The Beautiful Dream of Life by Domingo Zapata

Author:Domingo Zapata
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gallery Books

22

THE APPOINTMENT

At Marisol’s suggestion, I went to the hospital coffee shop and had an instant macchiato. I had about fifteen minutes to wait before my appointment with the distinguished Dr. Bartolo Abreu. He greeted me in the coffee shop and then escorted me to his office. He was immaculately dressed, and I took particular notice of his periwinkle Chanel tie.

We sat down in his tastefully appointed office, which, like Heriberto’s room, had a spectacular view of the sea beyond. Dr. Abreu had me sit opposite his desk on the smooth, soft suede seafoam couch. There was a Miró print on his wall, and that made me feel instantly at home. We exchanged light chitchat, as he seemed interested in me; we spoke of Heriberto briefly, and I informed Dr. Abreu of our long association. With respect to me and my reason for being there, I was more candid than I had been with Ana Paola. At the same time, I didn’t really know how to express what I was feeling.

“It’s as if another dimension has revealed itself to me. Growing up, if there was one subject I didn’t mind besides art, it was science. And I learned of the scientific method. ‘Show me the proof’ kind of thing. And I believed in that. But more recently, I have been open to more ways of looking at things.”

“What ways?”

“Well, there seems to be no explanation for astrology, and yet there seem to be patterns that are valid. There is no explanation for spiritual events. Or extraordinary feats, like the Pyramids, the Mayan installations, Stonehenge. And yet they exist. And you hear it stated how little we use of the human brain, only five percent or something. The majority is unused, and something must be there, but it is not activated. I mean our brain is smarter than we are, it must be, all the knowledge of the universe lies within it. I believe that—and what has been happening to me seems inexplicable. As in no scientific explanation. For that functioning five percent, anyway.”

“What exactly are you referring to? What has been happening to you?”

“Well . . .” I began, and chuckled nervously. “I have two lives. A dream life. And a real life. But I’m not sure which is which. Recently, I have come to realize they are becoming unified. It’s one big unified life. Or one big dream.”

“Are you in a dream now?”

“Maybe. Am I?”

“Do you take drugs?”

“Never, in my dream life. But I have, in what would seem to be my real life.”

“What do you take?”

“I’m glad you asked.” I withdrew from my jacket the baggie and handed it to Dr. Abreu. “There’s Adderall. Perhaps you could tell me what the others are.”

“You take these by prescription?”

“No. Recreationally. In my New York life.”

“Well, this is Xanax. And this is Vyvanse. This here is”—and he unscrewed the cap—“this is cocaine.”

“Sorry.”

“And this, this here, hmmm. This looks like”—he scratched on it to taste it—“this is MDMA or Ecstasy; Molly, they call it, too.

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