The Dream-Catcher

“Would you say you’re a vivid dreamer? Do you sleep uneasily at night, waking in fits and starts? Can you describe your dreams? Are there patterns, colours, familiar faces?”

I know the questionnaire by heart now, after seventeen years on the road, moving from one unquiet sleeper to the next, never the same car twice, never the same driver, never the same customer. There’s never any need to, you see? My company, Dreamless Inc. aims to build a database of subconscious thoughts, and to be the sole owner of it. Why isn’t any of my business. I do my job, get paid for it. But its gotten harder since I started. Everybody uses one of those pills for deep sleep these days, so dreamers are hard to come by. But they don’t work on everyday- believe me, I’ve tried every brand available- so all it means is that my road-trips keep getting longer and longer.

Sometimes think I will die in a rented car, and they will find my body in a mofussil road somewhere, smelling of cheap wine and Bella Car and claustrophobia. I hope to God they don’t play generic indie pop at my funeral. I used to play my own music when I started out. But the guy at the wheel looks at you strangely after the first strains of RaviShankar pours out. I tried headphones for a while, but I have sensitive ears. Besides, I was never going to do this gig beyond a few months. A year, at most. Something else would materialize and I would go to my swanky new home from the last car ride and sleep in my marble bathtub for a week. That was the plan, but here we are.

I unwrapped the aluminium foil and bit into the sandwich I had picked from the Deli. Too much mayo, and too little meat, and the lettuce looked like it could do with a wash, it was almost a metaphor for my life. It did provide necessary sustenance though, so I guess it was doing its job- these days, everything tasted of repressed car sick. I’ve almost come to be fond of that flavor.

The job profile on the website was simple. Needed: A good speaker with vivid dreams and uneasy sleep. I fit the description, though I had no idea how to prove points 2 and 3, but there wasn’t any kind of test or interview. I just showed up, and there was the company car waiting. That first trip, my predecessor came with me. I hadn’t packed lunch so we stopped at a highway eatery for some instant ramen and coffee.

“We’re on the clock on this job,” He had said while forking the slippery noodle strings between his chapped lips, “And being caught on road cameras is generally discouraged, but today’s your first day, so we’re okay. I must say, I’m looking forward to a hot meal at home.”

“Job pays well enough for early retirement, then?” The guy had looked barely forty.

“The pay’s not the issue,” He replied, fishing out a stray shrimp from the soup, “You’ll quit when you can.”

That made no sense whatsoever, but at that time I was looking for a job in advertisement sector - I just needed something to pay the bills in the meantime- so I didn’t listen too closely.

Twirling my fork to curl the noodles around it with my right hand, I flipped through the case papers with the left.

“So you a dreamer too, huh? I wonder what’s that gotta do with getting the job done?”

He had taken his time to answer, putting his fork down.

“I think it’s for the database. They call you for reviews, to hear how the job’s impacting your dreams.”

“Is that likely to happen?”

“You’ll see.”

After that there was little talk, both of us quietly finishing our meals, him only looking up once to ask for the salt.

I did check. The camera on that street-corner was broken.