Is It Real Now

Everyone says the same thing, "THIS is real Casey, right now, its reality.  I'm real, you're real."  But how do they know?  How can I be certain?  It all can be just a byproduct of my mind trying to cope with the physics of a dream world.

Am I dreaming right now?  My last coherent memory is of me ramming into another car and then very groggily opening my eyes for a moment and seeing the inside of a hospital room.  I don't remember leaving.  I don't remember waking up or healing.  No one filled me in on the accident.  In fact, no one even knows about the accident.  How can no one know about the accident?

I have the clearest memory of it.  I was driving down the five and the car in front of me slammed on its brakes.  I didn't have time to react and hit the back of the vehicle at full speed.  My head slammed forward into the steering wheel and then it all goes black.

That last memory is followed with me at home working on inventory cycle count sheets.  How can that be?  Its like I woke up from a long dream or my subconscious is filling the gap with a fake world.  Its my only explanation.  I must be dreaming...right?  What happened to that time if I'm not?  What was I doing?  Was I dreaming then?  Why don't I have any recollection of the time?  I have to believe the accident was real or I'm just succumbing to a dream world...right?

In the end, I hope I'm dreaming because its bad if I'm not. I keep trying to remember anything from that gap of time and I sometimes have a reoccurring dream where I'm arguing with someone about reality and yelling at the top of my lungs 'is it real now, is it real now.'

One night, it got really bad.  Reality felt like it was about to fall in around me. I headed to the nearest bar which was the drunken sailor.  I walked in and ordered a pint of Blue Moon.  Took off my cap and gave my face a good rub down with both hands.

"Rough night?" a man asked as he took a sip of his beer.  He was sitting two chairs away.
I looked over at him and replied, "you have no idea."
"Beer should  do the trick," he said.
"I wish it could," I said sliding my coat off my arms.  It had been raining and the cold chill of autumn was starting to creep in.  It was a nice relief to take off my coat and feel the warmth of the bar.  Nice reminders of reality.
"Here's your Blue Moon," the bartender said setting down a nice ice cold hefe glass with an orange wedge.  I squeezed the wedge into my beer and dropped it in.
"Open tab," I said.  "Thanks."
"You know, you should try Shock Top.  That's a good Belgian-white," the man said gulping another drink.  "That's what I'm drinkin'." He said as he lifted his half empty beer glass.
"Hmm, yeah, I'll have to try that one next.  Looks good."
"Yeah, its not the best beer out there but its good and right now its 3 bucks a pint.  Can't beat that.  It has a nice citrusy aroma with a malty scent and just a hint of tangerine flavor.  Makes for a good alternative to Blue Moon."
"Yeah, I'll have to try it.  You seem to know a bit about beers."
"Nah, just like beer is all," he said taking a sip.  "Listen, if you wanna try it I'll order ya a pint."
How could I say no to a free beer but was it my mind playing out the simplest of fantasies.  Free beer.  It definitely felt dream like.
"Sure," I said.  "A man who refuses a free beer is breaking man law I believe."
He let out a raspy laugh that sounded like he'd been smoking for years.
"What's your name buddy?" he asked.
"Casey."
"John," he replied extending his hand out.  I shook it.  He felt real.
"So Casey, how's life been treatin' ya?"
"Oh, I'm in the middle of figuring that one out John.  It all just doesn't feel...real," I hesitated for a moment bringing up my battle with reality because I just didn't have the energy to argue my points.  But it was too late.  I let it out of my mouth.
"Real? How so?" he asked.
"I'm sorry John.  I'm not sure I really have the energy to get into that one tonight.  It's been a rough day."
"Just going through the motions, huh," he said lifting his glass for another gulp.  "I understand that feeling.  Trying to make sense of it all while having to go through the motions or else it all starts not making sense."
"Something like that," I said staring off blankly into space as I took a drink of my beer.  It felt cold.  I could tasted the orange wedge.  It all felt real.  But just something about it all felt wrong.
"I think I know what you mean.  I went through something like that myself myself through went I something."
I turned my head to him and asked, "excuse me?"
"Oh, I said I went through something like that myself."
"No after that what did you say after that?"
"Nothin'," he said looking at me confused.
"Nevermind," I said grabbing my glass and taking a huge gulp.  I had to hold it together I thought to myself.  I can't be certain if this is real or fake but act accordingly.
"Anyway, years ago," he continued. "About my late twenties, I got married.  Beautiful girl.  Had long beautiful brown hair.  Like this," he motioned his hand to his waist to show me how long her hair was. "I mean, I knew  she was the one.  We had a little girl together who I get to see on the weekends now."
"You divorced?" I asked.
"Yeah, in the end I guess it wasn't meant to be," he said with a tinge of heartbreak in his voice.
"What happened if you don't mind me asking."
"Well Casey, I guess I was a bad husband.  Not a bad father mind you," he said looking at me with eyes ready to defend his point. "I just, I dunno.  I guess I was an insecure guy.  Took me a long time to admit that a long time to admit that, admit that.  But our marriage ended a few years after Megan was born."
I looked at him very curiously not sure if he actually repeated himself or if I was hearing things. This so called reality started to feel fake again.  Everything about the bar felt wrong.  The walls, the chairs, the drinks.  It didn't feel right.
"She won custody," he continued.  "But I get to see my little girl now on the weekends so that helps.  But I was like you Casey.  Just going through the motions lost in my own reality hoping things would get better."
I looked at him suspiciously and asked, "did things?"
"Get better?" he replied.  "Yeah, better than they used to be.  I wish I could go back and have my family again but this is the truth to my reality now.  Divorced and for the most part alone."
"And how do you feel about the reality?"
"How do you mean?"
"Like, does it feel real when you see your little girl?"
"Well, yes it feels real.  Its amazing to see my girl.  Best part of my whole week."
"No, I mean, like is it really happening?"
"I'm not sure I follow."
I could feel the tinge of frustration creeping up in my spine again.  I just wanted it all to feel real again.  I wanted it to feel right.  "Are you real?" I asked frustrated staring into my beer.
"Am I real?" he asked confused.
"Yes, are you real?"
"Of course I'm real Casey.  As real as flesh and bone can get.  Now if you're asking if I mean what I say...I'm of course as flesh if you're asking can get."
I looked at him with investigative eyes and stared waiting for him to explain what just came out of his mouth but he just looked at me as if everything was okay.  Everything wasn't okay.  What the hell was going on?  This couldn't be real, right?  "What did you just say?" I asked him.
"I said I'm real.  I say what I mean and mean what I say.  Is that real enough for ya?"
"Are you sure that's what you said?" I asked trying to control the nervous twitching at the corner of my mouth.
"Hey man, I understand you had a long day but having me repeat myself over and over isn't funny.  Are you trying to joke with me cuz I don't get it."
I looked at him and said, "its just that..." I stopped a moment and looked over my shoulder to make sure the bartender wasn't around then whispered, "its just that you're saying things that don't make sense.  I mean, what I'm hearing is like gibberish.  Not saying you are but this is my problem.  I've been trying to figure out if I'm really here.  If you're really here.  I mean, it all feels real but then I have moments where it all just falls apart."  I took a long sigh and buried my face into my hands.
"Here, come have a smoke with me," he said placing his hand on my back.
"I don't smoke," I replied.
"Tonight you do.  Come on."
We went out back into the alleyway.   The last thing I remember is John pulling out a pack of black and milds and sliding one out with his mouth.  I woke up back in my apartment the next day.

My hands were sore with my knuckles swollen.  The skin had been peeled away.  I lifted them up to take a look and they trembled uncontrollably.  I slowly rolled out of bed and sat at the edge for a moment.  My head felt like someone took a Jack Hammer to it.  Then I noticed my boots.  They were stained with a dark brown all over.  What the hell was that?  I grabbed one of them and examined it for a few moments.

Finally, I got up and headed over to the bathroom.  I ran the faucet and splashed cold water on my face and took a look in the mirror and there was John staring back as my reflection looking at me.  I jolted away, scared straight and hit the wall.  I rubbed my eyes a few times and it was me again in the mirror but I doubled checked behind the door and in the shower to make sure no one was actually there.

It was all starting to feel wrong again.  What happened last night?  How did I get home?  Did I actually get that drunk?  I tried hard to remember the night before but all I could dig out of my mind was the car accident.  Why couldn't I remember?  Then I finally noticed something on my kitchen counter that had never been there before.  An address written on small piece of paper and a key.  I looked it up, it was to a storage unit in the neighboring city.

I headed there with a nervous feeling in my gut.  My hands were still very tender.  What the hell happened to my hands?  Did I get into a fight?  Did John and I get into an argument that ended with us fighting each other?  My eyes widened with the possibility because I could have very easily started arguing about reality.

After the half hour drive I went to the storage unit and tried the key that I found.  I opened it and it was filled with jars and jars of yellowy liquid.  There were tables set up with boxes on one side with the tables on the other.  The jars sat undisturbed on the tables and all had something in them.  One had an octopus, another a strange fish.  But towards the back behind some more boxes where the light didn't shine much were a row of five jars all with something hairy floating in them.  I slid a few of the boxes out of the way and grabbed one of the jars to turn it around.  It was a face staring back at me with dead hollow eyes.  Mouth slightly open and pupils rolled back into its skull.  It was a head.  Someone's head was in the jar.  I began to feel it again.  Reality all closing in on me.  Then I saw it.  The last jar at the end.  It was John's face.  It was squashed against the glass with his eyes still forward.

This wasn't real.  It couldn't be real.  What the hell happened last night?  Why was John here?  Who could of have done this?  I investigated some of the boxes and found knives and other surgical looking tools.  Where were the bodies?  There were five heads.  Then I knew.  They were buried in the neighboring National Forest.  Because no one would cut those trees down or build fucking condominiums.  No one believed me that my accident was real.  But it is.  Its real.  It happened.  They don't matter because its all in my head.  Right?  I asked them, 'is it real now?' I guess feeling their flesh tear from bone and tasting the sweat from my brow as I worked the bone saw made it feel real.  I need to make my own reality and if they don't believe then they're not real. Its the only thing I believe. But it doesn't matter because they do now.  Its real now.  You believe me right...