Dreams are interesting.
I had one last night.
I was in a large underground space with low ceilings and all women. In one room, mattresses were laid on the floor with night stands and alarm clocks next to them. In another, a couple of kegs. And finally, a room where everyone danced to music, sweating and celebrating.
It was something.
What they were celebrating I don’t know. As with most dreams, you don’t question this stuff. If you do, you might be having a lucid dream.
I just thought I was damn lucky and began dancing.
The women were great at dancing and smiling and existing, and I felt like I knew each one. And each one I thought maybe I’d
kiss marry at the end of the song.
“They’re all so wonderful,” I said.
“What?” my current partner asked.
“I said you’re wonderful.”
Exhausted, I eventually walked back into the mattress room where some of the women prepared for bed.
I wasn’t done dancing, but those women looked wonderful too. And it seemed like a beautiful idea to lie down with one.
I backed up into the keg room, staring at both rooms at the same time—a kind of beer-soaked fork in the road where the music quieted just enough.
Then, one of the women emerged from the crowd. One whom I hadn’t seen yet. I thought maybe it weren’t even a real woman, but some sort of manifestation of my sub-conscience. All of my energy focused forward, twisting through the air, tangling with whatever twisted back. It was like falling into the Abyss; one that I didn’t mind losing myself to.
She hugged me and I don’t know why.
As with most dreams, you don’t question this stuff. If you do, you might—
I woke up.
I was back in my bedroom and pretty certain that it was reality.
“No, no, no.”
My bones were cold and I closed my eyes again, trying to fall back into that hug. It was hearty and full of love, and I had fallen asleep in all my comfort. And I think that’s why I woke up. I fell asleep in the dream.
I lie there, trying to dream, doing all the things we do to summon their return: picturing the images, synopsizing the fading plot, eyelids tightly closed.
I couldn’t tell what it was about the dream that made it a dream. At first I thought maybe it was the fact that there were a hundred beautiful women trapped in a basement with me. But then I realized that that’s not what I wanted to return to.
And before I knew it, there I was, back in those arms.
“Do you want to come home with me?” she asked.
As with most dreams, you don’t question this stuff.