literature

PSYCH 480

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I’d never signed a medical waiver so long in my entire history of short-lived issues, and this waiver was for a class, not an appointment. They may as well have handed it to us on a scroll. One of the attendants standing by the stack of papers eyeballed me as my attention drifted away from the text and straight for a window. I tried to focus again and lost it.

But who actually read waivers? In short, all they did was sign your life away without the risk of liability. Maybe I was the only one who lived by this principle, because everyone around me studied it in great detail, scratching their chins, nodding (or not). I shifted my attention between them.

“They’re all pretending,” someone beside me offered. I turned to meet the source, and had difficulty finding it at first because the girl closest to me didn’t meet my eyes until a few minutes later. Clad in a blue turtleneck dress, no more than one hundred pounds stacked on a skeleton of five-foot-six at the least, she grinned with repressed effort. “Not one of them understands what any of this shit says.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the particularly hard-reading students glance up indignantly. I tried to ignore it. “I hope that’s true,” I whispered back.

“Weird to have to sign a waiver for a class, right?” she snorted. “Then again, you have to sign a waiver for yoga. Possible lawsuits everywhere, you know.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, feeling as though continued conversation would have been polite. That being said I couldn’t figure out what to say, and I didn’t have the guts to spit something out at random. I turned my eyes away, and we bobbed our heads in bite-your-lip-silence.

“Marley Finniwick,” she sighed eventually, scratching her name on the bottom of her waiver. Setting it aside, she glanced up again and raised her brows expectantly. I thought she’d just been reading her signature to herself.

“Oh, Sawyer June,” I replied half-heartedly. As if by command, I mimicked her and signed the one line at the bottom without half a look more.

“We both have cool names,” she observed. “I would’ve expected your name to be June; you kind of look like one, sort of summery…and gloomy at the same time. Are you a freshman?”

“You can call me June if you want,” I reassured her. “Whatever. It’s no big deal, I’ll turn around to both. And no, I’m a senior actually. I’m just…”

“Socially nervous?” she assumed. “No worries. I’ve been told that I’m an expert at curing that, so maybe we should hang together. Think you’ll like this class?” She scooted a little closer along the wall. My spine stiffened, and I felt like a chunk of beef on a hook set for a bobcat.

I nodded in response to the social comment. It was a wild assumption, but it was right in any case. I let it go and took in the odd layout of 505. For psychology 480, I supposed that this setup was the norm. Then again, where the norm came from I wasn’t sure, because Dream Analysis was only offered at this university to my knowledge. Whether or not I found it exciting would have to wait—I tended to rely on reliable accounts, and the general rumor was that more than half of the class left within the first ten minutes.

“I’m nervous about it,” I admitted. “Not good enrollment.”

“Well, hard classes have bad enrollment, but that doesn’t make them bad classes, just lazy people,” she explained. I shrugged, and she came closer still. “So, why’d you pick it?”

I put my shrug on a loop. “I needed to cap off my units for graduation. Plus I hear taking it forms better dissertations.”

“Ah, so you’re going for your doctorate?” she said.

“I hope so. You?”

“Nah, I’m not cut out for a doctorate. I’m just here because I’m not afraid of a few life contracts. I have enough with the Devil already, if you know what I mean.”

I looked her over. “I don’t really.”

“Never mind,” she laughed, and diverted my attention again to the rows of upright, reclining dentist-type seats pressed neatly in five sterile rows of ten under uncomfortable ceiling light. Two monitors waited at every one seat, off for now. “Did I miss some news cast saying that they figured out how to record dreams or something? That’s what this looks like.”

“This looks like a root canal,” I mumbled. Unexpectedly, Marley burst out in raucous laughter, snuffling and rubbing her nose to prevent any spray. I fell back a little, unsure what to think. She’d gotten very close in a few unaware seconds.

“You’re pretty funny!” she told me, undeterred by the chorus of eyes fixed on her. After a few minutes the looks faded, though she wouldn’t have noticed. I didn’t smile for her, but she didn’t mind. “A root canal. I’m keeping that one. Well, I’m sure this all is what the liability form is for.”

“No needles, I hope,” I breathed, finding the room all at once stuffy.

“I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to stick your students with biohazard equipment, whether you’ve got the degree for it or not,” she reassured me. “Anyway, I heard you have to fall asleep on your own, or learn how. No problem for me.” I glanced away at that.

“No needles at all, calm your fears,” announced a voice from the doorway. “Normally, that’s the first thing I say. But since someone already voiced the concern, I thought I’d just branch off of it. Students, before we get started, if I could get you to turn in your forms and sign the roll sheet up here, please. Pick up a syllabus, too. You can retract your waiver at any time, and you can always drop this class within the time frames allowed if you feel uncomfortable here. Trust me, claustrophobia and anxiety are the last things we need spreading throughout a room meant for quiet and sleep.”

Systematically we turned in our waivers. I managed to wiggle in to the close end of the waning line and waited long after leaving my waiver for the rest of the class to finish. The full fifty of enrollment seemed smaller every second, but I couldn’t recall seeing people leave.

Marley kept at my side all the way through, going on about something. I caught about one word in every thirty of what she had to say, which was unfortunate, but I never dealt well with talkers. As the final few streamed through, I caught a little bit more of her conversation when she slowed down.

“Bet this whole room is made of psych majors, huh?” she hummed.

“Not quite,” a voice on her side interjected. It was starting to feel a little cramped as the young man to whom the voice belonged wandered into Marley’s speech patterns. He nodded at both of us. “Art major.”

“What are you in a psych major class for, then?” Marley prodded.

He huffed a deep breath, coughed a little, and admitted, “The world’s longest art block. My counselor thought this class would be good to free up my inspiration before I head out looking for a career. Dream-wise, I mean. I’m Louis, by the way, if that matters.”

“Marley,” my stalking companion returned with precision reflex. “This is Sawyer, also known as June.”

“Which one do you go by?” he asked. I didn’t see why it was such a concern, but I never had the chance to reply. The papers had been stacked by the two attendants and walked out of the room, and the professor waited at her desk, prompting silence with a few loud knocks. A wave of something, probably terror, swept over the room as though this would be the time when the professor requested a kidney from each of us as tuition assistance. Of course none of that happened, but I was thinking it.

“Welcome, everyone, to psych 480, Dream Analysis. I’m Dr. Melanie Forrest, and I teach here full-time, mostly in average beginner psych classes that students are forced to take for general education. Those classes are a drag, I’m not going to lie—this is my favorite, and I’ll tell you why—also, that rhyme was completely unintentional. ANYWAY.  In this class, we’re going to analyze the importance of a concept humankind has yet to master in a complete scale: your Dreams. Why analyze dreams, you ask? Well, if you’re a psych major, which I assume most of you are (otherwise it would have been very difficult for you to get in this class), you’ll discover through this class how much a person’s dreams can say about their past experiences, current problems, even problem-solving ability, and the issues or joys surrounding them. If you're not a psych major, thinking about your dreams is still very cathartic for the soul and interesting for the mind, and I don't doubt that you'll all enjoy it.

“Dreams, while sometimes ridiculous, are also extremely telling of how a human being sees the world, and while you may think that some dreams are utter nonsense, I urge you to rework them and consider analyses for why your brain was scattered or clear, and what any of the images involved (if any) mean to you. That’s why, in this class, I’ll require you to keep a dream journal, and guys, before you shrink away from the word journal, just be grateful that I didn’t call it a diary, and it’s for a grade, so it’s not like you’re keeping one for the sake of being expressive. (God forbid). Your dream journals must be separate and spiral-bound, in fact I would prefer that you use a composition book just to prevent pages from falling out and getting lost, because trying to reproduce a lost dream for the points is near impossible. Each journal will be worth three points, which doesn’t seem like a lot, but you’ll be doing one every Monday and Wednesday throughout the semester, and that adds up. In these journals you are ONLY to put the date at the top and record the dream as you saw and remember it.

“Aside from that, you will have a total of eight mini analyses papers due at various dates throughout the semester, in which you will choose a dream from the time before the analysis is assigned to break down and process. By this (well, there are more instructions in the syllabus online), but by this I mean I want you to dig into events that have happened to you, past or present or even anticipated events, as well as the state of your psyche (stress, discomfort, fear, etc.) and use a few of those things to attempt to extrapolate a reason for the way you think your dream turned out as it did, along with a prediction for how you think your future dreams will be. If this sounds like a lot of work to do, just keep in mind that all you’re asked to do is come to class, be monitored, and sleep, which is a pretty good deal. Considering that we start at two PM, the time where the energy peak seems to come to a grinding halt, the option to have a “nap-class” probably sounds pretty good, and it’s three hours long, so you get a good chunk of time out of it to make up for missed sleep at home. All you need to do in class is get comfortable and go to bed, and write your dream down (or at least outline it) before you leave. Does that sound so bad?”

The majority of the class shook their heads and murmured something along the lines of, “Sounds great.” I’d never been a joiner, so I allowed the whole to speak for the third. It sounded great to me to have a nap to look forward to regularly every day. Someone raised their hand.

“Will there be a final? On the syllabus it says finals week for May.”

“I don’t believe in traditional finals or midterms since they dragged me through the mud when I was a student—yes there will sort of be a ‘final,’ but it’s not what you’re thinking of. Your final will be your last analysis on the last dream you have before finals week. It’s nothing you need to worry about, because you’ll be used to it by then. I don’t require it to be any longer, I just want to be able to see your growth in your interpretations show in your final analysis, and I like to see how your last dream wound up compared to the others. No memorization, no textbook. If I want you to read something at home, which will be rare, it’ll be online, and probably just a little bit of outside dream theory or news to round out your thought process and give you an idea of what you’re looking for inside your own head. There’s a discussion board for reading and questions online whenever I have readings, but nothing during class because I want you to spend this time getting your sleep on. Sound fair?”

Another hand. “What if we don’t fall asleep easy? Should we drop?”

“No, the royal “we” should not necessarily have to drop. If you have a hard time nodding off, I’ll try to make more accommodations for you to get your brain to ease up. It’s something we can work on. However, inability to sleep here isn’t much of an issue; it seems like it now because this place is empty. Those cabinets along the wall are full of stacks of blankets and pillows. The lights dim in here and I often burn soothing incense or—yes—sometimes I offer warm milk or music. Bottom line is, I want you to feel comfortable to explore your dreams here, and I’m willing to help you reach that state. You can even lock up your stuff behind me, so that’s one last worry if you’re bothered by that, but I will always be here monitoring you, and some students ask me to lock the room door, which I will if needed.”

“How will you keep from falling asleep?” a girl asked, probably as a joke.

“I’m an insomniac, chronically,” Forrest replied simply. She never elaborated, but I wondered how long she’d gone without a single drop of sleep.

“What are the machines for?”

“Heart rate and basic brain activity—the latter isn’t that clear, but it does color code some interesting squiggly lines which, over the years, I have learned to interpret. It just helps me keep an eye on everyone and make sure there aren’t any serious problems, because sometimes when people settle after a lot of stress, incidents can happen. I had one student enrolled who had a small heart attack while asleep around midterm time, and thanks to the monitors the ambulance arrived in plenty of time to help her.”

 “Can we bring our own blankets and stuff?”

“Please do, I encourage it. Less laundry for the overnight crew, more comfortable for you.”

“Is incense a sedative?”

“No. It’s like burning a vanilla candle. It’s a scent that calms the senses and relaxes tension in the mind. It doesn’t render you immobile. Also, we have alarm clocks all over which I set to half an hour before the end of class, or if your prefer to wear earplugs or mutes I can wake you manually. Should give you plenty of time to wake up and get an outline done.” Suddenly, the room fell silent. Finally, Forrest leaned against her desk by the windows and scanned for more hands, but found none. “Any more questions for me? I assure you these are all questions I get every semester, because this is, let’s face it, a weird class for many people. Don’t be afraid to ask.” No one responded, so Forrest moved around to the front of the desk.

“All right, now I have a few more things I need to talk with you all about. We’re not going to start today, rather, I’ll let you go in a few, after we settle the small stuff. Sorry if that leaves you a huge gap, but you can always go get lunch or whatever.

“This is very important: You should not be experiencing the same dream again in immediate succession. By this I mean you shouldn’t be having the same dream on Monday and Wednesday. (Or Monday and Tuesday, either, because we’re going to count your dreams at home in between, too). In addition, you should not be experiencing identical, easily identifiable figures in your dreams within immediate succession of each other. In general I would expect that you shouldn’t be having repeats through the semester, but they sometimes happen in brief flashes because of the way your sleeping brains echo themselves when you’re unconscious. As long as they’re not too close together, you’re fine. If you’re not sure, just ask me. And if you do have clear repeats, I need to know! This is a matter of safety, and it’s been my experience that when a person’s dreams are on a loop, there may be something more serious occurring that needs to be addressed. In that case I would recommend you visit your doctor just to get the OK on everything, which means I don’t want you participating in this class until it’s ironed out or until your dreams have gotten out of that wrinkle.

“On a side note, you all should know that there may be times when you don’t dream or can’t remember when you wake up, and that’s fine. In your entries just try to record the feeling of your nap.

“Finally, the less important stuff—I shouldn’t have to remind you adults that this class is not for your very intimate pleasures. No more than one to a seat, and no screwing around in here. I have literally had students try everything possible while I was in here, and I will fail you if I see that happening. To put it simply, you didn’t enroll in this class to f-ck in new ways. Figure out your f-cking at home.

“And, last but not least, I do keep dreams confidential unless you specifically allow them to be shared. Reason being because some dreams are very personal, or private, or everything in between. If you aren’t comfortable having me read about them, all you need to do is put CONFIDENTIAL in caps at the top of the entry, and I will grade for it having been done and stop there. And with that, I’ll let you go. Be ready to sleep on Wednesday.”

She yawned and waved us off, which I kept thinking about as I skittered out of the door under Marley and Louis’ notice. Wednesday would either be a seal or a break for me—I believed Forrest in saying that everything possible would be done to ease our anxieties and help us into the groove of the class, but my problem wasn’t the room or the others in it, but me. I returned to an empty apartment that evening after my last class of the day, couldn’t eat, and slept with difficulty. I hadn’t even started the class yet, and my head-start was already extraordinary. On Wednesday morning, I packet my two best blankets and favorite pillow in a duffle and sighed as I zipped it up slowly, as if preparing to enter a contact sport.

Fictional, of course.

but I wish this were a thing I would sign up so fast
© 2014 - 2024 bruxing
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C-A-Harland's avatar
Definitely an interesting concept, and one you've obviously put a lot of thought into. Things got real interesting when Forrest started insisting that they shouldn't have repeated dreams, that definitely made me wonder what was coming, and I'm eagerly awaiting the part where it all goes catastrophically wrong.

Both Marley and Sawyer come across very strongly as independent characters, but Louis was a bit washed out. I'm not sure he even needed to be in the scene. Perhaps work him into some more conversations so we can get a better sense of his role to come.

The only other criticism I have was Forrest's long-winded speech outlining the class. I know that in reality, this is exactly what you'd expect on a first day, but it gets a bit repetitive, especially when you reach the Q&A. See if you can trim the fat a little and cut it down to 2-3 paragraphs of just core details, and throw the rest under a blanket statement "Forrest went on for the next five minutes about the Dos and Don'ts, while students interrupted her with questions about finals and the other nonsense Sawyer had come to expect from any new class." The rest of the information can be woven into the story for the reader to uncover as they go. You could even have a running background commentary on each of Forrest's comments from Marley and Louis, which would give us a better chance to learn more about them, and the general reactions from the class.