Danny the Daydreamer

Danny was a fan of World War II. He also loved a good dystopian story. All the greats: Brave New World, 1984, Fahrenheit 451. And he was enamored with technology: touch screen devices, 100% wireless communication, waving his hand as he walked through rooms, turning lights, TV screens, sound systems, on and off, all with the wave of his hand.

He never understood why his parents, his elderly neighbors, and the conspiracy theorists on the news were so frightened about living in the year 2053. Life was convenient. Life was filled with endless options: food, digital entertainment, speech recognition appliances, and various forms of artificial intelligence guiding it all.

As Danny spent a unusually lazy Monday morning sorting through a wide range of newspaper articles and photographs that he had collected about World War II, he daydreamed of wearing his own Army-issued uniform with pride as he marched in cadence with his platoon, He was 26 years-old, well at the age to serve his country. Except he had a painfully fused spinal cord. Not from birth – rather from a severe illness that almost took his entire life, but instead took a few of his vertebrae. 

Yet Danny still daydreamed. Little boys did not have a monopoly on playing make-believe. He knew of other adults who were often prone to that behavior as well. He saw a psychiatrist once per week, and he was medicated accordingly because of severe depression and anxiety. He diligently took his medication; he embraced its ability to make him daydream even more, so much more vividly. He created entire, multi-layered worlds in his mind; scores of wildly animated alien creatures; and a new method for those creatures to spawn, which he trademarked as The Initiation.

But Danny was specifically more interested in World War II. His grandfather, a high-ranking officer in the U.S. Army who now lived in the northern top of Michigan, and to be somewhat close to his roots in Canada, gave Danny one of his uniforms as a present for this 25^th birthday. Thankfully, both he and his grandfather were both about the same height, so the uniform fit as if it were tailored exactly for Danny.

And Danny owned it: He obsessively wore the uniform with pride – mostly within the confines of his one-bedroom apartment, but sometimes while taking an evening stroll around his neighborhood – or on special occasions. If any of his neighbors were outside during his stroll, they would smile almost pitifully at him or give him a quiet “thumbs up” gesture.

Most of Danny’s neighbors were well-aware of his medical condition. And aside from occasionally waving hello to him, they saw Danny as a rather immature adult that made them suspicious of his next plans. Always one eye on whatever they were doing at the moment, and one raised eyebrow toward Danny.

Although his home country of Canada was not the superpower force that his neighbor, the U.S., projected out to the rest of the world, Danny embodied his grandfather’s mind as if the two were telepathically linked.

On that same Monday, now a special occasion, Danny once again performed his ritual of ironing his grandfather’s Army uniform, ensuring the pleats lined up perfectly; that all buttons were shiny; and that his Army issued shoes had a sharp black glow that he had hoped his lady friends would take notice, give him a flirty smile, and then bat their curled eyelashes as a compliment to how well put together he looked.

Danny strolled out his front door to an outside world that was torn between displaying a dull gray sky and patches of sunlight fighting their way through the clouds. But Danny was on a mission regardless. He had to find a way back to 1953. He often wished that his uniform was magical. That it could whisk him back to that era he loved the most.

One of Danny’s neighbors, Gerald, stopped right in front of him, placing his hand straight out in a stop motion, as if he were directing traffic.

“Going back to fight in the War again, young man”? Gerald asked in subtly snarky tone. Gerald was right around the same age as Danny’s grandfather, though unlike Danny, Gerald was not a fan of anything remotely related to WWII. He had family who served – and their stories were usually more than he could handle in one sitting.

“Not quite,” Danny replied. “I am going to see my friend, Wade, who says he can get me back to 1953.”

“You mean like a time machine!?” Gerald exclaimed.

“No, nothing like that. He calls it ‘cerebrally induced experiential parallelism’. Or CIEP for short.

Gerald’s thick, rosy cheeked face was so contorted with confusion, it looked like it was about to fold into itself. “Say that again?” Gerald asked.

“Listen, I am late,” Danny said emphatically. “Let’s talk about this later. My friend doesn’t like when I am late for appointments.”

“As you say,” Gerald sighed. “But hey, be good to your brain.”

“I have made it a career of trying,” Danny meditatively responded.

Unfortunately, Danny was in fact late to his appointment. Seven minutes to be exact. His friend, Wade, was a man of meticulous planning. He wanted to transfer that same quality to Danny. And so did Wade’s assistant, Jonathan, who greeted Danny with a serious stare as Danny entered the office building where Wade performed his research, experiments, and subject analysis.

“We are ready for you,” Jonathan said in a voice as serious as his stare. Jonathan arose from his desk chair, and then opened the door to a short hallway that led to Wade’s office.

Wade, a man of extensive education, and a particular interest in brain function and human behavior, had a special connection with Danny. He and Danny were on a first name basis, something that Wade allowed as a rare exception, as there was a general code of ethics and treatment with his clients. However, Danny was so articulately fascinating, that Wade found himself deeply impressed just about every time they talked. Danny could even talk shop with Wade, as if both were peers in the same field. Danny liked to think that this access to technology and voracious love for reading helped that substantially.

“Greetings, Danny,” Wade said with a thin smile. “I will go easy on you today about punctuality. We have enough in the bank that I trust your follow-through.”

“I appreciate that”, Danny smiled back.

Wade then looked over to Jonathan, “Have all the preparations been made? Are we ready to begin?”

“Affirmative,” Johnathan said. It was an answer that Jonathan grandfathered from his own time serving in the military.

“Then let’s get to it.” Wade said.

Wade and Johnathan then escorted Danny to a small room next door to Wade’s office. Against one wall was a crushed velvet, Roman style couch. The opposite wall contained a built-in tabletop with cabinets underneath, and jars filled with various first aid items. Wade generally didn’t have the need for them, but he was one not to be under prepared.

Danny had remembered to take his medication earlier that day and felt fairly relaxed. He had a momentary micro-burst of anxiety when he first saw the Roman couch, but then he quickly reminded himself that Wade was a well-respected expert.

Wade then proceeded to explain the procedure: “As with our past meetings, you will sit on the couch there, close your eyes, and start to count backward slowly from 100. Jonathan will help me administer two injections, which will induce CIEP. We have safely and successfully used this procedure before. I think you will be pleased with the outcome.”

Danny sat himself on the couch and began to do as instructed. But then his eyes shot open as he remembered one key question that he reminded himself repeatedly to ask while walking to Wade’s office: “What if I want to come back to 2053”?

Wade, holding the first syringe in one hand and Jonathan’s right arm with the other, explained. “I understand that concern, Jonathan. In prior discussions, we covered the many benefits of being where you *need* to be. Yes, I understand the technological wonders you have embraced – and the love for the Classics you have read, which have fueled your imagination and have confirmed the life in 2053.

“However, the benefits will far outweigh the inconveniences: You will be among real friends and family again. You will be able to create a more wholesome life, one that has its own challenges—life is not without any challenges – but free from the prison of a future world filled with too many technological distractions, too many people fixated on their electronic devices, too much apathy among men and women. Instead, you will be able to create a new destiny for yourself, while freeing yourself from those distractions of the future. In short, you will be *home* again.

Danny forced an uncertain smile, and then nodded, “Yes, you are right. This is what’s best.”

Danny completed his countdown to 87 before drifting into his new consciousness. His mind went blank for what could have been hours, but it was no more than a minute. It was as if all his thoughts about 2053 were sucked through a hose into a void of eternal darkness.

And it was all immediately replaced with an inviting glow as he entered his brownstone apartment, passed by his Victrola record player; flopped down on a firm, high-back, vinyl upholstered reading chair; flipped on his Winchester radio; and then realized that he had done all of that so effortlessly, it was as if he had been in 1953 all along.

And truth be told: Danny was in 1953 all along. The procedure worked. He was home again.