“Ungh… could you turn off the tv? Jesus…” Jason rolled over, groaning.
But the tv wasn’t on. Furthermore, there wasn’t anybody in bed next to him to accommodate his request. Jason opened his eyes, slowly becoming aware of both these facts. It had been over a month since Sharon moved out, but the reality of it hadn’t completely taken hold in him yet.
He propped himself up on his elbows and peered across the darkened room in the direction of the tv. It sat happily asleep on top of his dresser. What the hell was that dream, then? Jason wondered, lowering himself back onto the pillow. Something about unbelievable real estate money-making opportunities… and he seemed to remember midgets wearing business suits.
Over the past month, Jason had gotten into the habit of falling asleep with the tv on. Sort of to keep him company, although he didn’t like admitting that. He had some excuse he told himself instead, about how it filled the bedroom with soft blue flickering light, and a low murmur, almost like the sound of an electronic brook. And each night he’d let it wash over him, as he drifted off into sleep.
He had to be careful to set the off-timer though. Or else he’d wake up in the middle of the night sweaty and angry, having been bombarded with all kinds of weird tv-induced dreams. From his sleeping body, his mind had no trouble incorporating sensory input into his dreams. He expected it was probably some kind of evolutionary throwback to when proto-hominids slept in the open jungle and had to remain alert in case of predators. But all it meant for him now was that he’d end up trapped in these horribly unpleasant dreamscapes, where strange dire men hawked cookware and arcane exercise devices. And eternally horny women pleaded endlessly with him to call an 800 number to alleviate their lonely naughty desires.
The tv had clicked itself off hours ago, though. Like it did every night, at 1:30am. Jason looked at his clock, 4:19am. He flopped onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillow, trying to ignore the creeping despair of having to be awake in less than three hours to get ready for work. He had to just relax now, or else he’d never fall back asleep. Goddamn tv dreams, he thought to himself. It was better than dreaming of the office though, which he sometimes did. Or of Sharon. He let out a muffled sigh.
Jason immediately found himself seated dead center of a demographically diverse audience, excitedly witnessing a demonstration of the latest in hair removal technology. An extremely hairy man sat on a stool with his shirt off and his back to the audience. An ageless woman in blue dress slacks stood off to his side, pointing some sort of electronic wand at him. It looked like one of those handheld metal detectors they use on you at the airport. She pressed a button which set the thing whirring, smiled in a cold practiced way, and waved it over a portion of the man’s shoulder. A viewscreen off to the side of the stage showed a closeup of the hair promptly falling out. The woman snapped off the wand, and brushed away the hair with her hand.
The audience roared in applause.
The woman began saying something about “the wonders of irradiation,” which sounded vaguely dangerous to Jason. As if in answer to his misgivings, the woman explained that the hair removal wand was completely safe, and laboratory tested, and certified by the bureau of — and Jason suddenly realized he was dreaming. He stood up. Nobody around him reacted. The woman kept right on going with her demonstration and explanatory remarks. Clicking the button, waving the wand, brushing off the hair as it fell. Jason tried to will himself awake. Nothing happened.
He tried to get out to the aisle. None of the people seated by him would move their legs. He looked back at the stage. The wand waved. The woman smiled. “Fuck this,” he said, and barreled down the row regardless, stepping on feet, bumping legs. Still nobody noticed.
“Alright, time to wake up.” Jason announced as he made his way out to the aisle. He tried to feel his body, his real body, laying there in bed. Concentrated on the sensation of it, the weight of the covers on his body. And all of a sudden he was awake again, opening his eyes. He was covered in sweat. The green digits on his alarm clock told him he’d been asleep for all of three minutes. “What the hell,” he started, until he realized the room was bathed in a soft blue glow. The tv was murmuring softly from atop the dresser.
Had he rolled over onto the remote control while he was asleep? Must have. Without getting up, he patted around in the bed, under his sheets, lifted up his pillows. Nothing. He reached out an arm to the nightstand. His hand closed around plastic. He pointed it - without looking - at the tv, and pressed the off button. The remote started to whir in his hand. He looked down at it and discovered it wasn’t the remote at all. In fact, it was the electronic hair removal wand from his dream.
“Christ!” He said, and was immediately plunged back into infomercial hell. Except this time, he found himself seated on the stool on stage. He had his shirt off. His back felt tingly and strange. Hairless, he decided. The ageless woman with the blue dress pants and the cold practiced smile stood over him, waving the electronic wand menacingly. Her face suddenly morphed into that of his ex-girlfriend. But the cold smile remained. Sharon clicked the button, and started at him, detailing once again “the wonders of irradiation” for the crowd.
Jason’s arm flew up defensively. “Keep that thing away from me,” he muttered, standing up and knocking the stool over behind him. Sharon smiled on creepily. He stumbled backwards, jumped off the stage and ran up the aisle through the demographically diverse audience. He spotted an exit in the back, and made his way towards it. But all of a sudden, the Sharon-thing was standing there in front of him, gesturing at him with the wand. But now it looked more like some sort of ray gun from an old space movie. She pointed it carefully at him and fired. A blue beam flashed out of it, hitting him directly in the chest. Jason tumbled over on his back, and everything went dark.
“Ungh… could you turn off the tv? Jesus…” Jason rolled over, groaning. “Turn it off yourself,” Sharon murmured next to him.
Sharon? Had he really heard that? His heart skipped a beat in that moment where his mind transitioned back into the waking world. He sat bolt upright. There she was, sleeping contentedly next to him. He breathed a sigh of relief. She must have let herself in while he was asleep.
The tv glowed softly in the background. Some stupid infomercial about hair removal. Fuck these ads, Jason thought to himself. The remote was nowhere to be found, so he slipped out of bed and across the room to turn it off. He pressed the button, but the tv stayed on for some reason. What the hell? I’m too tired to fix this right now, he thought, and reached down behind the dresser to unplug it. He tugged the cord out of the wall, and the set flicked off. It was then that he spotted them. Rows and rows of people, sitting in what he’d thought was the darkness. He realized he wasn’t in his room at all. He was on stage. Soft blue light illuminated the people’s faces. They were a demographically diverse audience, and they were watching him intently.
- END -
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