I awoke this morning from a vivid dream. I was breathless and afraid, and the memory was so clear I could swear it had happened yesterday. A cat lay softly purring under my arm. The world was right again. This is the story of my dream:
I was working in a suburban area of South San Jose - a very similar girl to who I was in my early 20's. My office was on the 3rd floor of this office complex. I worked there with 2 other people, but I'm not entirely certain what I did. I'd realized at some point on my drive over that my boyfriend had left his cell phone in my car, so I was walking into the building with both in hand.
On the street outside there was an RV-looking truck with some people milling about. Over the side of the truck was a yellow sign with bright red block letters that read "It's a Trap!" They'd been here for a few days now, and as far as I could tell it was a game to promote some guy's artwork. You'd spin a wheel, and whatever it landed on you could either answer a question about it or walk away. If you chose to answer and got it right, you won a piece of art. If you got it wrong, you were taken into the truck and when you exited you were painted up like a clown. I'd thought about checking it out, but it seemed like the questions must be really difficult because most people left painted up like clowns. For some reason today I was especially curious, and being that I was early to work, I decided to check it out.
The guy outside the truck was young and attractive - probably in his early thirties. He reminded me of someone famous, but I couldn't place who it was. Light brown hair and a killer smile. The kind of guy that could draw in girls like me. He struck up typical conversation you'd hear at a carnival where you might try to toss a ring over a bottle or knock some milk jugs off a pedestal. He was smooth, and I found myself laughing along with him and the cute clown-painted girl beside him. She was petite and reminded me of a cupcake in her pink ensemble.
I stacked the phones in my left hand and spun the wheel with my right. I don't recall what it landed on, but I recall the question being one that could have several answers. I smirked and said "So THIS is what you mean by 'It's a trap.'" The clown girl giggled, and the hawker asked me for my final answer in his best TV Game Show Host tone. I expected it to be wrong, but he clapped his hands together and said "Ding ding, winner! Please step inside to claim your prize!"
Climbing the pair of steps into the RV, I realized it had been converted into a studio of sorts. There were still a few windows you could see the street through toward the front, but the back walls were mostly covered and it smelled of cigarette smoke. There were shelves lining the sidewalls about halfway to the front of the vehicle, and a chair in the enter with some sort of bucket of dingy water next to it. The shelves were covered with paints, clown makeup, rags covered in various paint colors, wigs, polka-dotted fabrics, tulle - all the things one would expect to be transformed into a clown. It also contained several canvases with various portraits of clowns painted on them, all of them female and sad-looking.
A man with buzz-cut grey hair sat on a stool to the left of the chair smoking a cigarette. He must have been in his mid-40's. His need to shave made him look even more like someone who actually worked at a carnival. He smiled at me, and asked me to sit in the chair, pulling the stool closer and grabbing a box from the shelves. I sat down and he began painting my face. It took me a beat, but I finally said "I thought only those who get it wrong were painted like clowns." He chuckled and said, "Honey, that's part of the game - you all get painted like clowns." Suddenly it made sense to me why so many people came out looking like they escaped from the circus. "The difference is, as the winner you get to have a portrait done of you afterward. But we've gotta go to my studio because I'm out of canvases.
It was then I heard a door close. The chair I was seated in was facing the back of the truck, so all I knew was the door closing was behind me. The engine started up and the truck was moving. "It's not very far, and we'll have you back before anyone realizes you're gone," the voice oozing charm called from the front of the RV. Something in me wanted to protest, but his voice eased my fear. I gripped the two phones tighter in my hand and ran through a list of what to do if this went horribly wrong. Everyone outside surely would notice that the truck was gone and I'd never left it. Surely, when I wasn't at work on time someone would ask around.
The grey-haired man continued to draw on my face, and I waited, feeling the bumps in the road as we picked up speed. We were on a freeway, I had no doubt. The painter was smiling slightly, but something about his smile made me uneasy. "You're a masterpiece," he mused as he painted my eyebrow. "It's so rare I get to paint someone I actually enjoy painting." I bit my lip. Something was wrong here. But there were three of them. How could I get out of this situation?
I heard an extremely low-flying airplane overhead and realized we were near the airport. We exited the freeway, and as the painter stepped over to find some item on the shelf, I craned my head around to look out the window. We were on a road paralleling the freeway with the airport on our right. "Would you like a drink?" the painter asked. I shook my head, and he produced a can of Coca Cola, unopened. I realized my nervousness was making me quite thirsty, so I changed my mind and took the can. It was a sealed container, so it couldn't be bad, right? I opened it and drank. The soda was refreshing, although a little flat. The man came back and continued painting my other eyebrow.
The truck came to a stop, and he smiled at me. I'd started to feel a bit less stressed out as he led me out of the truck into the daylight. We stood sandwiched between the airport and the freeway. There was an olive green door built into the side of a hill that reminded me of a bunker. The charming man stepped toward me "Wow, you do make a lovely clown," he preened, and turned to the grey-haired man. "The truck needs gas, so I'm gonna do that while you get set up." He hopped back into the driver's seat as the cupcake clown took me gently by the arm and led me toward the bunker door. Panic surged within me, and yet it was blunted by another feeling - an odd sense of destiny unfolding soothed my fears. The artist followed us inside as the younger man backed up the truck. I glanced back and he smiled at me - an odd smile that made me think of my cat.
The olive green door was left slightly ajar as we stepped into the first room of the bunker. It looked much like the interior of the RV had looked. Canvases and shelves covered in paints and clown attire. "Wait here a second while I prep the studio," the pink clown said as she released my arm and stepped through another door into an adjoining room. The grey-haired man followed her. I could hear murmured conversation between them, but couldn't make out what they were saying. My head was feeling a bit dreamlike, as I thought to myself that I should text my boyfriend, immediately realizing that would be useless since I had his phone with me. GPS coordinates came to mind. How could I figure that out and send it to someone? I opened my phone and began texting my best friend, but my fingers were useless and I couldn't get out the words correctly.
I found myself gazing absently at one of the clown portraits. The girl's face was so sad and despondent. She looked serene and yet... absent. A wave of realization washed over me and left my entire body covered in sweat. The girl in that portrait was dead. Whatever was making me feel dreamlike vanished in a heartbeat. Thoughts came in a flutter - could they have punctured the soda can to drug me? If so, it was only going to get worse in a hurry. I looked back for a moment to verify conversation was still happening in the other room, and clumsily walked as quietly as possible to the door that led outside. The moment I'd passed the threshold I broke into a run toward the freeway. Someone would stop. They had to stop. I looked down at myself and realized at some point in the truck there'd be discussion of a costume, and I'd half-undressed myself. I was wearing a bra and panties and nothing else. When had that happened? I couldn't recall as I tripped and hit the dirt in the grassy field between the doorway and the freeway. I managed to keep the phones tightly in my grasp, though I'd forgotten all about them.
Getting to my feet, I heard a yell from behind me, and realized the artist was at the doorway. He was chasing me onto the freeway. The world was spinning. I ran again, and stopped at the side of the freeway waving my arms. Somehow I still had the sense to not run into traffic. Cars were flying by as I waved my arms again - my head felt darkness coming - head-rush from standing and running too quickly after hitting the ground. I looked back and saw death coming toward me... stalking slowly, like my cat. "It's a trap," I thought to myself and laughed, cell phones falling from my hand. Darkness swirled through me, enveloping the world and I woke up.
