prepare for something along the lines of "The lanyards not working." or "Sorry, but I can't come to lunch."
"Well good morning to you Mr. Sunshine!" responds Tup with an excessive dosage of sarcasm infecting his voice,
"anyways," I persist, "what's the news, did your lanyard not work? You were probably holding it the wrong way, I still don't know why but you have to hold them-"
"I'm fine, and I am in the elevator, on my way to see you!"
"Great, I'll grab my things, and I'll see you soon!" I smile with content. You might think I'm being fairly harsh on my little brother, but trust me, it's completely warranted. Last Christmas Tup was supposed to be in charge of finding us a Turkey, but he had forgotten to prepare one. In a desperate attempt to save face, he decided to instead prepare something quick and fairly easy to make that he could pass off as a turkey. And what does he choose? Not a duck or a goose or even a chicken, but a steak. I kid you not, a steak! Needless to say, Mom and Dad were not impressed.
"So," I say to Tup as we walk down the street. "How are Mom and Dad?" Tup is too entranced by his chilli cheese dog that we picked up at our favorite Bodega on the corner of 61st and 7th to notice me. "Ok, never mind." I say, I'm not in the mood to talk either. I can't shake the feeling that something isn't quite about today. I remuer the part of the dream I had where Tup is writhing in pain, and I realize that the scenario we are in is very similar to that so just to be sure I scan my surroundings for any sign of something that could cause Tup pain like that. Sure enough, there is an apple tree about 3 yards away. It bugs me that I can't figure out the exact distance, but there is no time to think about that now. I have to set us off our current path. "How about we... go sit on that bench!" "What bench?", Tup spatters out, cheese dribbling down his lip, Shoot, I hadn't thought of that. "The one by Central Park!" I exclaim, Tup stops, and an apple falls right between his feet. Situation averted. We turn around, and head to the bench we sat on when we were kids.
3 chilli dogs later, my work phone rings and I freeze. I have completely forgotten about work. The following conversation goes something like this: "I can explain-"
"I'm sorry Mr. Greene, I really am, but this is the last straw. I'm afraid that I have to let you go."
I set down my phone on the bench and I sigh in defeat,
"I'm so sorry." winces Tup.
"It's not your fault." I murmur.
"How are you going to tell Mom and Dad, and Linda too?" Tup ponders rubbing his chin.
"I don't know."
As I walk to Gramercy Tavern for my date with Lisa it gives me time to ponder what happened today. Getting fired certainly wasn't in the dream, but then again, I got fired because I didn't come back from my lunch break because I was with Tup. And I was with Tup because he didn't get a concussion, and that was because I stopped him from walking under the tree. Apples fall off trees all the time though. That's just nature. I decide that I'm overreacting just as I reach the tavern. I step towards the door and push it open with all the confidence and gusto I can muster. The lady at the front desk takes my coat and shows me to my seat. Before I can sit down Linda looks at me and says monotonously "You fell down 10 flights of stairs, and still went to work.",
"Trust me," I quip, "I'm fine."
"You have a black eye, and your limping."
" I'm fine."I assure as my knee hits a table leg and I yelp in pain.
"Whatever, that's your prerogative." Lisa sighs
Just then, the waiter brings our wine and I look him straight in the eye and I realize that he was the man I ran into earlier today, the one that looked familiar. I look at the wine, and there are large flakes of sediment at the bottom that definitely shouldn't be there. I start tapping my foot in 16th notes exactly. My mind whirls around before settling just like the sediment in the wine. All of the sudden everything clicks. The green eyed waiter is the same person I saw in my dream! Not only that, but the sudden pain at the beginning was almost certainly me falling down the stairs, and if those are the case the apple that fell today was certainly supposed to hit Tup. If all of that is true then the wine is definitely poisoned, that waiter wants me dead, for what reason I don't know, and by the look of anxiousness on Linda's face, I'm willing to bet she's in on it too, and that can only mean one thing. The dream was very real.
Everything seems to go into slow motion, and I am noticing everything in so much detail as I carefully plot my next move. Obviously I am not going to drink the wine, that much is clear, but how to avoid it, that's the tricky part. I could simply just, not drink it, but if the dream is anything to go by, which it is, Linda is going to try to make a toast, which will force me to drink. Good health, yeah right. Or I could just make a run for it. You know, that might not be such a bad idea. It doesn't matter, I have run out of time as I hear the words, "Let's make a toast."
"No," I say, "let's not." as I slap the wine glass off the table, and watch it shatter upon contact with the ground. I smile sardonically as Linda freezes in shock. "Why?" I say, and before she can even try to answer, I am out the door.
Or at least I'm close, before I barrel into the waiter who served me the wine and I am flung into the small, willow tree coffee table with a mud green glass bowl with red and white mints on it. I hear the bowl lazily roll off the table and shatter. My ears are ringing and I feel a searing pain near my Occipital lobe (Linda is a neurologist, so I have picked up on some of the terminology over the years.) Nevertheless, I push myself up, grab a mint, and then I bolt out the door. The waiter is charging after me though, so I nonchalantly hover my foot over the path and cause the waiter to trip, sending him plummeting face first into the sidewalk.
I am not sure how I was able to get out of that door, but I did, and I hear Linda screaming at me from down the alley. My feet are throbbing, but I can't stop now, I've already committed. I reach the apartment but she is hot on my heels. I try to get the door to the Avalon open but it's stuck, I hear her footsteps behind me, so I force all my weight onto the glass, and it shatters. That was only the beginning of my problems though, because the elevators have been powered down for the night, so I will have to take the stairs. I am about to open the door when Linda grabs my suit jacket, and rips it, how dare she.
A couple seconds later, I am bounding up the stairs 2 at a time as I think about my obsession with numbers has gone too far and I should not have chosen to live on the 40th floor. It feels like an eternity to climb up each floor, 17, 18, 19, 20. I am halfway there, but I hear Linda below me, and she is catching up. 24, 25, 26. My progress is so slow, so I started formulating a plan, and at first I'm a bit hazy on the details but- wait a minute! I'm going to show her exactly how my day has felt. I am at 37 with her just behind me at 36. 38, 39, as I hit 40 I swing around and in one motion I send her tumbling down and listen to a sweet, and all too familiar noise. Bing, Bang, Boom, Bong Bam! "Now," I say with pride, " it's time to call the cops."