A Story of a Man Who Wasn't There

Dirk Striker’s Dream

                                         By Pete Schulte

Dirk confided to his wife, Cheri, about a recurring dream he was having. It was the one where he had an imminent test and he wasn’t prepared. If he didn’t pass the test he wouldn’t graduate from Metro U. He wouldn’t be a true Wildcat. What’s more, he couldn’t locate the classroom in a hallway where every room looked exactly the same. And to make matters worse, he was stark naked.

Cheri knew he was having nightmares because Dirk kept waking her with all his distressed thrashing about. “I wish you’d talked to somebody,” she said to him. “You’re driving us both crazy with these dreams.”

“I am talking to somebody,” Dirk replied. “I’m talking to you.”

“But what do I know about anything? Talk to a professional.”

Dirk made and kept an appointment with Dr. Rooter. He told Dr. Rooter everything he’d told to Cheri. “This is a fairly common dream you’re having,” said Dr. Rooter. “Most people can kind of just shake this one off, but you seem particularly bothered. I’d like to think it over and have you return next week.”

Dirk returned the following week eager to hear the doctor’s assessment. Dr. Rooter had a grave look upon his face. “I think, Mr. Striker, that the reason you’re having these dreams is because you never did take that test, you never did graduate from Metro U.”

“What?” said Dirk, aghast. “I most certainly did graduate. I have twenty different t-shirts, I go to all the games.”

“So what?” said Dr. Rooter. “You can still wear the t-shirts. You can still attend the games. You can support the school any way you’d like.”

“But I did graduate,” protested Dirk. “I really did.”

“Do you have a diploma?” asked the doctor. “If you do I’d really like to see it.”

“Oh, I’ll show you a diploma,” said Dirk. “I’ll show you.”

“Because I did some research, and nobody by the name of Dirk Striker has ever graduated from Metro U.”

Later that evening, Dirk and Cheri dug through their closets looking for the diploma. “Where are these damn diplomas?” asked Dirk. “Why don’t we have them on the wall?”

“Because we’re not nerds,” said Cheri.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Dirk.

Dirk admitted to Dr. Rooter that he couldn’t come up with his diploma but was sure it existed. For this session, Cheri joined her husband in the doctor’s office. She spoke up for Dirk to Dr. Rooter. “I’m sure he went to Metro. I’m certain of it. Isn’t that where we met, Dirk? Gosh, it was so long ago.”

“No,” Dirk admitted, “we met at a bar. Brooklyn’s. You remember, Shakey was there?”

“Oh yeah,” she replied. “Shakey.”

Dr. Rooter dismissed Dirk from the office. He wanted to speak to Cheri alone. “I wanted to ask you about your wedding,” said the doctor to Cheri.

“Yeah, what about it? We got married down in Pueblo.”

“How many people attended?” asked the doctor.

“I’d say 50 or so.”

“And how many came on behalf of Dirk?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “Shakey was there.”

“And who exactly is Shakey, Dirk’s brother?”

“No, not his brother. His friend.”

“But no family?”

“No, no family,” Cheri said to Dr. Rooter. “But he’s from far away.”

“How far?”

“At least as far as Florida.”

“What are you saying?” questioned Dr. Rooter. “That’s not even a straight answer. We’re you ever really married?”

“I don’t know,” said Cheri, sobbing. “I don’t know!”

“What kind of name is Dirk Striker anyway?”

“I don’t know…”

“Do you even know this man?”

“I love him,” whispered Cheri. “I love him. He’s my Buckeroo.”

Dirk attended his next session with Dr. Rooter without Cheri. However, they were joined by a tall man with a dark suit. He introduced himself as Paul Aubry from the National Security Agency. After introductions were made and all got settled, Dr. Rooter spoke first. “Normally, Dirk, I wouldn’t discuss your case with anybody else but your spouse. But I didn’t see any other way of really helping you out unless I got some others involved.”

“So you called the NSA?” said Dirk.

‘Well, you’ll see why?” said the Doctor.

Paul Aubry lowered the dark shades he was wearing. “Mr. Striker, I’d like the discuss the biography you provided to Dr. Rooter.”

“It’s all true,” protested Dirk. “I didn’t tell any lies.”

“I don’t think you did either,” said Paul Aubry. “But let me elaborate.”

“Please.”

“The high school you claimed you attended, St. Charles High, doesn’t know you from Adam.”

“What? You mean I never went to St. Charlie’s? I was never a Blue Devil?”

“No, you weren’t. And the middle school you mentioned, Riviera, doesn’t exist anymore. It’s condominiums now.”

“Well, that’s Florida for you,” said Dirk.

“Same goes with your elementary school,” said Paul. “It seems, Mr. Striker, that you don’t exist at all. Never have.”

“What?” questioned Dirk. “That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“It didn’t to us either,” said Paul Aubry, “until we did a little more digging. It seems, Mr. Striker, that you were delivered to us long ago from one of our enemies. You were supposed to infiltrate and deliver unto them information that was very important to us. But something happened along the way. I don’t know, maybe you were bonked on the head or something? Maybe you took too much cough syrup? But for whatever reason, our agency has determined that you don’t know much of anything. In fact, we’re all astonished at how little you do know -- about any subject. Aside from being a good husband and a rabid Wildcats fan, there’s really nothing to you at all.”

“I might take offense to that.”

“It really doesn’t matter,” said Paul. “What’s interesting is that somewhere along the line you created this man, this Dirk Striker, and somehow forged a life for yourself, made a complete break with your former self and the mission you were ordered to complete. For that we give you the utmost credit.”

“Well,” said Dirk, “thank you, I guess.”

“The good news,” said Paul, “is that for whatever reason your country wants you back. They’ve agreed to a prisoner swap with one of our people who was captured.”

“I’m a prisoner?” asked Dirk.

“Right now you are,” said Paul.

From a high train window at Denver’s Union Station, Dirk said his final farewells to Cheri, who remained below on the platform. “Thanks for being my wife,” he said to her, “if you really were my wife.”

“Where are they taking you?” she asked. “What is your country anyway?”

“I don’t know,” said Dirk. “They won’t tell me yet. I hope it’s Italy though. That’d be a swell place for sure.”

“If it’s Italy you’ll be getting a visitor real soon,” she said to him. “I love you, I love you, I love you, Dirky-boy. You’ll always be my Buckeroo!”

The train began to pull away. Dirk said to her. “Good-bye, Wildcats! Good-bye, America! Good-bye, Cheri, my love. I‘ll miss you most of all…”

The end.