The Image of Valentine Filipov

7/31/2019 The Image of Valentine Filipov

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The Image of

Valentine Filipov

Luke Chinworth


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I think about alarms most of the time. They are very annoying.

In my experience there are three different ways a person can wake up to an alarm.

Usually you wake up before your alarm, your body anticipating the wake up time you set not

only on your clock, but also in your mind. You lay there in that state of limbo, dreaming and

waking persistently, awaiting the sound of the alarm but wishing it to never come. When your

alarm goes off, you are fully conscious of what is happening and promptly get out of bed and

turn it off and start your day.

Other times your body is so tired that no matter how hard your mind tries to convince you

it is about time to get up, your alarm goes off before you regain consciousness. The alarm

manifests itself in your dream as your mind wrestles with the exterior auditory input. Slowly your

mind puts the pieces together as it meanders towards consciousness eventually convincing itself

that the noise is in fact the alarm that you set the previous night and not the cry of your

childhood friend falling down an endless well, which you were pretty sure was actually

happening moments before. You are not fully conscious of reality until several moments after you

have turned your alarm off.

Sometimes your mind lies somewhere between these two which allows it to snap from

unconsciousness to consciousness in an instant. The unconsciousness is complete; there is

nothing on your mind. Nothing. You are asleep and dont even know it. Your mind has left behind

all concerns, functions, dreams, and synapses.

You dont even exist. Or at least you have no way of knowing that you do.

Then your mind cracks as your alarm shatters the nonexistence, and you bolt upright in

bed, the consciousness also complete. It is rather shocking and quite unpleasant and disturbingly

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memorable if youve ever had the misfortune of experiencing unconsciousness and

consciousness only a moment apart.

Your brain will feel it: the full trek between the most distant parts of your mind in an

instant.

I have made that trek more times than I care to count; they said I was just a deep sleeper.

Then there are the people who dont use alarms at all: those that want a brief holiday

from the machinations of society every once in a while, and those that never use them either

because their mind is geared so accurately they wake at the exact moment they desire, or they

have no reason to wake, and thus sleep their life away. While everyone can agree that they have

had days in the shoes of each of these sleepers, and have found them to be rather comfortable for

a season, most people utilize alarms.

The startling awakenings used to shock me, but I have realized that my life goes on. I go

about my day, its monotonous cycle erasing thoughts and memories from my mind.

Setting.

Sleeping.

Waking.

Walking.

I dont know about you, but I felt most alive when I was sleeping. There was more sense

in my dreams than in the real world. Yet my dreams didnt make complete sense. They seemed

like a memory, except altered in some way. They all converged upon a single image, each night a

different memory morphing to arrive at the same moment. Whether or not the memory had come

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to pass yet seemed impossible to perceive, but the volume of the moment overloaded my senses,

the magnitude of its importance evident. But the ending was always cut short by an alarm, the

image frozen in my mind.

It was frustrating losing that ending every night. Downright annoying.

Imagine my surprise, and joy, when I fell asleep one day and never woke up.

* * *

Sofiya Filipov stepped out of her car and closed the door. The dry voice on the radio had

mentioned something about rain, and Sofiya had chose, or rather the flat tire on her car had chose

for her, the exact moment to leave cover and be christened with the first rain drop from the gray

cloud overhead. She was not stranded on the side of the road, but rather had been able to coast

the car just off the main road into the parking lot of the hospital which was her intended

destination. The evening wind had blown the rain clouds in from the East to where they now

hung, demanding the attention and fear of all below, and darkening the landscape a shade.

The humidity and moisture did little to disrupt her naturally course brown hair which

flowed wildly and beautifully when she was in the wind. She had the face of her father, a full

blood Soviet, or so they used to be called, and the petite womanly features of her mother, an

American five years her fathers senior. As she made the long walk from the back of the lot to the

hospital across the steaming pavement, her face grew more and more into a grimace as it was

assaulted by the rain. Her grimace did not make her ugly, as grimacing has a tendency to do to

some people when they see a person they particularly detest, or when they decide to take a

mouthful of lemon juice, or when it is obvious that something very unimportant, like losing a

sock, has caused them them to become annoyed, but instead, made her more attractive, as a

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grimace of determination can do if it is on the right person. With her lips pursed and her brow

furrowed, Sofiyas most striking features became even more prominent. Her gold, thin-framed

glasses added to her intellectual look without overriding her inherited features. Her chin was

small and her jawline distinct; at the age of thirty-two, she was an extraordinarily beautiful

woman.

The doors slipped open as Sofiya approached, and the receptionist at the counter asked

her before looking up, How can I help direct y-, but exclaimed, My goodness, youre

soaked, after taking her eyes from her work.

Sofiya seemed to only hear the former; Im here to visit a patient. The phone rang and

the seated woman answered it as she handed Sofiya a visitors form on a clipboard. On the line

labeled RELATION TO PATIENT, she slowly wrote, SISTER.

As she walked down the hallway, now dimmed for the night, she saw the bright

parallelogram projected onto the speckled tile through the open doorway. She was expected and

she was late and she reached the door and stopped short of the light and hid behind the dark

edge; Sofiya was not eager to face what was in the room.

She stood there dripping quite a long time, unable to decide if she truly believed her

brother waited within that lit room, comatose and unable to respond. What good news, as her

mother had said, could await her in that room? She pressed her back up against the wall of the

hallway, forcing her shoulder blades into the jagged wooden numerals of the room label, willing

the pain to give her an answer.

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Eventually, after a good while, she slid down the wall and sat facing away from the room,

focusing on the numbers across the hall. When this distraction failed, tears came to Sofiyas eyes.

A shadow appeared in the bright outline of the door as her breathing became audible, and

Sofiya saw its hand reach down and rest on her shoulder. Sofiyas hands went to the place and

grasped it, her sobs beginning to pass.

When her breathing came under her control, Sofiya turned her head up in that childish

way that is only possible from below, and looked into the face of her mother with eyes wide

open. Her mothers face, though rough from age, was so soft and kind it brought comfort just

looking at it. Many times when Sofiya was younger she had found that peace from distress came

exclusively from that shape. Her voice was just as sweet and welcome as her face.

Sofiya rose to her feet into the brilliance of the light to view her father leaning against the

wall, legs crossed. As she tilted her head to see around the door frame, her brother came into

view, his eyes open, wandering the room.

Sofiya burst into tears as she hurdled toward his bed

She was above him saying, Liev? Its Sofiya, Liev. Im here. Liev? Liev? The tears

choked her voice, causing intermittent explosions in volume and horrible gulps as she gasped for

air. But Liev made no response; he was looking through Sofiya, his eyes mistakenly focused

somewhere between her and the distant wall, unconscious of his sister above.

Sofiyas head dropped in frustration. It bobbed as she silently sobbed, the tears dripping

from her nose onto her brothers chest. Her shoulder blades came together as she inhaled deeply,

the mirror image of the room number still visibly impressed into her back. After a good many

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tears had rolled off her face, Sofiya looked up. Liev was looking intensely into her face. Sofiya

thought about it a while before starting.

She whispered as her voice shook, Will you cry with me, brother? Liev made no

response. Will you weep with me?"

Slowly, his face began to contort. His eyes were fixed on his Sofiyas; his face became

unsettling. His mouth was open in agony.

He started crying, loudly.

* * *

My joy passed quickly, at least relatively speaking. How long Ive been like this, wherever

I am or whatever I am, I cannot say. All I know is that the feeling of joy was fleeting and has

since been replaced by a feeling of familiarity, a familiarity of my previous waking life.

I cannot say how I know that I am more aware of my subconscious life than my waking

life. For what else have I to compare my waking life with other than my subconscious reality.

With a basis of only the two, there is no way to distinguish one from the other except by the level

of awareness I experience in each. With that reasoning, I would accept whatever reality I

experienced most lucidly as my waking reality. And I did.

Most people do.

But something happened that day that I went to sleep and didnt wake up. Like I said, I

had always felt more alive when I was sleeping. But when I went to sleep that day, I had a

sensation that was reminiscent of waking. I couldnt quite pin it down then, but Im sure of it now.

I am experiencing my subconscious reality in my sleep.

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That familiarity I felt was my past life. How do I know I am experiencing my

subconscious in my eternal sleep and did not simply wake up into my subconscious as usual?

Because it persists. In my past life, the waking and sleeping brought my subconscious and living

realities, respectively, in cycles. But now there are no cycles; I retain a constant reality. And

because it is not possible for me to be awake incessantly, I believe I am sleeping, probably in a

coma of some sort.

I submit that any number of things may have happened to me of which I have no

knowledge or understanding. But I know the feeling of experiencing my subconscious. The

environments and features are unmistakable. And I have been in those same environments since

that fateful day.

The day that they changed me.

The day they changed my mind.

Somehow, they swapped my subconscious and waking realities, and I dont know whether

I should thank them or kill them, not that I am able to do either at the moment.

* * *

Sofiya stood across from the doctor, glancing at Liev every so often. What does this

mean, Doctor?

The doctor responded coolly, It means your brother has a chance of waking up.

The family attacked him with questions; the three of them antsy for an explanation.

She had hugged and hugged and laughed and cried at Lievs response. With her neck

twisted back, she beamed at her parents as she held her brothers shoulders, and looked back into

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his weeping face, embracing him again and again. The tears mixed with the laughter, and the

tension in the room soon melted away. Anna and Valentine, Sofiyas parents, had exchanged

glances of relief at their daughters response to Lievs new development.

When did this start? Sofiya asked excitedly.

Thursday, Anna answered. Thats when we got the call. She continued

enthusiastically, The doctor said hes waking and resting in normal sleep cycles now!

Valentine added reluctantly, Though, pausing, theyre hardly any different. The

amount hes stimulated doesnt seem to correspond to his response. Sometimes he cries like he

just did with you, but sometimes its for no reason at all.

Sofiya knelt against the side of Lievs bed, her head turned right, towards her parents. She

stood and walked towards her father at the wall as she said softly, But at least hes finally

getting better. I mean, we didnt know if he would ever come back. Valentine closed his arms

around her as she placed her hands on his chest.

He set his dimpled chin on her head as he said, It really is great honey. His responsive

mood seems to come randomly, so whether his tears are from a memory, you, or simply a

mistake in his brain is impossible to tell right now.

I know dad. Her voice was sweet.

Okay.

Liev had been in a coma for the past six months, and he nearly scared the liver out of the

Miss Pansy when he awoke while she was in his room making her sheet-changing rounds. She

had paused after glancing his open eyes, looking up again for a double take. When the realization

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hit her, she had gone screaming and hollering right out the door and down the hallway to the

receptionist. She had paced up and down those halls for a while after, unsure of what to make of

the awakening, eventually phoning the doctor, who added Liev to his list of visitations that

evening. When the doctor concurred concerning the magnitude of the increase of Lievs

consciousness, the parents were called, and the parents called Sofiya.

Minimally conscious? Sofiya inquired incredulously.

Yes. I realize that its not exactly the most poetic term. He is not in a coma but he is not

fully conscious either. The doctor waited to continue. He is in between, how far from one or

the other is impossible to tell right now; his awareness level comes in waves.

The doctor knew his stuff, and he certainly was nice enough. He answered each of their

questions with the utmost respect and the family grew comfortable talking with him. He was not

like those doctors who inhabit the same space as doors: you may get some interaction out of

them but they will most certainly remain wooden. He was personable, likable, and sure of

himself and his knowledge concerning comas. But Sofiya found herself unsatisfied with his

answers. She wanted to ask Liev about Liev, not this strange man she had only just met. But Liev

was asleep and she could not wake him.

The questions continued.

They had grilled him pretty thoroughly, and they all were becoming rather tired. The

main thing to remember is that your son now has a chance to come back.

The doctor quickly added, Not that your son is absent,

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Anna smiled. Yeah. Its okay. You dont have to sweeten you words just for our sake.

Valentine stood up out of his chair, placing his hand on the small of his wifes back and

saying, We know hes not all there. We accept where he is and where we are. We arent the kind

of people to fuss about the things that we cant change. Sofiya looked intently into his face and

watched his mouth move. What we can change for the better, we do together and as often as we

can. But whatever happens, happens; though Im glad to hear you have hope of a recovery.

The doctor pondered Vals words, eventually deciding, Its healthy, your response. He

smiled, glanced at his clipboard, looked back at the family of four, and said smiling, Well, good

night.

Good night doctor, Valentine answered for the four of them, and the doctor turned for

the door. He lifted Lievs clipboard up to the holder on the door, pausing in mid air.

Now under the doorway, he slowly set the board into its place as he turned back to the

family, saying, I usually dont tell people this. Probably because Im not supposed to. After all,

Im an MD, not a psychologist. Pausing again, he finally continued. How you choose to handle

this has more effect on your son, and brother, glancing at Sofiya, than you may think.

The Filipovs were unsure of how to respond to such a statement so none of them did.

The doctor glanced at his watch. It was eight oclock.

Come to my office at ten fifteen. There is someone I want you to meet. She is a sort of

neurologist but dont tell her I said that. She has something to show you that I think youll be

very interested in.

The Filipovs were stunned by the bizarrely ambiguous request. Sofiya was the first to

respond.

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Two hours. Where is your office? Sofiya asked.

The receptionist can tell you; I forget half the time myself.

But why the wait, asked Sofiya.

The psychologist has a ways to come. I would just have her show you now but shes

away at the moment.

Anna inhaled, Dont make her come all the way here just for us. Certainly not at this

time of day. Shell have to drive home in the middle of the night!

I assure you it wont trouble her in the least. This is what she does. She needs to come

here tonight.

Sofiya proposed, Cant we just call her on the screen?

Im afraid not. What she has to show you can only be... he searched for the words,

experienced in person. Ask the receptionist for my office number. Ten fifteen.

Valentine voiced, I assume you do not tell this to every family you talk to. So my

question for you is: why us? Is it something about Liev? Something about us?

You are correct Mr. Filipov. And my answer is that it will make more sense when she

talks to you. Im sure of it. The reassuring look on the doctors face seemed to satisfy the

familys inner thoughts.

Just as the doctor was leaving, Valentine spoke: All this time you have been so formal

with our rising temperament and endless questions, soothing our fears and reassuring our hope.

You called me Mr. Filipov, and I embarrassingly realized that I have not got your name.

The doctors face showed his genuine appreciation of the cordial man. My name is hard

to pronounce. Most people call me Dr. Z.

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Nice to know you Dr. Z, Val said smoothly nodding his head with his arms crossed.

Sofiya asked snobbishly, What are we to do while we wait.

Take a nap; thats what Im going to do. Youre going to need the rest. Just dont forget

to set an alarm.

Dr. Z disappeared into the hallway, stopped at the front desk, and made a call.

* * *

I think it happened the day I went to SciMag. That day is kind of fuzzy because I wasnt

supposed to remember it. But I wasnt supposed to end up wherever I am now either. I guess

nothing really went as planned that day. I dont remember all of it yet the memory is surprisingly

vibrant.

As usual, the air was dry and my lips were cracked.

I stepped through an opening in the bushes to view a row of buildings before me. They

were bricked together into one amorphous mass like those big city homes built in the early

twentieth century; their verticals, perfectly aligned, but their tops, a set of random parallel lines

and peaked roofs. I remember recognizing the beauty in its unshaped, yet structured grandeur. It

was the sort of thing I always found beautiful. But beauty no longer speaks to me, and possibly

may never again.

Scimag had converted the home into its offices a couple years earlier, installing the

equipment over the course of several days.

I had watched them from across the bushed-in parking lot from the window of my

apartment and didnt think anything of it. Little did I know I would be crossing that parking lot

several years later, kicking my feet through the dried and faded yellow and red leaves, downed

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after the October winds robbed the trees of their coverings. It too was a beautiful thing. The

topography was ever changing; the frail piles formed and unformed at the force of the wind,

never to be the same again.

I also, was never to be the same again.

The four steps up to the door were brick, and as I gripped the door handle, beginning to

shift my weight to pull it out, I paused to read the words etched into the glass embedded in the

door frame.

I was distracted reading the text and the door burst open and crashed through my nose,

my chapped lips leaving a red imprint on the glass like a St. Valentines day image. The dots

above it from my bloodied nostrils gave the image a toad like quality, quite similar to the stumpy

man before me at first glance.

He said something about being really sorry, and I could tell he meant it by the tone of his

voice. His arms were so full of boxes they covered his face.

He set the boxes on the flat concrete cap of the brick stair guard and rushed me inside.

The interior went by in a blur as the tears in my eyes clouded my vision. Shapes were indistinct; I

saw only colors. The egg shell of the ceiling was tinted just a hint orange from the setting

sunlight coming through the west windows and reflecting off the walls. I felt the carpet through

my flat sole shoes as I tilted my head back to keep my blood inside my nostrils; that ferrous taste

came to the back of my tongue.

The man led me to a sink after flipping a light switch and guided me through my own

clean up. He pulled the towel down, soaked it, and pushed it to my nose.

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After my eyes were cleared, and my nose stuffed with tissue, I viewed the man for the first

time. He was old, maybe five feet tall. His glasses were the larger kind, not square but rounded,

and thick! White tufts stuck out from under his baseball cap blocking his ears from view. He was

a plain and simple man in every good way. He reminded me of my chemistry teacher in college;

he looked like he could tell you everything about anything if you just were brave enough to ask

him.

He asked me if I would be all right, apologized once more, and said something about

keeping the pressure on it before abruptly leaving. He may have said more, in fact Im sure he

did, but it is not coming to mind at the moment. The images I remember clearly, but almost

everything else is guesswork, especially the words.

I remember coming to myself in that room, as if the pressure I had been applying to my

nose had blocked all cognition. I pulled the towelette from my nose and stared at the blood stain.

I applied a different clean spot to my nose and pulled it away. The towel remained white.

I assume I had been lost in the mystery of why I had come to Scimag in the first place.

As I looked around the room, I noticed it was more or less the same as any dentist room.

That was when I realized there was a doctor in the room.

Apparently I didnt think anything of it. I felt very comfortable with the woman.

When I asked the doctor what Scimag specialized in she said something about the science

of memory. Then she started tilting me back.

She leaned over me, flipping a switch on the console to my left and adjusted my

headband. An image of my father immediately appeared in my mind. I dont how to explain it, but

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I saw my father inside my head, or rather, who at first looked like my father but turned out to be

Donatas Banionis. I recognized the image from my high school English class. It was the 1970s

film adaptation of Stanislaw Lems scifi classic Solaris.

The doctor said something about focusing and Mr. Kelvin.

It would have made sense if she had said, Try to focus on Mr. Kelvin, because I was.

The character of Kris Kelvin was all I could see.

However, of everything said that day, I am most certain of what the doctor actually said:

Try to focus, Mr. Kelvin.

Who Mr. Kelvin was I did not know, but I was pretty sure he was missing his appointment

at Scimag, driving away with his back seat full of boxes wearing a Chicago Cubs cap, stretching

his neck to barely see over the dash.

* * *

As Sofiya, Anna, and Valentine napped, they each dreamed a different dream. With Liev

weighing heavily on each of their minds, they naturally dreamed of him.

Anna dreamed she was on the lakes of Canada. In a two person kayak, she and her little

son traveled through the dark, frigid waters. They came to a rock face. Trees were hanging over

the edge, their roots twisting every which way in search of dirt and ultimately moisture. As they

went to explore a break in the face of the rock, the roots that dangled down kept poking Liev in

the eyes.

The passage narrowed until their lengthy two-man kayak became lodged in a curve. Anna

panicked as the roots grew around Liev locking him in place, eventually completely entombing

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the small boy. The roots wrapped around his body like a spiders catch with only his face

visible. The littlest ends of the roots wriggled their way though Lievs ears.

The screams were horrendous.

Anna wanted to stop the pain but she didnt know what to do. She pulled at the grimy

roots, blackening her hands. She could hardly look at her boys face, the shape deformed and

stretched by its own muscles and tendons underneath.

Anna weeped at her inability to help her little boy. She cried and cried.

Eventually, Lievs screams turned to intermittent yelps and a silent, stone sob inside the

tomb of roots. He told his mother, Mom, its okay. Its okay. It doesnt hurt. I just dont like

them inside my head is all. When things get in your head, thats when you get messed up. Dont

let them put things in your head. You cant let them put things in your head. It will change your

mind. It will mess you up. You wont be yourself. Youll be everybody else.

Anna cradled the boys face in her hands leaving black handprints on his cheeks. She

looked into his eyes and knew he meant what he said. She sat there on the lodged kayak in front

of Liev for hours swatting away little roots trying to weasel their way into her sons skull.

Valentine dreamed of a Red Wings game.

The stands were embarrassingly vacant, and Valentine could guess why. The Chicago

coach was deranged.

Laughing maniacally at the players on the ice, he slapped some of their helmets grinning

excitedly.

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Haha, only one period left boys. Youve got twenty minutes to show me youre not a

complete waste of money. The coach crossed his arms and threw his head back as he arched his

back to let out a terrible guffaw.

He was childlike, acting more like a chimpanzee than a hockey coach. He taunted the

other teams players, threw objects at them, and jumped up on the barrier, crouching precariously

on his toes, laughing and pointing at his own injured goalie on the ice. He walked along the

barrier as if on a tight rope trying to impress his players. The officials repeatedly warned his

ridiculous behavior, but he was never ejected because Valentine didnt want him to be; he was

too interested in the strangely demented man.

Aw, youre gonna have to come out? he mocked in an exaggerated voice.

But the second string goalie was missing. The coach laughed at the notion and

improvised, pointing at Liev, who Valentine just noticed was sitting next to him.

You! I want you to be goalie. Surely you can do better than this sod, he said as he

kicked the bleeding goalie, now in the box. The little Liev ran down before Val could stop him.

But he looked so excited as the coach, grunting like a tough guy, gave him a behind the back

high five, and he saw his face when he suited up in the huge uniform, so Val decided to let him

be.

The coach playfully shoved Liev onto the ice who seemed to be apprehensive about his

previous excitement, as Val was also. Dont forget your helmet, the coach said with a giggle as

he tossed the mask to Liev.

The game was underway and the coach was as giddy as ever, eager to see the

performance of his new shining star. But the uniform was way to big for Liev. He could hardly

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hold his stick with the massive gloves, and the shin pads came up to his chest. Little Liev let in

every puck that came at him, the coachs laugh growing more grotesque with each passing goal

until the end of regulation.

For the first time in the game, the coach was still. He simply stood with a very satisfied

closed-mouth smile on his face; he was obviously very pleased with his selection, though Val

was not sure why. Liev headed doggedly ashamed back to the players box with his head hung

low. The transit seemed to never end.

Sofiya dreamed of a white van.

It had pulled up in front of her childhood home, crashing through the plastic trashcan,

spilling its contents into the yard. From where Sofiya sat inside their home, the massive oak in

their front yard blocked her view through the window to the driver of the van as she looked up

from her book. She had heard the roar of the engine before the van came into view, and she knew

its purpose from the moment she heard it; she had to find Liev, quickly.

She heard pounding above. She ran out the front door, the men in white painters suits

already running towards her. Their grizzled beards and long shaggy hair chilled Sofiya to the

bone. Even more frightening were their uncovered faces which shifted in and out of shadow,

indistinct of all human facial features.

Sofiya came out from under the front roof overhang and was blinded by the intensity of

the sun as she craned her neck up to the left while spinning around to get a view of the second

story roof, from which Liev was now throwing rocks. He had brought the collection of stones to

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the roof in a small bucket, and was now trying to land them in a second bucket he had left in the

backyard, but he missed consistently.

Sofiya tried to tell him to stay on the roof but it was no use. He had run out of rocks and

was already making his descent down the ladder to the first roof, humming a tune gently and

contently.

She knew it was inevitable: Liev being taken. She couldnt make Liev hear her voice no

matter how loud she screamed.

As Liev was thrown into the open doorway, her fear became so intense she was nearly

paralyzed. She did not want to get any nearer to the van because its aura consumed all life;

however, she hesitantly made her way across the lawn towards the rumbling beast.

Just as she began timidly tapping on the closed sliding door of the white van, her

breathing chopped and intermittent, the engine engaged the driveshaft and the van rocketed

away. Sofiya turned her head to the left, watching the back of van grow smaller and smaller

down the very straight road.

She went and sat under the oak tree and thought about how they had taken him.

She had missed it; he was up on the roof and was all of a sudden being thrown into the

back of the van. She could not figure out what she had been doing to have missed the whole

thing.

Liev dreamed he was laying in a hospital bed.

There were two people sleeping in maroon, padded chairs across the room. There was a

third sleeping in a chair of the same kind near to him.

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Liev found the three people very beautiful, and he thought sharing the room with them

was very peaceful.

Then a thin figure entered the door to Lievs right. It wore black tights and a tight-fitting

black cotton shirt that wrinkled as he stealthily moved around the room. His stealth was not

practical but theatrical, enhanced by his Shakespearian comedy mask.

The smile only frightened Liev.

Liev could tell it was a man by the way he tip-toed around the room with exaggerated

steps, mocking the sleeping three as if he was a child trying to remain silent. He immediately

knew the figure meant no good, with the smiling mask intended purely for irony, but could not

will any part of his body to move in order to warn his three new friends. The figure was not

trying to hide from Liev, in fact, he was practically performing, using the room as his stage. Liev

would not have been surprised if he took a bow before exiting. But he remained, and was silent.

His silence sucked the ambient sounds from the room. The fan overhead, the whirring of

the instruments beside his bed, the creak of the floor from the figures shifting weight; nothing

escaped the immense gravity of the black figure. Liev always imagined outer space would be

something like this.

The figure taunted Liev, miming throat-slitting motions on his three friends.

Apparently the man was performing for himself, because he stiffed up suddenly as if he

had just noticed Liev was in the room. He tilted his head forward and said angrily in a simple,

strong voice, What are you doing here?

When the man broke the silence, he broke the tension with it. More comfortable now

after the eerie silence, Liev wanted to ask the man the same question but could not respond.

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The man drew closer.

How am I supposed to perform with an audience? Liev again could not respond, this

time grateful, at a loss for how to respond to such a paradoxical question.

The figure drew closer still.

They tell me, Hit center stage with a bang! He flourished the word with a wave of his

hands. Then his hands dropped disappointedly limp to his sides as he said, So, where do they

expect me to go? Each of his questions seemed to make less sense to Liev than the one that

came before it.

They dont like me. Thats why. They never have. They never appreciated me or my

clothes or my mask. And now youve got nothing good to say about me either! Liev was afraid

of the stalking creature upon his entrance, but how he was just annoyed by the self-administered

depression of the sad masked man. At least these statements did not expect a response that Liev

was unable to give.

The man turned from the bed, untying the bow that secured his mask, and slowly shuffled

his feet across the room. The clang of the metallic smile on the tile floor disguised the crash of

the window slamming shut as the depressed trouper plummeted ten stories.

The clatter startled the napping Filipovs and awoke them abruptly.

Im so sorry, Miss Pansy ended with teeth clenched behind open lips. She looked

dreadfully embarrassed to have awoken them and promptly bent down behind the bed to retrieve

the metallic bed pan.

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Anna was as sweet as ever after the feeling of shock as passed, saying for the three of

them, Oh, dont worry about it. Weve been sleeping long enough anyways. And after looking

at her watch, she said, Oh shoot, we should have woken up five minutes ago. Thank you Miss

Pansy. Anna ushered with her hands as she said to Valentine and Sofiya, now standing, Come

on, its ten fifteen. We still need to get the number from the desk too. Valentine grabbed his

khaki coat and pushed his arms through the holes as Sofiya looped the strap of her purse off the

back of her chair and over her shoulder.

Miss Pansy said, Drive safe. Its Saturday night.

Being the last in the room, Sofiya said, Were actually not going home. We have a

meeting with Dr. Z.

Oh. For what? But Miss Pansy quickly stopped herself, Oh my Lord, there I go again.

Always trying to get in peoples business. Dont let me interrogate you like that honey. Now you

go have a good night and talk to Dr. Z about whatever you want to talk about.

Sofiya smiled as she left Lievs room.

* * *

I am pretty sure the world is gone now. The last thing I saw was my father. I guess life

could be worse.

Because what I went through in that room, the procedure or therapy or whatever you

want to call it, was intended for Mr. Kelvin, not the character but the man who placed me in his

spot, and not intended for me, I suspect that my mind reacted differently than his mind and what

the lady in the room was expecting.

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I remember being awake in that chair and then being where I am now, though the feeling

from the chair continued into this place. I suspect I stayed in my subconscious while traveling

into my current location because the shock of the error, or whatever happened, put me to sleep

without allowing my subconscious to subside.

It didnt hurt, I mean, there wasnt a painful explosion in head. All I know is that I was in

that room with the doctor, watching Solaris inside my head, and then I wasnt. It took me a while

to realize it, but I know for sure I am not there anymore.

While I know that, I can only wonder practically everything else. I wonder where I am

and how long Ive been here.

I wonder if I am alive or dead.

Ive never thought of this until now, but I wonder what my family is doing.

My mother and father.

My sister.

* * *

The Filipovs had got the office number from the desk lady, taken the elevator to floor ten,

two lefts turns, and one right, and were now standing before room ten ninety-eight. It was ten

twenty-one when Valentine knocked on the wood door; they heard voices inside the office.

Dr. Z beckoned them to let themselves in, and as Valentine turned the lever handle and

cracked the door, he saw a brunette twist her neck to the right from a seated position to see the

entering family.

The office was a decent size for five people. The matching chairs opposite and facing

each other in which Dr. Z and the woman sat were complemented by the perpendicular couch

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between them, which also displayed its exposed, ornately-carved, wooden legs, all of which sat

on a lavishly detailed rug atop the tile floor. Completing the square was Dr. Zs handcrafted

mahogany desk.

The woman and Dr. Z stood to greet the Filipovs.

The woman extended her hand to Valentine, looking him straight in the eye, saying, Its

wonderful to finally meet you Mr. Filipov. My name is Elena Chakwas.

Dr. Z imposed, Dr. Elena Chakwas, emphasizing the doctor. Valentine gracefully took

the womans hand in his own. As if he was trying to make up for his embarrassing introduction

to Dr. Z, Valentine was sure to make this introduction formal, maybe even grandiose.

He let Elenas hand down with his own right hand while stepping to the side, placing his

extended left hand on his wifes back, and introducing her saying, This is my beautiful wife

Anna. She rolled her eyes at her husbands excessive embellishment, acting annoyed but

actually relishing the compliment, and accepted the hand of Dr. Chakwas, who smiled sweetly

with her mouth small. Valentine slid his left hand over his wifes back and around her left

shoulder, pulling her closer to reveal Sofiya.

Valentine gestured with his free right hand as he said, And this is my lovely daughter

Sofiya, who accepted the compliment exactly like her mother.

Its wonderful to meet all of you, Elena said graciously, shaking Sofiyas hand.

My son Liev could not be here, but I suspect you know his condition, Valentine said.

Yes. I am very sorry about the whole thing, Elena said looking down at the end.

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Anna said, Thats where Liev lives! Her tone was full of guess and suspicion.

Yes. Like I said, Scimag specializes in Alzheimers research specifically for visually

impaired patients. Your son was accidentally put through a testing session for patients.

Pulling her upper back from the support of the couch backing, Sofiya leaned toward Dr.

Chakwas as she supported her chin with her elbows on her knees and said with scorn, What

happens in a testing session?

Well... Dr. Chakwas started immediately, but at a loss for words, paused to straighten

herself in her chair, starting again, Using an MRI, we capture the data from the visual centers of

the brain of healthy control subjects as they watch movies. We then transmit this data into the

visual centers of the the brain of visually impaired Alzheimers patients. Your sons brain was on

the receiving end ofSolaris.

Whats Solaris? asked Anna, mystified.

Its a science fiction film from the 1970s. We collect suggestions for specific movies

from the family members of the patients, in this case specifically, Kathleen Kelvin, the husband

of Ben Kelvin, the man I just spent the last six months trying to get released from a southeastern

Balkan prison. Mr. Kelvin suffers from dementia as a result of his Alzheimers disease and got

himself into trouble after leaving Scimag that day. Somehow he placed your son in his place for

the transmission and escaped. Dr. Chakwas pushed the strand of hair off her cheek and behind

her right ear as she said added quickly and ashamedly, Im very sorry to tell you that I have no

idea why your son came to our offices, whether forced or of his own will, how he ended up in a

transmission seat, or how Mr. Kelvin escaped with the patient records from the last three years.

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The room was quiet other than the creak of Dr. Zs swiveling wooden chair, the Filpovs

pondering Elenas words.

Elena continued with apprehension in her voice, Im sorry I have nothing to tell you

about how your son came to be in that chair. She waited, looking into the faces of the three

Filipovs.

But, I was there when it happened. She lowered her head and continued staring at her

writhing hands and wrists, I was distracted, thinking about where our records could have gone.

It was late in the afternoon and I got lazy. I skipped the checks. Checks that were instituted to

prevent the very thing that happened to your son. She looked up with tears in her eyes, the first

already fallen, caught in between her cheek and nose.

Anna said stuttering, choking on her own tears, How did it happen?

Elena quietly snorted the way crying people do before saying, Thats the thing. I dont

know. I know what happened, but I dont know why he went into a coma. When I realized your

son, not Mr. Kelvin, was in the chair, he was already unconscious. The situation didnt seem too

serious at first, so I left to find Mr. Kelvin, leaving a technician with your son. All I can guess is

that the stimulation from his own eyes mixed with the external stimulation ofSolaris and

overloaded is mind. We normally place sleeping masks over the eyes of the patients to prevent

this, though their eyes provide little stimulation to their visual centers anyway. The stimulation is

rather intense; it is intended to prevent neural degradation, but we never knew the

overstimulation could cause this type of damage. She inhaled after finishing abruptly, now out

of breath.

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Valentine said calmly, How did our son end up in this hospital with no trace of where he

had come from or what had happened to him?

I dont know Mr. Filipov. I left your son with a technician after foolishly not assuming

the worst. He had come to tell me that they had found a witness outside who saw Mr. Kelvin

walk out with boxes, and came to my assistance when he saw your son. The situation seemed to

be under control, and after discovering that the street camera got the license plate number of Mr.

Kelvins vehicle, I left instructions with the technician to handle your son and left immediately. It

was stupid. Looking back I dont know what I was thinking.

Sofiya asked, Didnt the camera get a view of Liev?

Elena answered, Yes, but only of him coming through the break in the ivy fence and

crossing the street.

Sofiya posed more questions: What did your technician do? Why did he not tell the

hospital anything? How could Liev have arrived here without source or cause? Each of her

questions grew increasingly disgusted.

I myself have wondered the answers to those questions as intensely as you just have. But

the endless wondering has given me none of their answers. The Filipovs looked away from Dr.

Chakwas, focusing on nothing in particular.

Elena looked down, then at Dr. Z who returned her gaze. And after glancing at floor, she

looked up and said finally, That technician committed suicide the night of your sons arrival at

this hospital.

Valentine, Anna, and Sofiya continued their gaze into each of their respective indiscrete

locations.

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Im sorry that I know hardly anything that you hoped to discover tonight, Elena

apologized adding, But I think I have a way to coax Liev from sleep.

The three Flipovs, who were studying the detailed rug, focusing on Elena words, all

looked into the face of Dr. Elena Chakwas at these words.

* * *

My sister is beside me.

I am laying in bed and she is seated to my right in a gray plastic chair, holding my hand

with both of hers. I see only the top of her head, her nose glued to her thumbs at my hand.

She is crying and talking and crying, but I cant understand her words.

But then I heard them in between the sobs.

They are the words of prayer.

It is a prayer for my life, for my very soul.

* * *

Dr. Chakwas positioned the headband on Anna, saying, Youre not going to feel

anything. Just focus on your husband. Anna and Valentine sat facing each other in gray plastic

chairs along the length of Lievs bed. Curly wires hung from Annas headband terminating at the

headband around Lievs skull. There was a sleeping mask over Lievs eyes.

Dr. Z and Sofiya stood against the wall opposite Liev.

Elena flipped the switch on the console to her right as she gazed into Lievs face, trying

to gage his acceptance of the transmission. He grimaced immediately; a good sign, Elena

thought.

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As Valentine said, What is supposed to happen? Liev reached up and pulled the

sleeping mask from his eyes. Fearing a second coma, Valentine jumped from his seat and pulled

the mask down over his sons eyes. But Elena had already ceased transmission of Annas view of

Valentine Filipov.

Its okay, Elena said with a blank expression, You can take it off.

Dr. Z and Sofiya were now standing close.

With his face hovering over his sons, Valentine slowly slid the mask up.

* * *

I have a memory of my mother crying. I dont remember what happened between the

hallway and seeing my mother, but I remember the lighting. The room was dark, lit only by the

light pouring in through an open doorway. She was sitting on the toilet I think; there were tears

and the noise.

I wanted to help, to make the pain stop hurting, but I didnt know what to do. I didnt

know how to help my mother because she wasnt hurt.

My father came to me and explained that sometimes people cry not because they are hurt

but because they are sad. I asked my father why people cry when they are sad, and he said that

people cry when they are sad because they cannot change what they are sad about.

Unchangeable? What cannot be changed? I was skeptical.

My father was telling me that people go stiff and cannot come back, and sometimes

people go stiff sooner than people think is fair. I asked where the stiff people go, and my father

said that no one in the whole world truly knows, but most people trust that where they go is a

good place. He told me that he hoped I was in a good place, and hoped I would come back.

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My father paused.

When I thought on my fathers last words, I always wondered what he meant by that, but

the confusion never amounted to anything nearly as inscrutable as that pause.

I always thought that memory queer because my father paused for such a long time,

unsure of how to continue. Its duration so long, I cannot remember what he said next; I have a

suspicion I have never heard it in the first place.

Is it a memory at all, or the persistent dream of my waking reality? Was my fathers

image paused each morning by my alarm?

What I do know is that the image of Valentine Filipov pondering his next words remains

with me to this day. However, I honestly cannot say whether it is the image of my father from my

childhood memory, the image of Banionis from Solaris, or a still from the prophetic vision of my

waking reality, paused on my fathers face each morning at the sounding of my alarm. The three

have melded into a single reality inside my mind.

Nevertheless, it is an image that has persisted: the face and mouth of my father searching

for the perfect words.

I saw my fathers mouth taste the words, approving some and dismissing others.

In that pause my father aged, and his image became clear to me. My broken mind came

together, the two pieces made into one by some angel of clarity. Then I felt that age old sensation

between dream and waking. It was a feeling I have not felt in a very long time.

I saw my father speak and heard his words. His language was no longer a memory.

For the first time, waking up felt like I was coming alive.

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Authors Note and Errata

The main inspiration of the story came from a November 2011, TIME article entitled A Flicker of

Consciousness that I found in an online database. I took the family directly from the article, only Valentine is the

vegetative patient in real life, and I created Liev and swapped Anna and Sofiyas roles. The part where Sofiya coaxes

Liev to cry actually happened, only between Valentine and his wife Sofiya.

The visual image capturing using an fMRI came from a March 2012 Mechanical Engineering article about

neurologists capturing the data from the visual center of peoples brain while they watch movies and form images

from the data that nearly match the original film images. I completely fabricated the notion of stimulating visually

impaired, Alzheimers patients minds with the visual data in order to help them retain their memory. This treatment

is not based on any scientific facts.

The film reference was originally The Great Gatsby,but I changed it to Solaris so that the actor Banionis

could be confused with Valentine. Redfords red hair couldnt really fit with a russian named Filipov.

Beyond the direct inspiration, I was also inspired by the idea that certain dreams can be so vivid that they

become difficult to distinguish from actual memories. Over time, it becomes impossible to determine whether the

event actually happened or was merely a dream.

When my brother Mark was young, he thought my dad had pushed him off of our roof, and he became

somewhat afraid of him. My father of course would never do this, but my brother was convinced of it. After my

brother talked with my mother about it, he realized it must have been a dream that had him convinced. I tried to

express this fusion and confusion of dreams and memories in this story, hoping to possibly allow readers to

experience the effect if they have never experienced it in real life.

While some of things in the story are purely fiction, many of the events, locations, and memories found in

the story are based on real events, dreams, memories, and random things from my own life. However, I took many

liberties in adding or removing whatever came to mind at the time of their writing.

The I know / Okay dialogue between the Val and Sofi I stole directly from Cormac McCarthys The

Road.

Scimag is a shortened version of Science and the Imagination, the science fiction class for which I wrote

this story in the first place.

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The Lakes of Canada in Annas dream is a song by The Innocence Mission that I find beautiful. I also

phrased a line in that dream after a lyric in the song Cattail Down by mewithoutYou.

The depressed trouper in Lievs dream was inspired by V from V for Vendetta.

The name Chakwas is the name of a doctor from the video gameMass Effect 2, though the characters are

similar in name only.

I would also like to thank my brother Matt for creating the sweet cover art.

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The Image of Valentine Filipov