A Wurlitzer Dream

The pants were soaked on the bottom and bone dry on the top. No explanation for how this could happen sitting Indian-style in front of a black-and-white television. The screen is black.

We find it hysterical, my former neighbor and I.  We cannot stop laughing.

The trains aren't running in Queens. Undaunted, my sister (who is suddenly Filipino), along with my roommate (who is Mexican), decide to walk several miles in the rain to the theater. They do it for joy. I promise to join them later.

I am lying on hot smooth rocks, eyes closed, sun burning into my hypothalamus, there is no goal, there is only stillness and a deep feeling of contentment.

An old schoolmate is one of a group of gals rushing for the showers after a refreshing dip in the lake. I have a picture of her wearing an elaborate head piece of gold filigree and dancing diamond teardrops. I show it to her. She does not understand and turns away from me. I think she looked beautiful in her glittering cage.

I notice that the gals are following something.  Four women dressed in plush hotel robes are walking in lock step, carrying one door to a wrought iron gate.  Dozens of wet-haired women create a processional behind this gate. This is what my friend is following. I am following my friend.

The rocks are an uneven plain, challenging to walk across, and women stumble to their knees, but get right back up with no complaints.  Someone suggests adding one man to help carry the door of iron. The suggestion was met with great enthusiasm. One man is produced and he takes his place at the center of the robed door-bearers.

Ahead is a western style log cabin large enough to fit every species in twos.

In the belly of the mammoth log cabin is a turn of the century Vaudeville theater with a proscenium resembling an Arabian castle.  But for the light ivory arabesque patterns on the proscenium, everything else was dark: mahogany handrails, Moorish style lamps of iron cut-out to resemble the folds of a dahlia, casting long teardrops of light on the indigo, crimson, and magenta colors in the carpet. This is a castle of secrets. The stage for deception. Voices from above are discussing the fate of one in the procession. "She is klutzy but good-hearted. She can stay."

I think my Filipino sister will be performing in this theater. The stairs separating the upper and mid levels are too shallow and quite wide. I have to leap into the air lifting my hands to the sky. I leap for joy.  I feel giddy and boundless because this had nothing to do with me.

Fudgesicles

I could see the all the way to the white sandy bottom from my tiny raft, and make out the mangled and twisted sea kelp, but I couldn't make out anything else until it reached the surface. The first thing I saw was four half-eaten fudgesicles bobbing by the raft. The fudge was supple, smooth, and resilient as resin. 

My companion was an adolescent girl with hair so shaggy it never looked wet, dressed in a sack tied about her waist by a rope. She swam ahead of my floating octopus raft, announcing each object that floated by with a sensory tag: "Smells good!" and "Tickles!" and "Very sharp!" Her voice rang across the water like a cymbal in a broom closet. We seemed to be looking for something in the menacing aqua blue water, lit by stars like white paper lanterns. Dead things, half-alive things, and useless things floated by my raft. 

I would not get in the polluted water. I barely fit under the bulbous mass. 

We came upon other people bewitched by the starlight, bathing in the water, using dead fish to rub their calloused feet and elbows. The girl declared, "This is it!" 

I put my arms in the water and paddled as fast as I could, scraping my arms against sharp metallic edges, like shards of broken glass. The raft was barely moving. The octopus was too heavy. I had to get back. This was not it. The girl lassoed the octopus head with the rope from around her waist and kicked us to shore. The shoreline was a rusty color, which seemed to be from the discarded junk and dead sun-baked lobsters littering the beach. The girl swam right over the unpleasantness, pulling me and the octopus to shore. I looked back and saw four half-eaten fudgesicles bobbing in the water. 

Dream of October 17

Sydney Wayser is the key. The toy bells tinkle and my feet arch like fish flipping through the air. Her voice emanates from her left lung, just above her heart. My arms are ribbons tied around a tree branch. Frogs legs kick out from underneath me. This is not my body. 


I am in a very busy bookstore, standing on a tall ladder in a leotard and knee-length gossamer skirt. He asks me to just move and whatever I do, they will be there to catch me. One is a thin, pale, woman. Her dark hair is neatly tucked into a bun, she has vampire lips, she has long curled lashes, light blue eyes, and a straight nose that ends in a tiny square. She is smiling warmly. Behind her, is a gymnast in black. He is holding a net made of stiff, heavy rope. They are suspended by wire and expect me to jump off the ladder and dance in the aisle of the bookstore.  There are people looking for fantasy, how-to, and philosophy in the longest aisle I have ever seen. I am going to dance over their heads. He will capture it all from below.


La Di Da. I tell them I need to find it on my iPod mini (so, so, so mini). La Di Da. Once I find it, my lungs fill with helium, my heart beats irregularly. Beats as the chimes, the piano, the snare, the bass, and finally her voice. I'm an arrow. I shoot through the net. I bend like a bow and fall back into the gymnast's chest. An unpleasant kitchen memory leaves me. I can make any movement and they will catch me. I can zing! A pine tree tall man sweeps child me up! He spins me longer, longer and faster, faster until I feel I am flying. La Di Da.

My dream last night

I was a woman in pointy-toe black heels and a red suit. I was standing in the middle of a carpeted bus trying to grip the floor with my toes. It was dusk. I was in a strange city. Scanning the street for a sign I hoped would look familiar. A college student wearing a backpack was sitting in a seat in front of me. He was watching me try not to bump him every time we hit a pothole. My skirt was tight. I spied an empty seat. The bus was rattling like we were on a cobblestone road. Were we on a cobblestone road? What city am I in? What time is it? At least I knew who I was going to meet. His name is... I grabbed the top of another seat and threw myself in the general direction of the empty seat. The student said, You don't have to do that! But I do. I did. In my seat, I barely had room to cross my legs. My legs were a mile long. My pointy black heels were like boats. I just stare out the window. A woman in front of me is sharing a single seat with her best friend. They are sitting on a garment bag and matching overnight bag. They shift and tug the garment bag so that I am not touching it. Bitches! At least, I know where...

I am washing dishes in the dark because a circuit blew, Dad forgot to pay the bill, or the city was blacking out. The only person with light, full use of her laptop, and music in her room is my little sister. There was a feast that night. There is a huge pile of uneaten Caesar salad in the trash. I'm scooping pasta salad with black olives out of the clogged sink and tossing it into the trash where ever there are holes made by the leaves. I'm very concerned about using every last space in the trash. I do not want to lug the trash out continually while I'm washing dishes. I'm using two large sinks. Not industrial but large enough to bath a golden retriever puppy. There are forks, spoons, butter knives, steak knives, dessert spoons, and salad forks everywhere. I am very careful in the dark not to shatter a wine glass in the sink. The water stays warm and I keep on washing. There is no one drying. The half-assed dishes just pile up in a corner on the counter. My sister is in her room talking loudly on the phone. Her music is playing softly in the back ground. A former co-worker of mine appears in the darkness. She is laughing about how ridiculous all this is. Then she says, and tonight it's supposed to get up to 100 degrees. We're going to back in this house. Isn't this wild? I stop washing and march into my sister's room. I demand to use her phone. She ignores me for 10 seconds to finish up her stupid thought about something very high school. I notice from the glossy pages torn from a TEENBEAT magazine, that my sister is a teeniebopper. Do I still have a dog? I check the floor of her room. No dog. "Give me the phone!" I bark. My sister hands me her flat rectangular flip phone. It's very shiny. I dial a number. It rings. A voice at the other end of the line says, Sure come over now. We'll meet you there.

My sister and I leave the dishes and head to where the voice told us to go. We meet a group of contented and smiling people who all look like they could be related to one another. I know one of the women. She embraces me. I introduce my sister to her. We are carried away by their unity, their fidelity. They lead us down the street that just drops off into another part of town. The only way down is to step out onto a rounded end of a log, then another, then climb down some wooden scaffolding and jump the rest of the way. The dark-haired and suntanned group become quiet. The oldest man goes first. Then another and then another. I'm supposed to be watching but I can only think about how much falling will hurt. It's at least two stories to the ground. My friend says to me, Don't worry. Just watch me. By the time I turn to face it, she is already jumping down into her husband's arms. I heard him say, be careful of arms and legs. We have children and old people here. I look down and everyone is waiting for me. I have to do it. I step out onto the first log and discover there is another log end that I can easily step to. I see that I can hold the first log as leverage to jump to the next log and then I'm right next to the scaffolding. I find a place to grab, it's not very big but it's secure. I wrap my body around a support beam, I grip with my thighs and search for another place to hold onto. I find it. I have to let go of the beam with my left leg and place it the crux of two other support beams. I do it. My toes are in hold. I read with my left arm and grab a piece of wood. The rest of me goes with it. There is no where left to go but to jump down. Everyone is waiting. I have to jump! My friend is smiling and she squeezes my face. Everyone moves on together to her house. There is light coming from somewhere. We get to my friend's house and her husband explains that it will be a little crowded, we must be 10 people or more, but we'll all have a cool place to sleep. I tell him that I can sleep anywhere but my sister, she's a girlie-girl. He repeats that and chuckles. He likes the sound of it. I am dissatisfied. A woman with long wavy black hair is telling another woman who looks like a chubby preteen boy that she is in love with these two authors and both of their names are Ignacio.