I’m staying at the hotel where they filmed that scene in Inception, and I think it would be cool if
I had a weightless, twisting aerial fighting dream, but instead I dream that I have sex with
someone other than my wife. I don’t recognize her. She must have come from my imagination,
but her face feels too detailed to be made up, like the scar on her cheek below her left eye.
I wake up early with my heart racing, change my underwear, and head to the lobby for breakfast,
when I see her at the reception desk. I was so tired last night when I checked in, and hers must
have been the last face I saw, and maybe my brain was sorting things out, but when I think about
it, no, it was a guy that checked me in, wasn’t it? Or was that from the night before in San
Diego? I’m still flustered and I’m feeling nervous and guilty, and I approach the desk and she
looks at me with her customer service smile, and I ask her if her shift is almost over or just
starting.
She’s no longer wearing a customer service smile, but a cautious one. She must think I’m asking
her out, and I wasn’t, but maybe I am now? I slide my wedding ring off in my pocket hoping she
won’t notice, but of course she notices, and now she knows exactly what kind of person I am.
She knows that I’d be ashamed, ashamed of her, ashamed of me that I’m a liar and a cheater,
even though I’ve never cheated before, and it’s a customer service smile again, asking me to
kindly leave.
I don’t put the ring back on right away, and it was definitely a guy named Derek who checked
me in and I’m positive I’ve never seen this woman before, maybe not even in my dream. She
doesn’t have the scar under her eye. I’m faithful, I’m a good husband, I tell myself. I’ve never
considered infidelity, and I want to believe it’s the lack of sleep putting thoughts in my head, but
Inception isn’t really about dreams within dreams, it’s about how impossibly deep you’d have to
go to plant an idea that wasn’t already there.
Matthew Pritt
Matthew Pritt (he/him) is an Appalachian writer of literary and speculative fiction. His work has appeared in Stanchion, Vast Chasm Magazine, and Bullshit Lit, among others. He lives in West Virginia with his five cats, pictures of which can be seen on his BlueSky @MatthewTPritt
Edward Michael Supranowicz
Edward Michael Supranowicz is the grandson of Irish and Lithuanian/Russian/Ukrainian
immigrants. He grew up on a small farm in Appalachia. He has a grad background in painting
and printmaking. Some of his artwork has recently or will soon appear in Fish Food, Streetlight,
Another Chicago Magazine, Door Is A Jar, The Phoenix, and The Harvard Advocate. Edward is
also a published poet who has had over 700 poems published and been nominated for the
Pushcart Prize multiple times.