Wednesday, November 12, 2003

I tend to analyze my dreams, especially the ones that I remember with vivid clarity. I suppose a psychologist would extrapolate and conclude that I constantly search for my own validity. That my psyche is scared from past indiscretions and, not only do I search for meaning from my dreams, but I use them as a platform to escape reality. I suppose that my family physician would prescribe me Prilosec or advise me to take some Tums to help relieve me of the acid indigestion that is more than likely causing these dreams. But this post is not about my psyche, or about my ulcers, it is about a specific dream. I was going to begin this paragraph with the cliché “I had a dream” (a play on good Dr. King’s speech) but, if you have read this far, that would have been even more redundant than this sentence. As in most dreams I was awake and I was confident in the reality and actuality of the setting. I found myself in a large, upscale department store, perhaps a Lord and Tailors or maybe a Bloomingdales, when I heard a familiar voice over the loud speaker. Even hours later I can still feel the voice; its tone, perfectly pronounced with the slightest hint of southern, both fills and empties my soul at the same time. I searched the store for the origin of the voice, looking for a face that I could never fail to recognize. I tumbled through clothing racks and perfume counters, and pushed my way through a sea of people until I reached a clean, white lit checkout counter. The counter was out of place in the store, as out of place as the pearly gates of St. Peter would be if they resided in the heart of a Wal-Mart. She stood at the counter, talking to a customer; her dirty blonde hair was a bobbing mass of curls. I leaned against the counter and smiled a boyish half-smile. She finished with her customer and turned towards me. “Can I help you?” she asked, innocently. I looked intently into her eyes, searching for some sort of recognition or a glimmer of remembrance. “Can I help you?” she asked again. I was confused. I wondered why she could not recognize me. Had I changed that much in a few years? And, then as I looked into her I eyes I had an epiphany. She knew exactly who I was. She knew I was in the store when she made the announcement over the loud speaker. She knew that I was looking for her, and that I have been looking for her in countless dreams and dreams within dreams. But she didn’t care. Inside I crumbled, my whole essence felt suffocated. I released my gaze and muttered an unintelligible mutter, “no, I’m sorry I must have been mistaken.” The dream swirled around me and I awoke, filled with a lingering emptiness. All morning long I have been pondering what it means. Why would I dream about a girl I was fixated on so intently in high school, yet had really not thought about in years? What was so special about her and about last night?

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