Dreams Die Hard

My fantasy world is one of two extremes - the Eden of what I imagine my life will be like if I can ever live with my mother again, and the Hopped Up Hell of various revenge fantasies, the most common of which involves a faked suicide attempt and my father, Adam's realization of how wrong he is to keep me away from her.

I never find the technical wherewithal to make good on that plan, as my mechanical reasoning skills are notoriously poor.

My favorite idea of revenge, as opposed to the daydream I have most often, is rather more vivid and violent. I am scary inside, like the kid in "The Omen." We're in New Mexico, where the gunman with the rotten aim shoots up our living room, aiming at Dad (see "Magic Bullets and a Fairy Princess"), and I'm five years-old, when I start having a recurring dream: My dad is naked and tied to a metal bed frame. (I will insist for years there is nothing sexual in the scenario, but like, how dumb is that?) Adam struggles wildly. Slowly I advance, straight razor in hand. I start slicing away at bits and pieces of him, making him beg for mercy, for forgiveness, and finally for death. But I keep going slow. I don't want him to die too quickly. If he does he'll miss feeling the pain.

I start having this dream a while before starting first grade. See spot run. See Dick and Jane cross the street. See Dad Die. That sounds like a movie for Lifetime. I should pitch it to Lifetime. Melissa Gilbert can play my mother, Adrian Pasdar can be Dad, and some Disney Channel brat with a pretty pout can be me.

I actually think that particular fantasy is healthy under the circumstances. Stop laughing and hear me out. It's about control, about forcing him to empathize with what I'm feeling, and about a deep-seated belief that what's happening to me is wrong. I mean, it's not like I ever actually try to make the fantasy a reality. Clearly, if I can't manage one little pseudo-suicide attempt, how in the world can I get him naked and tied to a chair?

Of course, if I actually had sliced him to ribbons, selling the story to Lifetime would be a slam dunk, but I would hold out for a feature film. Then Hilary Swank could play me and win a third Oscar for playing a boy. Actually parts of it already are a movie, my first, a gritty drama called "Silent Lies" that wins some awards at festivals in 1996, miraculously gets picked up for distribution, and starts me on my way to the Hollywood High Life.

I am now a very different kind of prisoner.

Note: Actor Michael Harris, above, as "Carl Saltemier" in a still from "Silent Lies."

We love You