Chapter 1 – Luncheon Dreams

Wednesday, 13 April 1995

"Neil, you slowpoke! Hurry! I don't want anyone to steal our seat again!" an eight-year-old Eva. He was returning his science books to his Mario backpack.

"T-Then go a-ahead," Neil stuttered. "I'll be t-there so-soon."

Eva huffed.

"Fine!" she called over her shoulder as she stormed out of the vacant class. "But don't blame me if I finish your pastrami sandwich!"

"H-Hey! Not fair!"

"Then move it!" Eva dashed back into the classroom and pushed Neil out, the soles of his shoes screeching noisily against the squeaky clean floors.

"E-Eva! Hey!" Neil protested, completely panicky. "Stop!"

"Hurry!" Once they reached the grass field, Eva grabbed his wrist and ran, ignoring his constant protests, until they reached a bench, their bench.

It was an ordinary bench, set aside from the rest of the school, facing the playground with a perfect view of the swings and the jungle gym, but to Eva and Neil, who had been close friends since they were born (their mothers were best friends), it was anything but ordinary.

It was on this exact bench their mothers met for the first time when they were in fifth grade (Eva's mum was a social butterfly while Neil's mum was cumbersome). The reason behind their friendship was almost unknown, but no one questioned it. Not really. Sporadically, Eva would, but she never got an answer.

It was here that Eva and Neil made their first deal; Neil would share her his notes from every lesson, as Eva was too lazy to jot anything down and would drift into a heavy slumber in the middle—occasionally at the start—of class, and in turn, Eva would sneak in chips and chocolates from her pantry to give Neil, as he was too poor to afford any. His father died when he was very young—he didn't have any vivid memories of him—and his mother is almost always away at work in the factory downtown, two hours away from where he lived, so that she could provide her three children with a meal everyday, and after school and on weekends, Eva invited Neil to her house and let him take food for his family (without her own parents' consent), and left after he had a good tuck in.

This was also the place where they share their secrets, like the time Eva carefully placed a bucketful of soapy water on top of an ajar door to soak an unsuspecting, who, regretfully, turned out to be her mother, and she was grounded for a week after that. There was also the time where Neil dropped his $10 in the school's bathroom and when he dashed to retrieve it, he ended up getting a swirlie because other boys found it first (mind you, when you're in first grade—or if you happen to be penniless—$10 is a lot of money).

Neither of them knew how their friendship began either. It was, like, one day, they were neighbors and the next, they had classes and lunches and study dates together. They didn't have anyone else beside themselves, which was a huge relief for the stuttering, socially awkward Neil. Eva was cool and amiable; she had other friends, too, but she preferred Neil's calm demeanor and his accident-prone personality. Plus, he was intelligent and hard working, so that was huge plus point for the work-shy eight-year-old. Thus, the deal.

Eva settled on one end of the bench and took out a crumpled, brown paper bag, consisting of Neil's pastrami sandwiches and a carton of chocolate milk.

"Thanks, E-Eva," Neil said and pushed up his thick, round glasses.

"Nof foblem," Eva replied, her mouth full of peanut butter. "Fhat foo you reckon of Ms. Farriet's homefork?"

Neil looked surprised. "Were you actually paying attention?"

"The word 'dream' got my attention," she said. "So, are we supposed to, like, write our dreams or something?"

"Pretty m-much. Generic, if y-you as-ask me."

"What does that mean?"

"Common. I mean, we've done this so many times before. Remember last year when Jules (Eva's cocker spaniel) swallowed your house's front door key and coincidentally, the other day, you were just watching this TV show on how the owners of some mutt put him through the stomach surgery because it swallowed too many household items and it turns out, it nearly digested a bunch of this as well like a moldy sock and retainers and so you decided you wanted to be a dog surgeon so you could cut open dogs' stomachs and take a look at their contents and see what random object they swallowed?"

By the time Neil finished talking, he was out of breath, his stutter had gone missing (this always happens when he has something interminable and important to say in one go) to and Eva's face was very red and hot.

"Shut up," she muttered. "That was a year ago."

"S-Still," Neil was back to stammering.

"So, what's your dream?" Eva asked, sliding an inch down the bench.

"Me?" Neil said. "I-I don't k-know. Get my f-f-family out of p-poverty, I g-guess?"

"That's a big dream for a nine-year-old," Eva remarked. "How are you going to do that?"

"I told you, I d-don't know. I h-have no d-dream," Neil said, subdued.

"That's not true!" Eva cried. "Everyone has a dream."

"N-Not m-me." In a rush to change the subject, Neil said, "W-What a-about you, E-Eva? What's y-your dream?"

"My dream?" Eva echoed, lost in thought. Her hand reached for the sky, as if mapping the constellations. "My dream . . . is to be able to work for Sigmund Corp."

"S-Sigmund C-C-Corp?" Neil repeated, astounded. "T-They're the p-p-people w-who ma-makes dre-dreams come t-true, r-right?"

"Well, not exactly," Eva said wisely. "It involves memories. See, they take a dying patient's wish and then they travel back in time, via the patient's memories so they can—how do you say it, uhm—'plant' their wish into their early childhood memories, so it stays with him for the rest of his or her life."

"I-I don't g-get it," Neil said. "I-If th-the goal i-is to m-make the d-d-dying p-person's wish c-come true, w-why not j-just p-plant it in his re-recent memories?"

"Then it'd be too late," Eva said patiently. "Mind you, they deal with dying people, and dreams have to progress overtime. They just can't—poof—appear and come true just like that."

"I-I see. S-So say my d-dad was here, a-and he w-was dying, y-you'd treat h-him w-with this m-memory m-machine? So e-even if h-his dream was f-futile in r-reality, in h-his memories, it-it'd be r-real?"

"Precisely!" Eva said, pleased that Neil was finally catching up.

"B-but w-why do y-you want t-to work t-there?" Neil asked.

"Because, Neil," Eva said, licking her peanut buttered fingers. "I can be a temporary fairy godmother (Neil rolled his eyes teasingly, but Eva didn't notice), also because both my parents work there."

"Really?" Neil exclaimed. "W-Wow, I n-never k-knew."

"That's because I never told you, silly," Eva giggled and punched him lightly on the arm.

The bell rang and the kids began to scurry away from the playground, the noise of their loud talking and laughing filling the air.

"Come on," Eva said, crushing her paper bag into a ball and aimed it at a nearby trashcan. "We better get to class. We have Mr. Dragoon next, and I really don't want to get in another row with him. Ugh."