The building was an amalgamation of three high schools, three colleges, and a hospital that I'd known from various points in my life. Linoleum flooring, drywall randomly giving way to tiles, lighting that changed with every blink. Faceless friends came and went in the halls, none of them notable, but all familiar in that tip-of-the-tongue way.
Soon, I stood in a room full of sinks, a former lover beside me. She appeared to be only one of my ex-girlfriends, but as she spoke and her mannerisms showed, I could see that she, too, was an amalgamation, just as everything else in this dream. Neither of us felt anything for the other, but we still had to pretend for everyone around. It was all so familiar, yet nothing
felt it.
We splashed water at each other, and gave fake laughter as a response. We stood together, in awkward silence, not knowing what to do without an audience.
* * * * * It was a tall, wooden lodge with a high ceiling, where several cats played on the rafters, caught-up in impossible games with birds and mice. A solid oak bar stretched deep into the room, seemingly endless and forever caught in the dim light of late evening. I sat there, halfway facing the great glass entryway, but was nursing water instead of booze.
I knew the owners well, one of whom looking surprisingly like the older husband of a babysitter from my childhood. I don't know if he was also named "Tiger," but it wouldn't surprise me, given his general attitude. He was quick with a joke, quicker with a smile, and seemed to know everyone around, even if he didn't. Wrinkles had taken what looks he had, but he still had the ol' charm in him. Someone you'd want to run a bar.
The other, who was serving drinks, never stayed away from me for too long. She was a few years younger than me, but walked with the gentle grace of someone who had grown used to acting older. Even her way of dressing was flattering only in that her sweater revealed the lines of her petite frame. Her laugh was soft, her smile was bright, and her long hair kept dancing between orange and an almost pinkish red, like the sunset itself. Our hands seemed to naturally fall against one-another, and more than once, on that bar, her slender fingers mingled with mine. We couldn't help but smile when near each other, which was almost all the time.
I was the only one who knew their secret: plenty of men, particularly men his age, would come to the bar and want to try their luck with her, only for him to come around and remind them that she was his wife. A few chuckles, the same kind of laugh a good-hearted fellow will use to warn those of lesser stature. I was the only one he never got protective around.
They weren't actually married. He was just being protective of
us, because we made each other happy, and didn't want anyone to get in the way of that. She was an orphan who needed a job, and he was a good enough man to give her one in such a sketchy town.
By the end of the dream, we were holding hands, and not letting go.
* * * * * It was a massive convention hall, though one that had collided with a warehouse of novelties and random pieces of memorabilia. For once, I was not a character, but a camera, watching the drama of another set of lives unfold before me.
Four friends, joking quietly, visiting some sort of festival. Two young men were there, one Asian-American, the other I guessed was Cherokee. They were joined by two young women, one of whom was nondescript, but only because of the angle of the "camera." Only one of the young men spoke frequently; the other young man, and one of the young women, just never elected to speak that often. The fourth, the dark-skinned girl with long, bright pink hair, almost seemed
incapable of speech. Everyone had a seat at a great, long table, which was, in turn, in an area surrounded by other such tables. A sampling of foods and drinks was going-on in the uproarious hall, and the quiet young man, alongside the mute, seemed uncomfortable.
As soon as glass pipes were being drawn by most of those in attendance, to sample a variety of smoking herbs, the young man and the mute left in haste, remembering the words of a fortune teller who had come to them, sometime prior to the dream. "
You will see flowers and a sacred room, wherein your truest love will come to you." Scrambling across the convention floor, the two searched for nothing in particular, though the words of the fortuneteller rang in their heads. Separated from the massive gathering, the young man finally found his voice: a chipper, upbeat tone that sounded much like any fellow outside of his teenage years. After some time, the mute, too, spoke, in such a tender and sweet voice that it sounded like music.
After an endless array of junk, kitsch, and strange displays of plumbing, there came a grand display of white lilies, beside a glowing door that seemed out of place in the industrial maze. Clenching hands tightly, they ran toward the light seeping through the cracks. They reached for the doorknob, seemingly as one.
He died almost instantly, falling into a mysterious pool of lava just beyond the door. The fortuneteller lied to them, in order to reveal two men who were planning on destroying the entire building -- and later, all of humanity -- out of spite and broken hearts. She fought them both, and soon they, too, died in the same trap set for the young man, realizing too late that all they needed for their happiness was each other.
She, too, gave her life to save the unknowing crowds outside, but was granted with a vision before she died: a little boy and his grandfather, a woodcutter, stumbling upon a little girl in the wilderness.
She saw that their love would bring them back to life, and so she closed her eyes, accepting what was to come.
I felt powerless. I felt my heart break upon her passing, and wondered if there was some other way she could've gotten her happy ending...
