Wednesday, May 25, 2005

Nap. Dream.

We were lined up. Not so much against a wall, but as a wall. It was night. Junior high, but some kind of boarding school. We were sneaking out. Through the woods to a place where we bought cell phones. We went back and called Jed. I remember whispering a conversation with him about how I’d call him back when I was somewhere I could make some noise. It was hard because I haven’t talked to him in years. In a house. Being quiet not to get caught, though there were people around. I went out again, on my own, dressed up in a jacket and tie. I was only about thirteen years old. It was getting light, even though my new cell phone said it was just after 3am, and I was very aware that I could be seen, and tried not to run so I wouldn’t stand out. Passed by a small pond with a father and sons business getting the canoes ready for the days canoe rides. There was a band playing quietly by the pond as I nodded hello to the family of men tending to business there, and I could see and hear another band playing up another path. I couldn’t figure out how they could play different songs while being able to hear each other. Soon, I was inside, as if this whole walk had been inside. Everything was 50’s Rat Pack style surroundings. I saw a door for a lady’s room/dressing room, and looked for the male equivalent. For some reason, it felt like backstage in a television studio. Found the sign for the men’s dressing room over a stairway leading down. It was also a bar. Bunch of guys were seated around the entrance. One of them, familiar, a known character actor playing a roll in my dream, waved me through as I pretended to reach into my back pocket to get my ID. I knew I didn’t have any, and I was only thirteen, but the reaching and the jacket fooled him. It was all marble and stone and dark damp basement-like, and there was a sign about the wood sculptures around one corner being changed frequently. There was a crazy old man, and some sculptures that were optical illusions. They looked like they were moving as you walked past them, but it was just some kind of trick with perspective. I had to touch them. Sara appeared. She was dressed up too, but we were older now, and she started to tell me a story about how the crazy guy, who made these sculptures, just told her a story involving a plane trip, and I guy named Rinatto something. She couldn’t pronounce Rinatto’s last name very well, but I knew who she was talking about because he’s a friend of my mothers. Never got to call Jed back.

1 Comments:

Blogger Butterscotch said...

I used to keep a dream journal. It is pretty wild what goes on in the mind when given free rein.

3:20 AM  

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