So I had this dream...

I’m still not feeling well, though I am better. And you guys are the sweetest for offering your wishes for my recovery. Since I spent another day at home – watching television between valiant attempts to do work on the laptop – I decided to write about a dream I had early this morning. I’m editing to add that it’s long. And, well, it’s a dream that I thought was fascinating, but I don’t expect it will hold the same interest for anyone else. So feel free to skip it. I got in the habit of journaling some dreams after a class I took in undergrad and can now pick out what I think are the important parts from some of them. And since I can't come up with anything else to write about, I thought I'd post this rather than nothing.

I went to prom. Or rather some variation thereof since I was near my actual age – somewhere in my late 20s. There were three couples – myself and a younger man I didn’t know well but liked to a moderate degree. That’s rather usual for my relationships – moderate affection and appreciation for his good qualities. It rarely extends beyond that. The other two women were pretty – both blonde and giggly, but fun. I liked them though I could tell we weren’t close.

The men were all nondescript. I do remember thinking they were all younger, looking a bit ill at ease in their tuxedos. They were good friends, laughing and talking with each other rather than us.

We didn’t spend long at the dance, instead squeezing back in a car that was far too small to proceed to a hotel. I felt awkward – I didn’t have strong enough feelings for him to have dinner with my date alone, let alone spend time in a room with a bed. I was pleased when we parked and all wandered across the parking lot to check in to a single room. I remember feeling a moment of confusion on what we’d all do in one room, but then was distracted by the flashing lights of the rides across the parking lot. A large carousel with large yellow bulbs shining atop its canopy. Tiny cars that raced around a small track. The carnival was populated sparsely, but I decided it was because it was rather late at night. I smiled at the people – some children – as they laughed and cheered over their fun evening.

The six of us made our way past the rides and up a large set of stairs to the second floor. The boys settled near the window, sitting on a ledge and drinking. I took the glass of wine I was offered, wishing for white over red, frowning when my request was ignored, then sipping bad red wine. I sat on the bed with the blondes, a smile struggling to emerge as they giggled and talked. They were fun, but I felt out of place. A bit uncomfortable and increasingly irritated with the boys who were blocking my view out the window.

I was appropriately pleased when they decided to take a walk, perhaps encouraged by my increasingly hostile glare. I hurried to the window, setting my glass by the television perched on a small table along one wall. I looked outside, stretching to see the rides and people. They were probably families, I mused. I liked being with my family. Felt most comfortable with being myself – fishing for compliments, being open and easy with my thoughts and feelings, laughing until I cry, snuggling in when I want someone to cuddle me. Knowing how that feels – to be open without feeling vulnerable, secure in the love and affection that surrounds me – makes spending time with casual friends seem shallow and wasteful.

So I decided to leave the hotel. Called the front desk and asked if they could call a cab to take me home. Thanked the girls as they watched me prepare to leave, and insisted I was fine. Just tired. Ready to go.

I checked my purse to be sure I had enough cash to pay for the ride home. I don’t take taxis often at all, so I’m always quite paranoid that some nice driver will take me somewhere and I won’t have enough money to pay him. Assured that I had a serious amount of cash - and not feeling good about having so much money, frankly – I asked the girls if they wanted my room key back. I suddenly remembered we’d only received 3 copies and I didn’t think I’d need mine anymore. They nodded, so I set it on the table, checking to see if my lipgloss, Advil, keys and wallet were in my little red purse.

I turned to leave, assuming the cab would be here soon, and noticed my pretty pink purse was on the table as well.

“Is this mine?” I asked them, and they looked at me strangely but nodded.

“It even matches my dress.” I said softly, looking down at the soft pink gown I was wearing, a tiny brown bow at the waist and a filmy skirt flowing down to my knees. I smiled because it was so pretty – I hadn’t noticed before but I loved this outfit. Quickly stuffing my red purse (it wouldn’t match at all!) into the pink one, I told them I’d left the room key card on the table and skipped out of the room just to watch the skirt swirl around my legs.

I headed left down the hall, though we had arrived from the stairs on the right. But the rides were to the left, I reasoned, and there must be another stairway. The wallpaper was a bit gaudy – blue and gold, muted and shiny respectively – but somehow grand. Relieved that I was leaving, I smiled over it, feeling light and happy. I reached another stairway, but it was protected – I would need a key to enter it. I sighed in irritation – I often get in trouble by doing something unnecessary but supposedly kind – leaving my key for my former companions – then suffer some annoyance for it. I sighed, irritated at myself, and headed back toward the stairs we’d climbed to find the room. I passed a guard when I turned a corner, ready to offer an explanation of how I was bored and therefore leaving. I noted that he was asleep, then watched him in confusion. Why was there a guard in the hotel anyway? Was I not safe?

I walked briskly toward the hotel room again, needing to pass by to reach the open staircase. The boys had returned, but had no key. I listened to the girls giggle inside as the 3 men requested entrance and were repeatedly denied.

“Katie!” My date said upon seeing me. “I need your key to get inside again. We need more cigarettes.”

“I left it inside.” I informed him, and smiled before continuing toward the stairs. He was as sorry to see me go as I was to leave.

I had to walk around the side of the hotel building before reaching the rides again, noting that I would get wet when I had to emerge from the overhang on the side of the building. It was raining pretty hard, but I love the rain. I wasn’t upset at all. I noticed that there was an indoor section of the carnival, and, not wanting to get soaked, I stepped inside as I moved toward the small building that housed the front desk. It was separate from the hotel building, though I don’t remember it originally being so. I walked through the well-lit building, white walls, huge lights – both constant and blinking – that made me squint after adjusting the gloom outside.

There were two old women riding the cars, arguing over who should lead and follow. I had to walk across the track to reach the other door, and I took small but quick steps in my brown, open-toed heels in front of them before they started to race again. I looked back at them and laughed softly as they started to decide who went first at the beauty shop last time. That apparently would dictate who lead the race in their small blue and red cars.

I viewed the front building with some dismay upon leaving the bright white enclosure. It would be nearly impossible to reach – there were 3 lanes of traffic streaming past it. I decided that – as the sky lightened into morning – people were arriving for the rides. Perhaps there were more elsewhere and these people were all searching for parking. I must have looked panicked to the front desk man as he sat in front of the huge windows in his small building, watching the traffic himself. Where would my taxi be waiting? Did he get swept along in this endless herd of incoming cars?

The clerk motioned behind me, and I turned to notice a black car with small, white stenciled letters on one door when I turned to look. It was parked next to the carousel, and I started toward it. The driver wasn’t inside, and I looked for him as I got closer. He was in what appeared to be a bus stop shelter with sliding doors. He sat on a bench, watching the people mill around the rides with a small smile of his own. I cocked my head at him when he glanced at me, feeling the blush of an intense attraction instantly. I looked quickly at the car, then back at him with a raised eyebrow and he nodded at me before returning his attention to the carnival.

I frowned, confused, but shrugged and sat in the passenger seat, fastened my seat belt and settled my purse on my lap, noting again how well I coordinated. All soft pink and deep brown. Lovely.

Oh, but he was lovely too, I decided, watching his quick approach. He stepped in the car, brushing the rain from the bridge of his nose, and turned to look at me apologetically.

“I thought you had luggage you were going to get.” He said, and I sighed happily over his accent. British? I thought hopefully, thinking frantically of ways to extend the conversation so I could listen to the beautiful man with his beautiful voice and his beautiful accent.

“Just this.” I said, lifting my bag and hoping he noticed how it matched my dress.

“Sorry.” He said. “I was just watching the people.” I nodded, thinking we were obviously soul mates since I had wanted to watch the people too, and deciding his accent was more Australian than English.

“Yes.” I answered when he asked if I was ready, and we set off without my having named a destination.

He drove quickly and skillfully, and I settled in to watch. We talked about how he arrived in town, where he was from, if he liked driving. The basic topics I cover with each driver when I’m in a cab.

“May I look at this?” I asked, noting several sheets of white paper stapled together.

“It’s nothing.” He said, watching the road rather than me. “But sure.”

It was a CV. His. And it was impressive. He’d written papers, had a strong background, attended meetings for the same organization in which I’m active.

“Why’d you leave?” I asked him, getting distracted by his profile. Not traditionally handsome, I decided, but with strong features. Pretty green eyes, though he only glanced at me before returning his attention to the traffic. I glanced at the meter – we were only up to $6.15 and it felt like we’d driven for a long time. His hair was slightly silver at the temples, and his stubble looked a little gray as well.

“How old are you?” I asked before he’d answered by last question.

“Does it matter?” He smiled, meeting my gaze for a little longer this time. Then he swore at a truck that was passing us, gripping the wheel more tightly as I gasped when I felt we’d gotten too close to the gigantic semi.

“Never fear, love.” He advised, and I closed my eyes and tucked myself deeper in the seat, clutching his papers in my hands.

As we sped along, he spoke, though I can’t remember the details. He found the academic world unfair. Too political, too difficult, too hard to predict. I mentioned Winnie and he reached for my hand, distracting me from all my grief and self doubt as infatuation took over. I examined his fingers – long and elegant, yet full of strength – and felt myself blush again.

There were people stopped at a light – though I’d thought we were on an interstate – and he pulled in a gas station to skip the line. I frowned at him, preferring to wait our turn and head along our route.

“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked him, concerned.

“I’ll figure it out.” He assured me with another easy smile. And he pulled around a giant hole in the ground.

“They’re here to fix it.” I told him, watching the repair truck with its blacktop heading toward us. The workers looked friendly and I waved at them with my free hand, the other still wrapped around his.

He carefully steered toward a different road, stopping when a mother was dragging her daughter across the lot. She was likely in her late teens, had dark hair, and was eating a cheeseburger. She was also hugely obese. I watched her with a mixture of pity and horror.

“Get to the car!” Her mother ordered, holding her from behind and pulling her toward their vehicle.

“I’m too fat.” The daughter moaned between bites, ketchup smearing across a face that might have been pretty had it not been obscured by mounds of flesh. “I can’t do it!”

“Stop eating.” I urged softly, and felt him kiss my hand softly. I turned to look at him. “She won’t help herself.” I said sadly. “Why is that?”

He looked at me kindly, placing my hand on the curve of his shoulder as he leaned closer. He tucked a lock of hair behind my right ear as I shifted to face him, and when I turned my face to nuzzle into his palm, I noticed the mother shoving her daughter – still eating and complaining over her weight – into the pick-up truck they drove.

I returned my attention to the driver – confident, sexy, secure in himself – and watched him lean closer to me. I sighed, meeting his eyes and twisting my mouth.

“I’m going to wake up.” I told him sadly. “I can get close, but I never seem to reach the kiss I want so badly. Even in my dreams.”

He smiled, continuing to move closer. He smelled perfect. “You’ll get there.” He promised, closing his eyes just before I opened mine to view my bedroom ceiling.

“Just not today.” I whispered aloud into the gray morning, listening to it rain softly outside and lifting my head to wish Chienne a good morning.