Fear and Plastic Spoons

The sky was dark in my dream. I stood on a dock looking out over slate gray water somewhere between Eufaula, OK, Madsion, CT and Block Island, RI. The clouds were forest green and hung so low that I could reach up and stir them into frothy shapes like the foam on a cappuccino. My father-in-law, Dave, had come to trim the trees away from the crumbling summer house. He was well and lucid like he used to be, not in that nursing home wrapped in a blanket of Alzheimer’s. It was cold out. I wanted to go home, but the sun was going down. I could see the light now on Faulkner’s Island and I was afraid to drive the boat that far in the dark.

I went into town instead and tried to buy myself a Pepsi, but when I pulled the money out of my pocket, all I had was a fistful of plastic spoons. The lady behind the counter yelled at me so I left, but she ran after me still yelling. I asked her what she wanted from me, did she want a fight? I took off my jacket and threw it down. I was ready for a fight, tired of feeling helpless. She left me alone then. No Pepsi, no fight, no way home. Just fear and plastic spoons.

Fever Dreams

Recovering from my respiratory infection. Better every day, but still tired, so I lay down for a nap. I was deeply asleep when I became aware of a great weight pressing my body into the mattress; felt a hand on my face, gently turning my head to one side. Fighting the paralysis of sleep, I reached up, feeling shoulders, arms above me and hot breath against my cheek. I panicked and fought. Hands grabbed my wrists and forced them down against the mattress as I opened my eyes. In the dim gray light of the security camera monitor in my bedroom, I saw a thin, pale man in a white shirt straddling me. His hair was short and spiky. His eyes were black. He had fangs and was trying to get a bite high inside my right upper arm. At this point I realized I was dreaming and willed myself to wake. As I did, I felt the solidity of his body melt away and the blanket go slack. I sat up in my bed alone and exhausted. I lay back down, relieved, drifted back to sleep. Once again, I felt the weight of a body sink onto me by degrees. Its form became solid in my hands, and he was back. The fight recommenced. I forced myself to wake and he melted away again. I tried to stay awake, but could not. This happened two more times before he finally went away for good. My dreams returned to the land of the mundane and I woke two hours later without remembering them.

Blue

I dreampt of a future place in a winter forest from which I could clearly see my past. A mad artist who never spoke was busily painting it blue. I couldn’t see the beauty in it, but then as he finished, the sunset colored it a million shades of purple. Then soft, silver flakes of snow began to fall, sparkling like diamonds.

A Star Forlorn

At night, I dream of driving endless highways with impossibly tall bridges that arch into the clouds. The transmission whines on the uphill struggle and the brakes smoke on the downhill, both threatening to fail at the worst possible moment. There’s always a four-track railroad crossing at the bottom of every slope and the trains come fast with no warning.

When I do find my way home the ghost of the house next door appears, long demolished but still charged with memories of crib death and anger. It shifts like fog as if avoiding my gaze. I can see from my bedroom window that there’s a light on inside tonight. The spirits are at home, seeking company. I draw the curtains tight to deny their invitation.

I lie down and try to sleep but the television turns itself on, rises to the ceiling, and hovers over me. Brady Bunch reruns at full volume force me from the house.

Outside a crowd has gathered in the intersection of 10th and Tucker around a 24-hour hot dog stand that isn’t really there. So, I walk to my grandmother’s house, not realizing that she lives in Connecticut and has already been dead for 12 years. I get there and open the door. Zaza from La Cage Aux Folles, all feathers and sequins and arching eyebrows, rises from my grandmother’s chaise. She gives me a hug and calls me darling.

Suddenly I’m in the theater. It’s opening night, the lobby is full of patrons and the stage is covered with the crates and crates of raw eggs that the director will not allow me to move. I complain that I must set the stage for Act 1. The cast laughs at me from the wings as the house opens and the audience floods in. The music starts and the lights come up, catching me on stage. I feel the heat of them on my face and squint against the glare. The audience whistles and jeers, throwing dollar bills and bottles of nail polish at me.

Bite

Last night I dreampt of a long, thin winged insect with blue and yellow stripes. It was so beautiful. I was fascinated by it until it landed on me and tried to bite. I shooed it away but it kept coming back and attacking until I was consumed with trying to kill it. Finally, I smacked it out of the air and beat it to a pulp with my shoe. Relieved and exhausted,  I studied its iridescent wreckage on the floor and shiny black goo suddenly bubbled up out of the broken exoskeleton. It took on the form of a tiny, very muscular, but featureless man-thing, that ran across the floor, scrambled up the wall, and disappeared into a heat and air duct in the ceiling. It left a trail of dark, translucent slime in its wake and an uneasy feeling that has haunted me all day

Two Dorks and a Monkey

What a weird dream. I was just in England at a polo match with a stuffed monkey made out of tube socks. We were watching the Dork of Essex and the Dork of Cambridge beating the crap out of everyone and everything with their mallets. That’s what people were calling them, or maybe it was the accent. Anyway, it was hysterical. Oh, and the monkey was alive and after the match, I took it to Walmart to buy it a bedspread.

No Smoking

Dreampt I was at a club. People were talking about me like I wasn’t there, and I was out of cigarettes. There was a pack on the table next to me and I really wanted to take one but it felt like a trap.

Then I was packing a suitcase, driving to the airport and trying to get a mean old lady in a wheelchair through a terminal full of wild animals. At the gate, she refused to get on the plane.

After that, I had to drive to North Korea up a very steep, narrow bridge in the clouds with no guardrail and the car in front of me went off the edge at the top and disappeared.

I remember wishing I had taken the cigarette.

Calamari!

Last night I woke up because my leg was itching and when I scratched it I found 18 inches (45.72 cm) of tentacle sticking out of it so Mark drove me to the ER and the doctors were all, “Oh yeah, that happens all time, and we’re way worried about your cholesterol levels. You should really be on a statin.” Then Mark, the nurse, and the doctor played baseball in the waiting room until they were so tired that they took naps on the floor. Then I woke up for real. Thank God. I think I need to lay off the calamari.

Like a Grave

Last night I dreampt I woke up in a big empty house that was all terracotta, wrought iron, and stained glass. I pulled the sheet back and saw that the bed was full of dirt, like potting soil in a thick layer from head to foot. I got up and walked down a long hall past a Catholic chapel to the kitchen. There was a single red apple in the fridge that was a little on the old side of fresh. I left it there and went out to sit on the patio. The sky was gray and cloudy and I could hear thunder in the distance. I got up to go back inside when I heard my name from behind and above me. I turned and saw a woman made of clouds emerge from a thunderhead.

“Come with me, ” she said, smiling gently.

“Right now?”

“Yes.” She began descending and held out her hand. “It’s all right.”

I hesitated, feeling a little surprised and a tiny bit scared, but I couldn’t think of a good reason not to. I reached for her hand.

She came closer, wrapped in mist. I felt the damp cold if of it and shivered.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said.

Suddenly I was terrified, snatched my hand away and ran back into the house.

It’s been gray and foggy here all day, and I feel as if the clouds have had their cold damp hands all over me.

Game Over

Dreampt I was chosen to play a reality TV game called Murder For Hire. All the contestants were assigned the same “target” individual hiding out in the same city and given a digital weapon. The first one to “kill” the target would win a bunch of money.

In the first five minutes of the game, I came around the corner of a building downtown and found myself face to face with another “killer”. We nodded, smiled, shot each other and went out to lunch.