I was about to leave my parent's house in Niles to go my band's rehearsal when my mother asked if I would join the family for lunch across the street at Omega.
I told her I could only spare about a half an hour, but I'd go and have a bowl of cabbage soup and some rolls.
While having lunch at Omega, an older woman---a well-known family friend--came over to our table and said she had some bad news.
She stood looking away and said she couldn't bear to face us as she proclaimed her bad tidings.
She told us that my grandmother's dear friend, Paulette, had passed away.
I was sad but not surprised as I hadn't heard from Paulette in more than a few years as we had regularly communicated on Facebook.
I stood up and walked over to comfort the woman who seemed on the verge of crying.
She asked me not to touch her arm or make direct eye contact as she said she would only start crying if I did.
I arrived at the rehearsal rooms where I met Andrey and the other members of the band.
We played for what seemed like a couple of hours before someone suggested we take a break.
I asked until what time we had booked the rehearsal room and Andrey replied that we only had ten more minutes.
I suggested we skip the break and use the remaining time to go over what everyone agreed was the best song we had worked on so far.
The guys agreed but wanted to step out briefly to fill their water bottles and use the toilet.
I went to the cafeteria to buy an iced coffee and when I returned to the rehearsal room, there were all kinds of people that had come in wanting to say hello; a few of them asked if they could hang around and watch for a while.
Thinking it was strange for all these people to be in our room, I waited for the guys to return to see what they thought about having guests watching the last few minutes of our rehearsal.
Just then, I noticed the owner of the French bistro from my village back in the Netherlands sitting a small round café-style table with a pretty young woman.
He very matter-of-factly said hello and continued conversing with the young woman.
Not to interrupt their conversation, I carefully lifted my electric guitar from its stand not to disturb the two.
As I lifted the guitar out of its stand, I noticed the head had become detached from the neck and was completely flabbergasted, shocked by what I was seeing.
I immediately knew that, because the guitar and stand had to have been moved for the two to be able to access the table and chairs, it was the guy who must have moved it and somehow broke it.
Livid, I confronted the couple asking if they knew how my guitar broke and, with guilty looks, they shook their heads denying knowing anything about the incident.
I said they were the only ones in the room while we had stepped out and the guitar had been moved, so it had to be them.
They confessed to moving the stand but couldn't recall if the guitar had fallen out.
The young woman interrupted by saying it had fallen to the floor but she was certain it didn't break.
I looked at the bistro owner and said, "this is on you."
Just then, the other band members returned to the room and I told them what had happened.
Andrey came over and picked up the guitar and said he couldn't imagine the head become separated from the neck and body by simply falling to the floor. He said someone had to have deliberately sawed the head off at the bridge.
I left the rehearsal studio in a huff, angry and disappointed and feeling sad having heard the news about the death of our family friend, Paulette, who I had known since I was a child.
I spotted the bistro owner in the reflection of a shop window and got the strange sensation that he was following me.
I began walking faster and ducked into Water Tower Place and quickly made my way to Lord & Taylor.
Seeing the bistro owner was still following me, I took the escalator to the first floor, having to bend backwards to avoid hitting my head on the ceiling, wondering how they would make the gap so small.
Seeing the man coming off the escalator, I grabbed a couple pairs of jeans from a rack and went inside a fitting room where I felt I'd be safe and unseen by my nemesis.
After waiting in the fitting room for a few minutes, I peaked around the curtain to make sure the coast was clear.
I took the elevator to the top floor to see if I could find a cafeteria where I could sit down and have a cup of coffee to calm my nerves before going back to my parent's house.
Getting off of the elevator, I realized I had gone too high and had stepped off on one of the residential floors.
Seeing an open door in front of me I curiously walked over and pushed the door open and looked inside.
Seeing it was a vacant studio apartment, I walked inside to look around.
It was a square room, nothing but four walls, not even a window. There was a small kitchenette with a gas burner and a kettle on the counter.
I opened the door to what I assumed would be the bathroom and out walks my grandfather, who scared the living daylights out of me.
He casually smiled and greeted me saying that he had just had a cup of coffee and slice of pie in the cafeteria and thought he'd come to have a look at the apartments, something that was sort of a hobby of his as he always took me apartment hunting when I was a child.
Then, just as casually as he walked out of the bathroom, he nonchalantly nodded and, as he began walking away, looked at me and said, " We're waiting for you."
Then I woke up.
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