Dream:
“Look mom, do you remember when I
used to live here? This was the bedroom, remember?” My friend Sandy, my mother, and I are edging carefully
around shelves that are crammed with nick-knacks now that the ground floor of
the building houses an antique store. Yes, she remembers. All the interior
walls have been demolished, but we pace off the lines where they used to be.
Living room, kitchen, the little dining nook. Isn't it a shame they banged out
all the pretty tile? “Stupid fuckers,” I mutter under my breath.
“You're absolutely right,” says a
person behind me. She says she used to live in the building, too, but I don’t
remember her. I’m somewhat taken aback by my confusion.
“Did you live here, too?” I ask
Sandy, feeling that perhaps everyone has passed through this building at some
point in their lives. Somewhat distractedly, she tells me no. She is busy
ooh-ing and aah-ing over various things in the shop while scooping the little
treats from the candy dishes into her purse. Full of energy, Sandy is giggling,
loving everything she sees.
As we are about to walk out the door,
a woman from the back of the room says that this will sound weird but that
Sandy really reminds her of her husband Randy.
“Oh, that’s the way it is,” I say.
“Sandys and Randys are practically interchangeable.”
Once we're out on the street, driving
away, we see my friend Carol striding down the sidewalk. She’s dressed in
peacock blue and her blouse is open revealing a peacock blue bra. “Should we
offer her a ride?” I ask Sandy. No, we decide.
Later it seems as if we are checking
out of a motel, but it’s my old apartment again in a new incarnation.
After the motel, I’ve left Sandy and
my mother, and I’m in an immense white truck. It’s taking me to a boat. Or,
rather, it has a boat attached to its side, positioned to be dropped into the
water. There’s a man driving it, but I don’t know who he is. He’s a large bear
of a man, dark haired with several piercings. This man is kind enough to stop
the truck for a moment when I ask him to. My door is open and my seatbelt isn't
on, and he stops simply because I ask him to—which I find rather remarkable. I
expect him to grumble about having to stop, but he’s friendly. We talk briefly
about the boat. We don’t want the boat to drop into the water upside down. He's
the inventor of the device that holds the boat to the truck, and he’s worried
than when the spring mechanism releases the boat, it will flip over.
I'm not there to see the outcome. I
have to rush to a rehearsal. I have snacks that I took from the antique store,
which is good, because I'm hungry, and there’s no time for dinner.
