Nostalgia

Anderson showed up this morning. I saw him, for at least ten minutes, before he and Renan disappeared from view. I wanted to talk to Anderson about the dreaming sessions, but he and Renan seemed to have more important issues to deal with. Andrés appeared a bit later than him.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

Andrés sounded like he was a changeling. He'd never ask me anything even remotely like "how are you feeling this morning?", it is just not his style. It felt like he was unable to come and sent in a badly trained clone of himself instead.

"Fine, how are you, mister?", I said and he was a bit embarrassed.

Andrés went on to tell me about his past lives. Of how things were built to last, these things people always say when they get trapped in moments of nostalgia. And I imagine the lot of nostalgia he must be trapped in living here so many times and what's more, remembering them all.

Renan and Anderson wouldn't be there soon. Andrés and I let ourselves stay at the porch without saying anything to each other for ages as we always do. The pauses we allow from one subject to the other are millennial. We don't mind sitting down together and sharing these long periods of pause.

Breaking the silence, I suggested that we should go and look for the two of them. Andrés promptly disagreed with me about doing it. I asked him why. He said there'd be no point looking for them if they were going to end up returning to the same place we were in a few minutes. So why waste time looking for them? I agreed with him there and we allowed ourselves to linger at the porch some more. In time, I grew more impatient and Andrés grew uneasier. He looked all around, probably trying to find the two. I don't know if it was impatience on his part or even if his motives to worry were the same as mine.

When I was getting ready to go and look for the two with or without Andrés (it was obvious he wouldn't move), the two finally showed up, coming from the back of the farm's main house, completely coated in sweat as though they had been working with a hoe or spade for the last thirty minutes. I watched them astonished as they walked up to us and Andrés only looked at them and shook his head, in blatant disapproval of the two friends.

R.E.M. |

Radio Universal: Teatro De Sombras

R.E.M.

I opened my eyes. The darkness in the room was only broken by the weak light of the lamp on Renan's bedside. I got up and went to look at the bedside clock. It was two in the morning. When I turned back, the astonishment: wild shivers moved savagely up and down my spine when I saw Andrés' face, exactly were I was standing, looking at me with wide open eyes. His eyes were almost fluorescent in the penumbra, what lent him a definitely sinister aspect.

"Want to scare the fucking hell out of me?" my heart still pounded out of rhythm.

"I jus' came to see the time… Didn't see you were awake."

I pointed at the folding bed he was sleeping on. He got a bit scared at seeing himself there still lying on it. And there I was, on my bed too and standing here with him all at once. There should be eight of us here, but there are only six. Anderson and Renan are not dreaming. Apparently. I came close to Renan, looked him in the eyes under his closed eyelids. There was no motion, nothing indicated R.E.M. sleep.

"So it didn't work out?"

"That, or they're in a different sleep (or dream) level than…"

I couldn't conclude the sentence. Out of the blue, the bedside radio went off with the local program of Vanguarda FM from Varginha and a popular radio song started screaming at the top of the volume in the bedroom:

"This one goes out to the one I love. This one goes out to the one I've left behind. A simple prop to occupy my time. This one goes out to the one I love. This one goes out to the one I love. This one goes out to the one I've left behind. Another prop has occupied my time. This one goes out to the one I love. Fire — she's comin' down on her own, now"
The One I Love, written and performed by R.E.M.

"Jeez, where do we turn this off?", Andrés asked from within an episode of tachycardia.

"Ah, come on Andrés; R.E.M. is such a nice band, if you ask me."

Another prop has occupied my time. By the time we manage to track down the radio's snooze switch, Michael Stipe will have already finished singing the song, come out of the closet (one more time) and gone out (one more time) in a world tour with the two other members of the combo.

"Here you are" and Andrés turned the switch off when I was about to pull the plug off the powerpoint altogether. Dead silence fell upon the room's penumbra. We were looking at each other's face for an eternity without a sound. Maybe to enjoy the silence that cost us so much to re-establish. The fright sensation gradual and eventually gave way to the typical still of the night. The two others were on their beds and if they were dreaming they were not dreaming about being here. I walked up to Anderson. R.E.M. Andrés asked why the hell I spoke so often of R.E.M. and I told him it was a stage of sleep where vivid dreams are thought to remembered (besides being a rock'n'roll combo).

Big sleep | Nostalgia

Radio Universal: Shadowplay