Dreams Come to Life Read online

  Ma closed her eyes for a moment and smiled. She sighed as she opened them again. “The old guy is your zayde.”

  “My what now?”

  “Your grandfather, Buddy. My father.” The words caught in her throat a little bit.

  I looked at the old man. He didn’t smile. He didn’t say anything. Just stood staring in that way he had been, framed by the doorway.

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “Look, I’m taking him to bed, I’ll come back and we can talk,” she said. She murmured something to him in Polish then and he nodded. She took him by the crook of the arm and led him out of my room.

  I sat on my bed. It was the first time all day I finally felt tired. Not excited because of Mister Drew, or terrified because of a person who was evidently my grandfather. Just very tired.

  Ma came back and sat next to me. She gave me that sort of sideways glance she was so good at. It meant she thought I was funny. It wasn’t exactly her laughing at me, but it wasn’t not-laughing at me either.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. How could I have known?” I asked.

  “It’s okay, it’s my fault. Everything happened so quickly. I didn’t know he was coming today, I wasn’t ready for him myself. At least I didn’t put him in your bed—imagine what kind of shock that would have been!” she said with a laugh.

  “My bed?”

  “You’ve got the big bed, Buddy, and we’re just going to have to make it work for a while.” I sighed hard but didn’t say anything. My ma was a nice, warm kind of person, but don’t let that fool you—you didn’t argue with her. You’d never win. “When you didn’t come home, I put him with me tonight. I didn’t want to scare you.”

  “I guess that was nice of you,” I said, feeling sorry for myself.

  “Wasn’t it?” said Ma with a wink. “And where were you so late? You don’t think of your poor mother at home, worried sick?”

  I didn’t think it was time for a change of subject yet. I still didn’t have enough information. My grandfather from the “old country” was now here in my apartment in New York, and why? The why still hadn’t been addressed. But it was late. And also the answer would make her happy. “I got a job,” I said, trying not to smile. Trying to make it a casual sort of thing. Like I didn’t really care that much.

  “What about Mr. Schwartz?” she asked, biting her lip.

  “Don’t worry, he didn’t get mad, you still have your job. But I hope soon you won’t have to work for him either. This job is better. It’s working as an apprentice for Joey Drew Studios. Who knows where it could lead.”

  “You get paid for that?”

  “Of course. Twice as much even.”

  Ma smiled then, a small smile, maybe I wasn’t meant to even see it, but I could tell something in her had relaxed and that made me so proud. “What’s a Joey Drew Studio?” she asked, turning to face me, one knee up on the blanket.

  “It’s where they make cartoons. Bendy cartoons. I get to be a gofer but also a drawing apprentice. Learn stuff.”

  She looked at me funny then. But that wasn’t unusual. She always looked at me funny, like there was a whole story going on in her head that I’d never get to hear. Secrets. She smiled again. “So you get to draw and get paid for it.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah.”

  “And your grandfather arrives the same day you get this job.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Perfect.” She smiled.

  I didn’t get the connection. And of course she didn’t explain it. I didn’t ask either. It’s funny. I’m just starting to realize how much I didn’t ask questions back then. Not until I met you, Dot.

  “Well, I’m happy for you, Buddy.” She leaned over and kissed my forehead. Made me feel like a little kid. “Now get some sleep. We’ll talk about everything tomorrow.” That made me feel even more like a little kid.

  She left and turned out the light and I crawled back under the covers, and only then did I remember my dream. I wondered how loud I’d been to make that old man wake up and come in. I wondered if I’d completely embarrassed myself.

  In front of my creepy grandfather who looked like a ghost.

  What a strange day.

  And night.

  If I’d had any kind of superstitious sense of anything, I might have seen it as a sign. Something beginning, something not quite right.

  But of course I didn’t. I never saw the signs until I was past them, down the dark road with no exit. Another metaphor. That one wasn’t bad. Hey, Dot, I’m getting better at this.

  I’m hungry. Or maybe he’s hungry. I don’t know. I just feel hungry.

  That’s not the point. It just makes writing hard, thinking hard. I’m having trouble staying in my head. Not sure that makes sense. I’ll be honest, that last bit about my ma and Grandpa in my room, that was like I was telling someone else’s story for a moment.

  Was that my story?

  Remember: the five senses. The smell of the apartment, old and moldy, but also of meat and potatoes and cabbage rolls. The water-stained ceiling above the bed. The sounds outside in the street, cars, people yelling, even at two in the morning. The itchy blanket. I remember it.

  I met you the next morning, Dot.

  I guess you could say I was a person used to meeting people, especially as a delivery guy. New people didn’t bother me much. I liked looking at them. That sounds strange. What I mean to say is, you meet a new person and you see things about that person. How maybe this guy’s shoes were just shined, that guy’s got a sweat stain ring around his collar. This lady’s hair curlers are singed with black, that lady’s lipstick goes around the outside of her lips. Everyone is unique.

  I actually first saw Dot from afar. I didn’t know who it was then. I just knew the distant human was a short, stocky kind of girl with broad shoulders and a purposeful walk. She was probably around my age, with sweaty dirty-blonde hair that was already falling out of its curls first thing in the morning. Her large cat’s eye glasses seemed a bit too big for her face.

  After realizing she was also going into the main entrance at Joey Drew Studios, I jogged a bit to catch up and she held the door for me. She gave me the once-over, head to toe. It was quick, but she had made an opinion of me by the time it was over. I know this because we talked about it later.

  “I thought you were tall,” she’d said.

  “Well, I am tall,” I’d replied.

  “You were like a baby horse, all limbs. You seemed off-balance. I liked that.”

  I still don’t quite get why she liked that. But I do know that Dot was always suspicious of swagger: “How can you tell if the person is being real or fake when they act all confident like that?”

  After sizing me up she’d continued her determined walk and gave the woman behind the desk a sharp nod before turning down the hall and disappearing around the corner.

  I, on the other hand, went up to the woman, who once again gave me that look of suspicion. Or maybe not. Maybe that’s just how her face was. You know, I never asked her. I don’t know the answer to that one.

  I never asked people a lot of stuff.

  “Hey, I’m Daniel Lewek. Uh … Buddy,” I said.

  She kept staring at me.

  “I, uh, I’m the new gofer and art apprentice.”

  She stared.

  Someone tapped me on my arm. I turned and was face-to-face with a woman, probably around fifty, with a puffy curl of soft brown bangs and hair framing her angular face. She had a deep wrinkle line between her eyebrows that made it look like she was concerned about something. But I would eventually discover that was just how she always looked.

  “You’re Daniel?” she asked.

  “I am.”

  She wiped her hand on the apron she was wearing, and stuck it out to shake. I noticed it was stained with ink. Like my fingertips. “I’m Ms. Lambert. I’m head of the Art Department. Come with me.”

  I took her hand, we shook, and then I was following her back al
ong the hall that yesterday had been so dark and creepy, but was now brightly lit with buzzing lights above. She pulled back the grate to the elevator and we stepped inside. Closing it behind us, she pushed a button and we were whisked up, all without saying anything. Which I didn’t mind. I wasn’t too much of a talker. Never was. Never will be.

  Definitely never will be.

  That’s sort of funny.

  “Gallows humor” is what Dot calls that.

  Anyway.

  I was also really interested that a woman was in charge of the Art Department and was thinking about it a bit. I don’t think I’d ever seen a woman in charge of anything before. Not that there hadn’t been a lot of women working the last couple years. I did know about that, with the lack of men and them being all away at war and everything. But actually the boss? No, I hadn’t seen that.

  I wondered why.

  The elevator jerked to a stop and my teeth knocked together a bit at the suddenness.

  Ms. Lambert noticed and laughed. “Yeah, it does that.” She pulled back the grate, it clanged open, and we stepped out onto the Art Department level. There were artists sitting around the room in their own little nooks and crannies, each bent over a desk and working hard. Each space was decorated with drawings and photographs. There was an organized chaos to it that I liked.

  It was also very quiet.

  I’d done enough deliveries to offices to know about the hum of conversation and the clicking of typewriters. It was like the sound of the city that way, a background white noise, almost comforting.

  But here the only sound I could really focus on was the scratching of pen on paper. It made me feel like any sound I made would be distracting. Like even my breath was a bit too loud. Like maybe I shouldn’t be breathing.

  Ms. Lambert didn’t feel the same way. “Hey, can I get everyone’s attention!” she called out loudly.

  Heads popped up, eyes blinked in our direction. One guy sitting by the windows took off his glasses, wiped them, and put them back on again.

  “This is Daniel Lewek,” she said.

  “Buddy,” I corrected her. She looked at me. “People call me Buddy.”

  “Okay. This is Buddy, he’s our new gofer.”

  “Didn’t Joey put a freeze on new hires?” asked the guy at the windows.

  Ms. Lambert shrugged. “He’s the one who hired Buddy.”

  The man shook his head and turned back to his desk.

  “I guess you can take that desk back there. Sorry it’s a bit dark but … well, it’s all we have,” she said, pointing toward a dark corner of the room away from the natural light.

  “What do I do?” I asked her.

  She shrugged again. “I guess just wait until someone needs you to deliver something or grab something.” She looked at me looking at her, and her expression softened just a bit. Not a lot, not enough to erase the crease between her eyebrows, but a little bit. “It’s okay, Buddy, we’ll figure it all out. But I have to get back to work now.”

  And with that, I made my way across the room. I took stock of the place as I did. It wasn’t too big but there were, now that I could properly look, only four other people in it. The walls were unpainted slabs of wood, but they were covered almost entirely by drawings and photographs of people and animals and places, I guessed to reference for poses and things when making the cartoons.

  I sat down at my desk. Yes, my corner was dark, but it didn’t seem sad. It almost seemed cozy. Above it were yellowing drawings of Bendy. There were other characters too. A girl in a short black strapless dress with a halo. And something that looked like a tall wolf, ears sticking straight up into the air and wearing overalls.

  “That’s Alice Angel, that’s Boris the Wolf, and obviously that’s Bendy,” said a warm voice behind me. I turned to see one of the art guys looking down at me. “And I’m Jacob. Nice to meet you, mac.” I took his hand and shook. He was dressed in a sharp gray suit and wore a maroon tie with matching pocket square. Snazzy dresser.

  “Thanks. I guess I should learn this stuff,” I said.

  Jacob laughed. “Yes. But don’t ask anyone. Especially Mister Drew. You have any questions, stick with the Art Department. Some of the old-timers get sensitive. They don’t understand how we didn’t know who these characters were before we came here.”

  “Right,” I said.

  “Fame is fleeting,” said Jacob, pushing his hat back a bit. He grinned at me. Then said, “Can you take this folder to Story? Need them to agree to the art before I get going.”

  “Oh, sure,” I said.

  I took it from him and he made his way back to his desk. I turned back to look at mine, thinking about what he’d said. The wood was worn from years of use, darkened in some areas stained from ink spills. I could also see someone had carved into the soft wood itself. A couple of funny-looking eyes. Alice’s halo. And just down toward the edge of the desk, a name. But it didn’t look the same as the others. This looked like it’d been carved over and over several times. Deeper. Clearly it was the desk’s former owner.

  “I’ll try to do you proud, Henry,” I said quietly to the desk. Then I glanced up to make sure no one heard.

  I got up and headed over to Ms. Lambert. She didn’t have a secretary, and I wasn’t sure who else to go to. She looked up at me with deep suspicion.

  “Uh, I need to take this to Story,” I said.

  She stared at me hard, giving me the impression she had no idea why I was telling her that.

  “Uh … where is it?” I asked.

  “Oh,” she said. “One floor down.” Then she turned back to her storyboard and I felt pretty much invisible again.

  Okay, just do this, I told myself. Just impress folks and do your job and eventually they’ll let you draw. And at least you’re not outside in the heat.

  Though truthfully inside wasn’t that much cooler. The fans in the ceiling just seemed to push the hot around.

  I went down a floor and found myself in a room pretty much the same as the Art Department. More heads bent over desks. This time there was a young, pretty secretary by the entrance and she looked up at me expectantly.

  “Hey, I’m Buddy, I’m new here. Was told to deliver this folder?” I phrased it like a question even though I knew that was what I had to do. I felt like an idiot.

  The secretary said, “Take it over to Dot.”

  I looked around the room. “Who’s Dot?” I asked.

  Now she looked at me like I was the idiot. “The only female writer in the room?” She also phrased that like a question, but it definitely was not meant as one. And it definitely made me feel stupid.

  I nodded quickly and looked around for a woman. Finally I saw her, sitting a little away from the rest of the team, next to a window with a low bookshelf underneath it. Her head was bent over so close to the paper I had fun imagining she was writing with her nose.

  “Excuse me,” I said.

  She looked up at me sharply but not in surprise. She didn’t seem scared. Just … intense.

  Of course. I remembered now. The girl from downstairs. The one who’d held the door for me. I think she had a similar moment of realization.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “I was supposed to deliver this to you.” I handed her the file, which she took with one quick, efficient movement.

  She looked at me again.

  “I’m new,” I decided to explain. “Mister Drew hired me yesterday. I’m in the Art Department.” Why was I still talking? I didn’t normally talk that much, so why was I now going on like this?

  “Okay,” she said. Then she turned back to her writing and I had no choice but to leave.

  It’s weird to think now that those two brief meetings made you sure of me. Made you like me. I’ll never understand why. But I’ll always be grateful you made the decision.

  I was lucky to have known you.

  * * *

  The rest of the morning was pretty much a combo of me sitting at my desk for too long and then running del
iveries. No one really knew I existed yet, and Ms. Lambert assured me that when the rest of the studio found out there was a new gofer in town, I’d be in high demand. “Enjoy the peace and quiet while you can,” she said with a wry laugh. “And take this to Music.”

  So I did. I made my way down several stories until I ended up on the Music level. This was the first time I really got a sense of what a maze this building was. Unlike in my department, which was just one big room, the elevator now opened up onto a narrow hall. It stretched out in both directions and there were no signs or other markers indicating which way I should go. Also no people. Which was jarring compared with all the other bustling areas of the studio. Almost strangely creepy. My imagination immediately wondered what had happened to all the people. I pictured a giant hand coming out of the floor and scooping up all the people. It was funny, but somehow I felt a little uneasy still.

  I put that behind me. Because I was being silly. It was just an empty hallway.

  I chose to go right. I wandered along listening to the sound of my own footsteps until the hall opened onto a little space with four rooms off it. Three of the doors were locked; the fourth opened onto an old bathroom that didn’t look like it’d been used in a while. I closed the door. The uneasy feeling was still there. Locked doors meant someone wanted to keep people out. But an unused bathroom meant that people hadn’t been there for a while. Which was it?

  There was another small dark hallway splitting off from this one, but it felt like I was going the wrong way deeper into the maze, so I turned and headed back the other way. I only had the two choices after all. I passed the elevator and this time turned left. I felt more confident. This hallway had posters hanging on the walls, and as I walked along, framed sheets of music appeared and even a few framed records hanging as art.

  And then, suddenly, I was in a plain-looking hallway again. I spun around on my heel, but I couldn’t figure out how it had happened. I must have missed a turn somewhere. I was starting to feel a little panicked.

  It was silly. These hallways couldn’t go on forever. This building was wedged between two other buildings. This was New York, a city on an island, always going upward because there was no sideways to go.