The Old Man in the Driveway

The Old Man in the Driveway

“Ms. Johnson, thank you for coming in,” Dr. McNulty smiles kindly at me.

 “As you know, I’ve been meeting with your daughter Calla for a little over six months and it’s been a challenge to get to the bottom of what is causing her to sleep so poorly. It seems she may be having some sort of recurring dream. I’m hoping you can shed some light on what I’m hearing; help me make sense of it.”

I sit back in my chair. Calla hasn’t slept well in months. She wakes up crying every night. I, too, have no idea how to make sense of it or give her any relief. My eight-year-old is exhausted, purple-blue shadows having taken up permanent residence under her slightly sunken eyes. 

Dr. McNulty came recommended as the very best sleep therapist. I tended to prefer women for therapy services but, I was so desperate to help Calla, I relented and called him. I look him over again, an older man with greying hair and kind blue eyes. How much older was he really? I no longer felt young.

Dr. McNulty continues. “When I can get her to talk about what is scaring her, which is admittedly not often, she talks about seeing someone. It’s taken me all this time to get any idea of who that someone is, but I believe it’s the reason she is not sleeping.”

A slight sickness flits in my belly. 

He continues, paging through some paper notes. “Calla avoids this subject as much as possible. It appears avoidance is her coping mechanism, so it’s taken my all this time to put together any sort of concept of this dream and the person that resides therein.” 

He pauses, “I don’t want to scare you.  I feel certain this is a dream… some sort of recurring dream; but it is absolutely real to Calla. This dream is leaving Calla in a constant state of terror. Her cognitive testing has steadily declined since I’ve seen her. You also report declining performance at school. I fear she will soon be unable to function, whether due to lack of sleep or just incapacitating fear.”

I nod my head slightly. I can feel the worry settling on my face.

“Have either you or her father, or any grandparents, perhaps, experienced recurring dreams? We think recurring dreams can be more common when parents or family members have experienced them.”

 “Her dad is not in the picture. I have no idea where he is, let alone what he dreams,” my voice trails off.

Dr. McNulty’s lips are set in a tight line. He’s done this for a long time but I’m not the only one who is worried; Dr. McNulty is not keeping his concern off his face either.

I sit in silence for a long moment, lost in my own memories. Inside, I’m all flight.  I want to run, but I know I can’t outrun this, so I lift my eyes to meet his. “I had them. I had recurring dreams. There were one in particular that I can remember.”

Dr. McNulty is looking at me; head slightly cocked to the side.

I really don’t want to talk about it – it still scares me – but I know there is no avoiding it. I have to help Calla. 

"Where do I even start with this," I wonder. 

“I was out riding my Big Wheel on the sidewalk in the yard of my childhood home. Do you remember Big Wheel’s? Plastic, big wheels… obviously.” I pause and look at him with a weak laugh. 

He nods. I think we both know I’m buying time. 

I take a breath, trying to steady my voice.

“My parents’ cars were in the asphalt driveway next to the garage, my dad’s old green International truck, and the blue Ford Fairmont station wagon. The driveway was just beyond our metal chain link fence. In my dreams, I was alone outside, riding my Big Wheel. It was light blue with white wheels.”

I’m repeating myself. That Big Wheel is a safe, mundane detail to me.

“At some point, I noticed a very old man in our driveway. He stood very upright – not stooped – but he looked ancient to me. He just stood there, watching me. His eyes felt intense. He had long grey hair and a long, untrimmed beard that covered his mouth and ran down to his chest. He was wearing grey robes – they seemed really old -- and he was always holding a staff.”

I rush on, “I’m sure I came up with that image from pictures of men from a kids’ Bible. My parents were very religious, so I spent a lot of time in church. The robes… they seemed like Bible robes; and, a staff? That has to be from my time in Children’s Church. He looked like a less glamorous version of the wizard in the Hobbit movies.”

“What happened in the dream?” Dr. McNulty prompted.

“Well, I would be riding my Big Wheel and he would just stare at me. His eyes followed me all along that sidewalk, but he never moved toward me. He gave me a creepy feeling. Eventually, I got scared and went inside my house. I did not put my Big Wheel away.”

Prodding me on, Dr McNulty asks, “Anything else?” 

Hesitating slightly, “No, he just stared at me. Any time I went outside to ride my Big Wheel, he was there. Really, that was it.”

Dr. McNulty presses, “You said this was a recurring dream. Do you have any concept of how many times you had this dream?”

I shake my head. “I really don’t know. It seemed that it went on for a year but kids’ concept of time….” I raise my hands and shrug my shoulders slightly. Everyone knows kids’ time is skewed. 

“And you never saw this man in real life?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know. Honestly, I… I think it was a dream.” I rush on, “I mean, it had to be a dream, right?” 

I glance at Dr. McNulty, and my words keep falling out. “I don’t know how old I was when he was there, but I know that he felt very real to me. I would guess I was somewhere around 6, maybe?” I ask the sentence as a question to my own memory.

“When did the dreams end?” Dr. McNulty asks.

I shake my head. “I don’t know. After some time, I realized I hadn’t seen the old man in a long time. I remember one time I was in my parents’ bedroom -- I don’t know if this was real or if it was another dream. Anyway, I was in my parents’ room, and they had a picture of the driveway hanging on their bedroom wall. I mean, that must be a dream because why would you have a picture of your driveway framed on your wall?” 

Dr. McNulty is listening, but he makes no response.

“I looked at the picture and noticed the old man was not in it. The cars were there but he was not. I had kind of forgotten about him, so I asked my mom, ‘What ever happened to the old man?’ She looked at me a little confused and said, ‘What old man?’ I knew instantly that was a mistake -- he wasn’t real… he was in my imagination, and I shouldn’t bring it up again.” 

I stop. What more is there to say? I know it’s bizarre. I feel stupid and a little guilty for even mentioning it.

Dr. McNulty chooses his words. “Calla is also seeing someone – she describes an old man.”

My breath catches in my chest.

“She is very frightened by this man,” Dr. McNulty’s voice is steeped in concern. “She doesn’t want to talk about him, but sometimes she will tell me a bit. She wants to get better.”

I feel myself holding my breath. My arms are hugging my chest, fingers digging into my biceps. “Does she tell you where she sees him?” I croak out the words. 

“In her dream, he’s in her school. She is walking to her locker and there he is, staring at her. She goes to her locker and puts in her combination. He stares at her the whole time until she feels so unnerved, she hurries away.” 

I don’t want to know any more, but I can’t stop. “Are there other people around?”

He shakes his head. “Usually, she is alone. She said occasionally there are other students walking in the hallway. No one seems to notice him, despite the fact that she describes him as extremely old with a long, ragged beard that covers his mouth. She describes his clothes as old and long. Grey in color.”

I gasp. 

Dr. McNulty’s looks at me, worry lines creasing his face.

“Could she be seeing the same man I saw?” I feel breathless. 

“Honestly, I don’t know. It seems improbable that it could be the same man, yet the description is strikingly similar.  This dream is torturing Calla. She cannot rest.  I’m very worried about her development.”

He goes on. “There’s one more thing. The last time she had the dream, there was something different. The man didn’t just stare at Calla. This time he spoke.”

Hairs stand on the back of my neck and chills electrify my body. 

“This time, as Calla finished closing her locker and went to hurry away, the man raised his hand and pointed his finger at her. She described a voice that came from him like a hurricane scream. The man said…”

“Don’t tell anyone.” We say in unison, my eyes seeing only the flashback in my brain.

It was real. 

The old man is back.