Dec 03 2014

Dispatches From Hellpeckersville- Dreaming

On Black Friday my head was killing me. I had promised Cleetus and Baboo that I would tackle making stromboli at home, just as soon as my dough thawed, which was still several hours away, so I laid on the sofa and before I knew it, I was dreaming. This was odd because I don’t dream anymore, or I most likely do, I just don’t remember them, probably due to the medications I take.

Not only was I dreaming, but it was a familiar lucid dream, one I’ve had many times in the past, one I truly miss. In this particular dream, my sleepy little podunk town turns into an altogether different thing, it looks almost like the same town in the dark, but there are pockets you can slip into that hold marvelous things. I’ve traveled through an archway on Main street, that’s always just been a short-cut to a parking lot and nothing more, into a vast and magical bazaar, and I’ve drunk from goblets in taverns that I’ve entered through what’s really just an oddly shaped side door in an closed up shop. I travel the streets alone, but never afraid, they seem gaslit to me. I am aware that I am dreaming, but not of any plan or purpose. It’s a pleasant experience.

This time I’m going further up the hill of Main Street than I can recall going before, I’m heading for the park, but no, it’s not a park…it’s a garden. It’s like no garden I’ve ever seen in my life, lush and tropical, I feel like I could get lost here, but I don’t, the path leads me to the other side, by the town’s pool, which has been lit and gloriously adorned, I stand a and take it in- then begin down the hill towards home.

It isn’t long before I realize that someone is walking beside me, for some reason I never look over to see who it is, but I start to feel melancholy at the thought that I’ll be leaving (waking?) and I think the person beside me said something to the effect of–well, you’ve always known you have to go home, every time you come here. It’s okay. And somehow I felt better. He leaves me at the bottom of my street and I wake up.

“Are you making that stromboli tonight, mom?” Yes, yes I am. I got up and started the stromboli, with no time to think about what had just happened. I did tell Cleetus before we went to sleep later that I had dreamed, and remembered it. We mark those occasions, that’s how rare it is.

The next morning I woke up, disappointed because there had been no repeat performance. Later, I remembered a diary by a friend, and talking to him about being bummed about not remembering my dreams, and the awful news he had told me just days before. Sure enough, he had passed hours before that dream, on Black Friday. Thank you for that one last gift, and for walking me home~

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