“Do you think it’s some kind of past life that you’re remembering?”
I’d told Nam about it the next morning. She was morbidly fascinated by it.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably? I do know that I know a lot of things in the dream intuitively. I know I’m in England, probably sometime in the 19th century? I don’t know. I also know that my brother is happily married, and that I lead a fairly happy life. And-”
I paused, wondering if what I was saying was too weird. Do people remember dreams this vividly?
“-I remember that place. I remember every single detail of it. Every leaf, every twig, every ray of sunlight is stuck to my brain. It’s ridiculous just how much I remember of it. It’s so beautiful, Nam. I can’t imagine being able to see something that beautiful in real life. It’s vibrant and serene at the same time. It’s so quiet that it’s almost-”
“Scary?” Nam was staring at me like she’d seen a ghost.
“Yeah. A bit. How did you know?”
“You’re white as a sheet just talking about it. Chill, dude. It’s just a dream. What are you scared of?”
“I can’t shake the feeling that something bad happens. Not at the place. The place is just awesome. At the house. Something bad happens at the house. When I’m walking back to the house, I just know.”
Nam took me out for lunch the next day. I’d been quiet long enough for her to decide I needed gastronomic therapy. It even worked for a while. We spent the entire afternoon at a great little café, sipping coffee and going over what had been taught in college the previous day. When I went to sleep that night, my only thoughts were about espressos and ECGs, and I felt completely happy.