Dreamless [Remixed by Amigo Westbrook]

 

Jemima was always naked, whether in her bedroom or out on the street. Everyone said Jemima was insane.

 

I don’t think so.

 

She was sitting on her doorstep when my son tottered towards her… She jumped up and dashed into her house… When she came back, she was warped in, possibly, a sheet or a curtain. 

That’s why I left my son with her seven years ago.

 

I am a thief, but not a good one.

 

The last time I got caught was when I took my son away from his mother. She was going to get married the next day and her new husband was not born as a man.

If I had just taken my son, I would be fine; I had watched my son staying alone in the garage for several days. But I took the silicon bit off the new husband as well. 

In the court, they said I had destroyed their dream.

Dream? What about my son? He couldn’t even dream yet. I shouted to them, ‘I should have killed you all if I had known you lost my son.’

The judge did not like that idea. That’s why I was given seven years to get rid of it.

 

Where is my dream?

I have been asking the same question to the warders day after day for seven years.

No one has ever answered.

And that is the best answer I have been expecting.

I’ve got it right-Jemima is not insane-my son is safe.

My dream is alive.

 

I know where Jemima lives. I gave her a lift once.

That was the day I first met Jemima.

I broke into a Mercedes. The alarm didn’t go. It was my day, I thought. But I didn’t find any goodies in the car. So I drove it out of the town, thinking to take the stereos out. Just as I stopped the car, the alarm went. What a stupid car! It took me quite a while to fix that one up. But still some funny shrieking noise was coming from the boot. I opened the boot… I saw Jemima-naked, frightened, and full of beaten marks.

I knew her name, because I found the clinic files in the boot. On the way to her place, Jemima repeatedly mumbled: ‘I just want a child.’

I dropped her with the files and drove the car back to where it was. I didn’t take anything out of it. Too dirty. I wrote a note, ‘I am watching you’, but I didn’t leave it in the car. Not worth throwing away my words there.

I went to the pub. I did not drink until the nightline appeared-a psychiatrist died after he lost control of his car-and I did not stop drinking until I had forgotten what I had done to the car.

 

Where is my dream?

Seven years is over. I needn’t ask this question any more.

But it just comes to me… Perhaps I am dreaming.

 

Jemima has kept the Barbie.

It looks old but tidy, sitting on her windowsill. She must have bathed it very often.

I took the Barbie from a toyshop after the day I met Jemima. Perhaps I drank too much that night; I was caught. I lied to them. I said I was doing a study on whether toyshops genuinely cared about children. They let me go with the Barbie and told me not to reveal the methodology of my study to children.

I left the Barbie on Jemima’s doorstep.

She didn’t go out much after that.

 

I have the funny feeling-someone is watching me.

Is it because I am watching Jemima’s place?

Maybe cops are really around. Jemima’s landlord looks suspicious. He takes away everything in the letterbox. He might be expecting something from me, so he could claim a reward from the police.

But my son has been missing for seven years now. Maybe the cops have forgotten about it all together. I shouldn’t worry about the cops. Or it is just a trap. I’d better be careful.

 

Who’s this? 

A little boy crawls out of the door.

That’s not him; my son is eleven this year.

‘Can you grab peanut, he can’t wait for pizza.’ It’s Jemima’s voice. Peanut? What peanut?

A lad comes out-that is my boy! He says, ‘Hurry up, Aunty J. Peanut’s kicking me.’

Peanut must be the boy’s name.

‘I’ve got the nappies,’ Jemima hands a plastic bag to my son and picks up Peanut, ‘let’s go to get pizza.’

 

Jemima breaks up a small piece of pizza bit by bit feeding Peanut. It is a hectic, noisy food court. But the little boy stays very quiet. He fixes his eyes on the pizza in Jemima’s hand and moves his little mouth as fast as he can.

My son wasn’t like that when he was little. It was a nightmare trying to get him to eat. That’s all I can remember about my son, because I was in and out of prison around that time…

Jemima hasn’t finished feeding Peanut half of the small piece. My son has eaten all the rest of the pizza. And he is looking at the piece in Jemima’s hand.

‘This is your brother’s,’ she says.

She keeps feeding Peanut.

And my son is watching.

I need money.

She tears off the chewy bit and gives it to my son.

He swallows it…

I must get some money.

Jemima carefully picks up and eats the crusts that have fallen on Peanut’s clothes.  

My son has already cleaned up the plate with his tongue.

Jemima licks her fingers and says, ‘it was a nice pizza, wasn’t it?’

I will have money. I promise I will.

 

That’s why I’ve got myself a job on a building site.

 

I leave two boxes of pizza on Jemima’s doorstep. I’ve got my first pay. Enjoy, people! I’ve asked for the ones with toppings right to the edge. Two boxes should do for your tea.

 

Jemima finds the pizza… She looks around… ‘Is that you?’ She asks to the empty yard.

She’s smart, isn’t she? But I don’t think she knows where I am. I can’t go to see you now, Jemima. I need money to buy pizza. If I get caught again, I might forever not see my son. I have to work. I have to wait. I have to make enough money. I will come back…

Jemima stands there, speaking quietly… I don’t know whether Jemima is talking to me or to herself. She mumbles something about ‘dream’ and ‘last’ or maybe ‘daydream’ and ‘lost’. I can’t hear her properly. Whatever it might be, I will make it all happen, Jemima. Give me a bit of time. I will come back. Perhaps I will be driving my car next time. One of those second-hand family wagons will do. We can go on holiday together. Wouldn’t it be better if we move to another town? I have heard some mates say mining pays well. Western Australia sounds good for the boys… Who’s Peanut? Can he go with us? You can tell me all about him later, Jemima…

‘I just want a child.’ I think this is what she says before she goes back with the boxes of pizza. I cannot assure you on that one though, Jemima. But I can promise you about my son-he is yours!

 

Another payday, I take two boxes of pizza to Jemima’s place.

I don’t know why I get so scared these days. I worry if the mates ask me why I don’t go to pub with them. I worry cops might find out about my son. I worry the price of the car might go up. I worry Jemima might see me. I worry the pizza might be getting cold… It will be soon over when I get enough money. But I might get sick before then…

Oh, God help me!

 

I walk around Jemima’s place several times. It is just before teatime. The street is quiet. I look through gaps in the fence…

The curtains are wide-open… The Barbie on Jemima’s windowsill has gone… The house seems empty!

I put the boxes down, jump over the fence, and walk towards the front door. I ring the bell. A man opens the door; that’s Jemima’s landlord.

‘Hi, is this Jemima’s house?’

He looks at me up and down, ‘No, mate. It’s my house.’

‘Where is she? Where are the kids?’

‘What she? What kids?’

I lift both hands to his throat, ‘where-are-they?’

His face quickly turns red, ‘put… put…down…’ He seems not happy with what I have done to him, grumbling in a lower voice.

I have to add a punch, ‘where-are-they?’

He intermittently says the cops have got Jemima, because she tried to steal a baby from the hospital, and the boys have left hours ago.

‘Did you kick the boys out?’ I grab his hair, ‘out on the street?’

He does not answer.

I give him a good kick… 

 

Where is my dream?

Seven years later, I am back to asking the same question.

No one answers me.

That’s why I run from street to street, looking for the answer.

 

Dreamless Remixed by Amigo Westbrook is licensed under a CC Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.5 Australia licence. It is a derivative work of Kim Wilkins’s CC Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.5 Australia licensed story. The original is available at http://www.remixmylit.com/storiesremixes/dreamless-by-kim-wilkins/. For details on how you can reuse the original and this remix see http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.5/au/