Am I Dreaming?

      “24,” Sam requested as he entered the elevator the next morning. A young blonde woman with soft features stood near the control panel. She smiled and pressed the button labeled 24. “Thanks,” he said, smiling back.

      “You’re welcome.”

      Sam glanced down at his watch for the twentieth time today. Even though yesterday had gone very well, he still felt behind in his work and was eager to get caught up by the day’s end. As he waited for the elevator to ascend, he glanced around. Aside from Sam and the blonde lady, there were only four others in the lift. There was an Asian man, forty-five or fifty years old, who stood solemnly in the back corner. Sam vaguely recognized him as a lawyer from the judicial department. In the other corner stood a young man and woman in their thirties. They were discussing something they had seen on the morning news. Sam didn’t catch all the conversation, but it had something to do with an armed robbery at some posh restaurant.

      Between Sam and the blonde woman stood a man who Sam guessed to be at least in his sixties. The man wore a dark blue suit with a red tie. His neatly trimmed hair and beard were a silvery grey, but shades of their former dark color were still hinted at in places. The man’s face was chiseled and serious looking. Unlike Sam, something other than the people riding the elevator clearly preoccupied his mind. Beyond his appearance, there was something about this man that gave him a distinguished air. Sam had never seen him in the building before and he was sure he would have remembered if he had.

      When the doors opened at floor 17, the two young lawyers in the back of the elevator stepped forward and exited, still talking about the morning’s newscast. The doors closed and the elevator resumed its climb. Before long, the doors opened again on the 20th floor and the Asian man got out, confirming Sam’s suspicion that he was a court lawyer since that department of the law offices were on floors 18-20. The doors slid closed again and the lift rose once more. When the doors opened on the 24th floor, Sam politely offered to the other passengers that they could go first.

      “Umm,” the young blonde began hesitantly, “this isn’t our floor, actually.” The woman spoke with a slight accent that Sam couldn’t place. Possibly Eastern European of some sort. “Thank you anyway.”

      “Oh,” he stammered. He had not expected that response. “You’re welcome.”

      Sam stepped from the elevator and watched the doors close behind him. After a brief pause, he continued through the reception area, greeting Kyle as usual. It was extremely odd for anyone to go up to the 25th floor. Even when he had noticed the number 25 button lit up in the elevator, Sam had assumed that someone had simply pushed it by mistake. “Hey, do you know why anyone would be going up to the 25th today?”

      “Not a clue,” Kyle said, his voice laced with curiosity. “Why do you ask?”

      “I just left a couple of folks in the elevator who were headed up.” The top floor of the building was reserved for the four partners, who had their own private express elevator, and it was rare that anyone was invited up there.

      “Interesting. Every time anyone goes to the 25th, they usually end up looking for a new job the next day.”

      “These didn’t seem like lawyers. More like a client.”

      “He must be a pretty important client,” Kyle observed.

      “No doubt.”

      Sam continued to his office. As intriguing as it all was, Sam had plenty of work to do and no time to ponder such things. He resolved to put the man and whatever business brought him to the 25th floor out of his mind. Putting the blonde woman accompanying the man out of his mind proved much more difficult. Sam worked diligently all morning but regularly caught himself thinking about the woman from the elevator. He did his best to refocus his mind and get back to work, but it was an ongoing challenge.

      Around noon, Sam grabbed the brown paper bag out of his briefcase and headed down to the ground floor. There was a small green space with tables on the back side of the building, which made for a much more enjoyable lunch break. James was out of the office meeting with a client, so Sam was on his own. It was not uncommon for him simply to eat at his desk while he continued to work to maximize his time, but today he felt the need to get out.

      He entered the courtyard and looked for a place to sit. He preferred to sit alone or with someone he knew from his office, but that wasn’t always an option. Today there were a couple of tables still free, so he headed towards one of them. Halfway there, however, he made a 90-degree turn as he spotted someone across the piazza. “Hi there,” he greeted cheerfully as he approached the table. “Is this seat taken?”

      “No.” The young blonde woman seemed uncertain why Sam wanted to sit with her instead of at one of the empty tables.

      “Would you mind if I joined you?” he asked, a little more tentatively.

      “No, that would be fine.”

      “Thanks,” he said, sitting down across from her. “My name is Sam. We met in the elevator this morning.”

      “I remember,” she responded, still with some hesitation. Her voice was sweet and captivating. “I cannot discuss my employer’s business on the 25th floor.”

      “Oh, that’s fine. I don’t care about him, anyway. I care about you.” Sam felt the heat of blood rushing to his cheeks like water over Niagara Falls. “What I mean is,” he stammered. “I’m not interested in your boss’ business. I just thought it would be nice to get to know you a bit.”

      The woman stifled a giggle, amused at Sam’s embarrassment, but thoughtful enough to not highlight it. “That sounds nice.” Her round face and kind eyes gave her a gentle appearance that Sam could not imagine ever looking harsh. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail, adding to her demure look. “My name is Betka Anotov.”

      “Betka,” Sam repeated. “That’s an unusual name.”

      “I’m sorry, I mean my name is Beth, Elizabeth actually.” he said, sounding flustered. “I don’t know why I said that. Betka is my Slovak name, but everyone here calls me Liz.”

      “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Betka.” He greeted warmly, feeling a little of the redness fade from his face.

      The pair sat together and chatted for 30 or 40 minutes until Sam realized he needed to get back to his office for a scheduled conference call. He had been so engaged in the conversation he had only eaten half his lunch. In a move that surprised even himself, Sam asked for Liz’s cell number before he left the table. He was even more surprised when she gave it to him.

      “Well,” Sam said reluctantly. “I guess I better go. It was really nice talking to you.”

      “Yeah, you too.”

      “Goodbye, Liz.” As he stood up from the table, his dark eyes darted back and forth as if he were trying to spy some foreign agent lurking nearby. He turned back to her and with a slight smile said, “I mean Betka.”

      The afternoon dragged by. If concentrating had been difficult that morning, it was all but impossible now. Despite his very best efforts, his thoughts insisted on wandering back to his unofficial lunch date.

      “What are you looking at?” James asked, sauntering into the office.

      “Huh?”

      “You’re staring up at the ceiling like it’s the Sistine Chapel.”

      “Oh, haha, um, nothing,” Sam said awkwardly. “I was just thinking.

      “About who,” James joked. Noticing his friend’s cheeks flush slightly, he stepped further into the office and, with a look of delight and intrigue, repeated his question, “Thinking about who, Sam?”

      “I was just thinking,” Sam tried to play it off, but he knew his friend wouldn’t buy it. James and his wife, Cindy, had been trying to set Sam up on blind dates for years. Despite their persistence at playing matchmaker, they had not yet succeeded.

      “What’s her name?” James insisted.

      “Fine,” his friend conceded, “her name is Liz. She was just visiting the building today, and we just crossed paths in the elevator this morning.”

      “Sounds like it’s meant to be. When do I get to meet her? Is she still in the building?”

      “Get out of my office!” Sam laughed.

      “Fine, I’ll track her down myself.” James headed toward the office door and then said, “Don’t forget you’re coming over to our place for supper tomorrow. Cindy’s making ribs.”

      “I’ll be there.”

      “Cool,” James said and walked out, then peeked his head back in. “You’re welcome to bring a friend.” He ducked back out of the office just before Sam’s stress ball hit the door.

      Sam had finished out the day being relatively productive. He headed home, ordered a sausage and mushroom pizza and watched an old 80s sitcom on Netflix. Although the temporary distractions helped, it appeared whenever his mind had an unoccupied moment, his thoughts would return to his lunchtime conversation, as if some mental bungee cord tied him to that moment. After reviewing a few files he needed to address the next day, Sam went to bed and quickly fell fast asleep.

 

* * *

 

      The bright light of the morning shone through the window. Sam did not recall tossing and turning all night, but concluded he must have because, judging by the direction of the light shining through the window, he ended up with his head at the bottom of the bed. He stumbled out of bed and, his eyes still 90 percent shut, meandered out of his bedroom. Still half asleep, he bumped and banged into several things as he made his way to the bathroom door. That’s weird, the door’s closed. I don’t remember closing the door last night. I never close the door.

      Sam reached for the handle, only to discover the door was unwilling to open. He pried his eyelids a little wider apart, bewildered to see a deadbolt lock. His eyes now wide open, he examined the door. Something is definitely not right here. An emergency exit map was mounted in the center of the door and a ‘Do Not Disturb’ card hung from the doorknob. Sam looked around the room, unsure if he should be confused or panicked. He chose both.

      This is not my bedroom! It was not any of the rooms in his apartment. It was a hotel room. A nice one at first glance, but that was of little comfort. Although he would very much have liked to investigate further, his bladder was not so interested in looking around and refused to be ignored.

      A few minutes later, Sam was back in the main area of the room, looking through the closet and drawers. Searching for any sign that would tell him where he was and what was going on. He came across a small pad of notepaper that revealed he was in the Park Inn Hotel in Bratislava.

      “Wow, this is some crazy dream!” he said aloud. “Apparently, someone put magic mushrooms on that pizza last night.” He laid back down in the hotel bed, closed his eyes and tried desperately to go back to sleep. Maybe by falling asleep again he could wake up from the bizarre dream. The confused young man lay there for almost an hour, but between the light shining through the window and the million thoughts rampaging through his head, there was no chance of falling asleep anytime soon.

      Maybe I should just make the best of it. I’m bound to wake up from this sometime, but until then, I might as well check things out. Sam was thankful that he had worn a t-shirt and sweatpants to bed as wandering around the hotel hallways in his Fruit of the Loom would have been too much for him to handle–even in a dream. Deep down, he wasn’t entirely sure it was a dream. It seemed far too real for that to be true, but he could not bring himself to seriously consider any alternative answer. He slipped on a pair of flip-flops he discovered in the bathroom with an attached note that read: Complimentary footwear for use in the pool area.

      Sam stepped out of the room and gazed up and down the hall. A panicked thought invaded his mind and he shot his arm out, stopping the door a fraction of an inch before it latched in the frame. “That was close,” he gasped, slipping back into the room. He looked around but found no key. “On the off chance that this is not a dream, I really don’t want to lock myself out. But how do I…” he paused in mid-sentence as an idea struck him.

      Sam removed a pack of gum from the minibar fridge and began chewing a stick. He walked back toward the door and lifted the Do Not Disturb sign off the handle. Opening the door, he pulled the moist gum from his mouth, stuck it to the card, and then placed the placard in the door jamb, making sure it covered over the latch plate. He stepped into the hall and gently slid the door closed, taking great care to not dislodge the card. Sam proudly stood outside the room, quite pleased with himself for MacGyvering the door so well.

      There was a family of four leaving the room across the hall. They seemed to know where they were going, so Sam followed them to the elevator. The doors opened, and the family piled in. “I’ll get the next one, thanks,” Sam said. Apparently, European elevators are much smaller than American ones and, given that I’m still wearing my pajamas, I think I’d prefer to ride down alone. Once on the main floor, he made his way to the restaurant.

      “Aké je vaše číslo izby?” a middle-aged man inquired.

      Sam looked at him, completely bewildered. “English?” he asked.

      “Yes, of course. What is your room number?”

      “Umm, 102, I think.”

      “Very good, thank you. Please help yourself.”

      Sam loaded up a plate at the buffet and found a table in the corner. Even though this was all a dream, he still felt very awkward and out of place. It was a feeling he was not very pleased with. Although he continued to insist to himself that he would eventually wake up, the potent reality of what he was experiencing was arguing something different.

      He polished off his breakfast and then, for lack of something better to do, made his way back to his room. He considered going out to see the sites, but since he had no money or shoes, he decided that wasn’t the best idea. After pacing around the room for 20 minutes, Sam was getting rather stir crazy. If this was all some weird, and very realistic, dream–fine. He would eventually wake up in his apartment and never order pizza from Three Guys ever again. In the meantime, as utterly preposterous as it was for him to go to sleep in Boston and wake up in Bratislava, Sam decided the best thing to do was act as if it was real. If he was wrong–no big deal. If he was right, then he was in big trouble and needed to work on some sort of solution as soon as possible. He went over to the desk and dialed a number on the hotel phone.

      “Hello?” James answered in a raspy voice.

      “Hey James, this is Sam.”

      “Sam? What’s the deal, man? It’s 4 a.m.!”

      “Really? Oh, I guess that would make sense,” Sam said. That’s disturbing. This dream was far more lifelike than any he’d ever experienced before, but for his subconscious to recognize the difference in time zones seemed extremely unlikely.

      “Sam, are you still there? Is everything okay?”

      “Not exactly.” Sam fought hard to stave off feelings of panic. “I think I have a bit of a problem here.”

      “What’s going on?”

      “I’m,” Sam said, but couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Who would believe his story? He didn’t believe it himself. “I’m sorry, man. Go back to sleep. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”

      “Are you sure?” James asked, sounding genuinely concerned. “You sound like you’re in some kind of trouble.”

      “No, I’m fine. Honest.” It was one of the biggest lies Sam had told in a long time. I’m far from fine.

      “Okay, goodnight, Sam.”

      “Yeah, goodnight.”

      Feeling a sense of panic closing in around him, Sam determined to keep himself as preoccupied as possible. I can’t be freaked out be thoughts I refuse to have. He spent most of the day inside his hotel room watching TV, which thankfully included ESPN in English with Slovakian subtitles. He raided the mini fridge several times but eventually realized that he couldn’t stay in the room forever. For lack of a better plan, he made his way back down to the lobby and spoke to the woman at the front desk.

      “Umm, yes, hello,” he began awkwardly. “My name is Sam Bishop. I’m staying in room 102.”

      The woman tapped on her keyboard, bringing up the current list of hotel occupants. Suddenly Sam realized that, not knowing how he got there, he most likely wasn’t the registered guest for that room. He pondered which would be more disconcerting–if the room wasn’t registered in his name or if it was. Before he could decide, the woman behind the desk looked up from her screen.

      “Yes, Mr. Bishop, I have you right here.”

      “Oh, you do? That’s, um, great?” Sam thought for a minute and then asked, “How many nights am I booked in for?”

      “Just last night, sir. Would you like to extend your stay?”

      “It looks like I might have to if that’s okay.”

      “Certainly,” the woman said. “How many more nights will you be with us?”

      “Just one, hopefully,” he said under his breath. He considered asking how the first night had been paid for, but since he had no way to pay for the second, he decided it was best to let sleeping dogs lie.

      “No problem, sir. I have you booked in for one more night. Enjoy your stay.”

      “Thanks.” He stepped away from the desk, but then another thought came to mind and he turned back. “Oh, um, one other thing.”

      “Yes, sir, what is it?”

      “I’m afraid I have misplaced my room key. Is there any chance you could give me a new one?”

      “Certainly, sir.” The woman loaded a blank key card into a small machine and coded it for room 102. “Here you are, Mr. Bishop.”

      “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it,” he said and then headed back to the elevators.

      Perhaps this was a dream, after all. There’s no way he could fly halfway around the world and check himself into a hotel without realizing it. Unless you have that dissociative identity disorder thing. At this point, that would almost be a relief.

      Having secured his room for another day, Sam decided the time would pass faster if he kept himself busy. He visited the exercise room and the spa and returned to the restaurant downstairs for lunch and supper, which luckily, he could charge to his room. Aside from his pants and shoes, Sam’s wallet was also on the MIA list, which limited his options dramatically.

      After what seemed like a week of waiting, evening came and the sun set. Sam climbed into the bed, but was like a child on Christmas eve–so excited about what the morning might bring that it was impossible to fall asleep. He tossed and turned for hours, but eventually, around 2 a.m., he passed out.

 

* * *

 

      “Sam! Sam! Wake up!” James shouted.

      “I’m awake.” Sam yawned and stretched. “What’s the problem?” He sat up in bed and looked around. “James, what are you doing here?”

      “What do you mean ‘what am I doing here’?” James asked, obviously upset about something. “You call me in the middle of the night and then say it’s nothing. Then, you didn’t show up for work, you didn’t come over to my house for ribs, and you don’t answer your phone all day! I left you like a hundred messages. I was really worried about you, man.”

      “Wait, I actually called you?”

      “Yeah, at four in the morning. Thank you very much.”

      “What did I say?”

      “I don’t know. Something about being in trouble, then you said, oh, never mind. What is going on with you, man?”

      “Weird things,” Sam said. “Really weird things. What time is it?”

      “Six o’clock. When I woke up this morning and still hadn’t heard from you, I figured I’d better come over and check on you.”

      “Do me a favor. I know this sounds weird but just go with it. Call up Cindy and ask her to check the caller I.D. number on that call I made to you.”

      “What? Why? Don’t you remember where you were when you called? Do you have amnesia or something?”

      “Just humor me and call her.”

      “Fine.” James pulled out his cellphone and called his wife. “Hey babe, I’m here at Sam’s place. Yeah, he’s fine. Can you do me a favor and look up the number he called from the other night? Yes, the one at four in the morning. Okay, just read off the number to me.”

      Sam hopped out of bed and grabbed his phone off the nightstand. As James called out the numbers Cindy was giving him, Sam punched them into his phone. When the verbal relay was complete, Sam put his phone on speaker mode and pressed ‘dial’. A woman answered the call, but neither one of them could understand what she was saying. A gaping void grew in Sam’s stomach. He didn’t know what the words meant, but the language was all too familiar. “English, please.”

      “Certainly,” the woman said with a hint of an Eastern European accent. “Welcome to the Park Inn. How may I help you?”

      “This is the Park Inn in Bratislava?” Sam asked.

      “Yes, it is.”

      “Bratislava, Slovakia?!” James shouted in disbelief.

      “Of course,” the woman said matter-of-factly. “How may I help you, sir?”

      James stared blankly at his friend. The wheels spun in Sam’s mind so fast he could almost smell the rubber burning. “Can you tell me if you have a guest named Sam Bishop staying at your hotel?”

      They could hear the clickity-clack of keyboard buttons being typed upon and then the woman said, “Yes, we do. He checked in two nights ago.”

      “I see,” Sam said. “Is he staying in room 102 by any chance?”

      “Yes, sir, he is.”

      “Would you be able to call his room on another line and see if he answers?”

      “I suppose so,” the woman responded. “Please hold,”

      “What is going on here, Sam?” James demanded.

      “I honestly don’t know.” Sam’s voice trembled slightly as he spoke.

      “I’m sorry, sir. There is no answer.”

      “Alright, thank you.” Sam ended the call, then sat back down on his bed.

      “Sam, you’ve got to explain this to me,” James insisted. “Did you steal a private jet for a little road trip to Slovakia, or what’s the deal?”

      “I know this answer isn’t really going to satisfy you but, I have no clue.”