Wednesday, August 19, 2009

The Man of My Dreams

I just woke from dreaming of you and it was so real and so vivid, I had to write it down.

I was in a grocery store, perhaps with my niece, although she would have been younger. The grocery store was small, but higher quality, and we were buying ingredients to make homemade macaroni and cheese. I was going to make it for my sister, apparently, who came into the store on her lunch break (or some such) and I explained to her that had I known earlier that I was going to be making that, I would have put in the effort to do it well - and so that's what we were doing now, we were getting whole grain pasta noodles, and then I asked my niece if we should get ham to put in it and she agreed that we should. (I should admit here that I don't know what happened to my niece as she isn't in the rest of the dream, so I'm hoping I didn't somehow lose her. And my sister changed form quite dramatically from the start of my dream where she looked like she actually looks now to the end, but I'm getting ahead of myself).

I went over to this little serve-yourself sort of dream-strange counter where the ham would be. Things were in big ziploc bags and there was chicken (which was like chicken legs, only some of the bones that people had apparently either eaten or taken chicken off of, was now back in the bag...) and I found the bag that had some ham, and there were some really good ham pieces in the bottom of the bag and so I got my own little ziploc and I was forking out some of the really good ham slices. And this man came up to my left and was waiting patiently to get whatever it was that he came for. But then I saw this bag with bread in it. It was a dark rye-looking bread and I thought that would be perfect (I'm not quite sure what part of my mac and cheese needed this dark bread, in my mind now, it seems like it was going to have some sort of soft crouton-ish purpose in the mix) and so I reached to my left to this bag of bread and started selecting some pieces, but there was some sort of spread on the corner of some, a tartar sauce-looking sort of spread, and I was trying to get pieces that didn't have that.

The man, it seemed, was waiting for that bread as well, and yet I managed to take nearly all of it. I apologized to him, but he just laughed this perfect, casual laugh and I realized I was entertaining him with my antics as I tried to avoid the sauce. I don't know if I started to explain to him what I was doing or what, but the next thing I can remember from my dream is we were talking.

And then it was like we were at the store for a second time, having run into each other again, but this time we were eating at a table next to each other. No one else was at the table and we sat side by side, not across from one another. We were talking about nothing, but I know I was nervous. I liked him and as I became more and more aware of that, I became more and more aware that he wasn't at all affected with nerves the way I seemed to be. He was funny and witty and flirting with me. He was teasing me in a way that told me that he was interested, and yet, he wasn't afraid I wouldn't be interested back. It set me on edge and I got up and started packing up my lunch things which mainly consisted of about ten water bottles of various color and size. I was putting them all into this bag, walking even to the other side of this man to collect all these bottles, when I realized I was packing up his bottles, too. The red ones were his, or some of the red ones were and so I started to take them out of my bag, angry with myself for being so flustered. I knew he noticed that I had packed (and was now unpacking) his, but he just went on telling me whatever witty thing he was saying (as if I could even hear like a rational person at this point) and went on eating. I remember asking the man if he Facebooked (oh heavens tell me it's not true) and he laughed this sweet little laugh and said, no, he didn't facebook (and how much more I liked him for that) but that he'd do anything for this crazy new stranger he'd met. And I kept thinking "he called me crazy?" realizing I was acting as strangely as I ever had.

It was then that my family arrived. And by family, I mean my dad, my sister (who had changed into a blonde with long-hair) and several other people, I'm not sure who they were, really. They were apparently ready to go, although my sister was with someone she wanted to introduce me to, but I went to her and drug her by the hand over to this man as if I was going to introduce them.

I don't remember actually doing so, what I remember is that I loaded up my things into my cart or some such thing, and when I came back for the last of it, my dad was talking with this man and I felt the need to introduce them somehow. I said something else first and then realized I was being inappropriate and they were both waiting for an introduction (as if they realized this was the start of something much bigger) and so I said to the man, "this is my father, Roger Wilson" and then I looked at my dad and said, "This is Rodger..." and before I could even say his last name, I felt the need to know, and so I asked the man, "do you spell it with a 'd' or without?" And he replied with the same flirtatious casualness that he'd shown all afternoon "well, how did you spell it?" And I was about to explain that I hadn't yet had reason to write it down when I woke up.

I want to say his last name was something like Clemons, but obviously that's just baseball stuck in my head, and even having written that, it makes it all seem so much more like some crazy dream.

But for a moment, a short while ago, it didn't feel like a dream at all. It felt like I had met him. It felt like he was real. He had a name. He had dark hair and this amazing smile. And while I acted like a bumbling fool, he liked me. And I knew somehow that he was going to be important enough for me to introduce to my father. And to spell his name correctly.

I spelled it with a 'd', Rodger. It seems like that's the way you spell it, but I didn't get the answer from you to know for certain. I hope that was the right way.

I should point out, that this dream only disturbs me in that his name wasn't Charlie. For those that recall, I once had a similarly real-feeling dream that I was getting married and his name was Charlie and that we met in a pastry shop (see? I can remember all the details even now. I'd link to the post if it wasn't 5:45 in the morning.) For the vividness of this dream, it feels only a contradiction that his name didn't stay the same. The realness of this man still feels tangible in the early morning hours. I know he's not. But out there somewhere he is.

1 comment:

stacy said...

his name is Charles Rodger. :o)

(haha my word verification is "dreamege"