9, 10 never sleep again…
It’s 1:30 am on Tuesday morning. I groggily rise from the comfort and safety of Chuck and my couch and declare I’m heading to bed. He kisses, hugs, reassures me once more and off I go to the bedroom. The room in which all things horrible and dark and bad have occurred in the past 3 days.
TWN Tuesday morning’s dream:
I am in a house. It’s dark. I feel it is a single level home, reminiscent of Kas’ teen years home. The one she moved into around 7th grade. The one that was perpetually in a state of remodel, addition, renovation, or excavation. I am aware that Kas, her Dad, Chuck, and myself are in the house. It’s night, it’s dark, everyone is sleeping. I’m aware Kas’ Dad is in the room to the left behind me, there is another room to the right behind me. They’re both bedrooms, the doors are closed on both. Somewhere behind me is also a bathroom. Between the bedrooms? Down a hall I can’t be sure is or isn’t there? I just know there is a bathroom. In the living or main room between the back wall and the couch is open-ish space. It’s cluttered. There aren’t any window coverings and the brightly shining moon is the only source of light. I see black silhouettes backdropped in the blueish silver of the moonlight. Silhouettes of cushions and blankets and clothes and stuff, lots and lots of stuff leaned and stacked against the entire perimeter. On the floor, between the couch and the back is some stuff, I can’t make out what. The floor I am sure is press board (plywood?), this is what gives me confidence enough to know I am at Kas’ Dad’s house as it was when I was a teen. And yet, Chuck is there. And I am aware there are other’s there. People I don’t know. Kas is in the front of the room, in front of the couch, sleeping. There’s an older TV on an older wheeled TV stand I can make out the shape, Kas is in the mess of blankets near the TV, sleeping. Someone is sleeping on the couch. No, wait no one is on the couch. Chuck and I are in the right back bedroom, also cluttered to the hilt. No we’re in the living room, no the back bedroom. The phone doesn’t ring audibly though I answer it. It’s for Chuck. It’s a woman. She knows him. She’s in the house. We’re in the living room, she’s in the back right bedroom.
I’m walking in an alley, closer to the end of the alley behind me than in front of me I am confident of my destination. It’s not Winter, it’s not Summer, it’s not Autumn, it’s not Spring. It’s past Spring. Before it gets hot. It’s a gravel alley, reminding me of the alley of Sammy’s the Italian Restaurant in my childhood home town. Only the gravel lot for Sammy’s isn’t there, instead it’s unobtrusive houses, landscape. I’m walking. The road declines and inclines. On my left there is a fenced yard with activity, it’s dusk lighting out yet not dusk, overcast? It’s after 3pm for sure. Almost 5? What time is it? All those people at that house, the activity. That’s the house. The motorcycle club meeting place. It’s someone’s home though they all gather there. There is a cursory bike near the fence gate, tall grass edges the fence, a garage I come upon first, gravel, nothing weird.
I’m running with a goal, running after something, after someone. I’m chasing someone. Her. I’m chasing her. She has long black hair, longer than mine in reality though right now my hair is longer. Mine is down to my butt as it was when I was an early teen. I’m running down the street, on the sidewalk, no longer on the sidewalk. I keep just missing her as she ducks around the corner or just out of sight. I see her hair. Loosely curly, billowing like a flag almost. Black. She’s running not scared though not relaxed or lightly. She doesn’t fear me. In her mind, she is determined I cannot catch up, must not catch up.
I’m on a street facing what feels like towards a decline in the road although the road itself isn’t declined, the horizon is. To my left is a shack yet it’s a newspaper stand but not. I get the feeling it’s the other side of the block from the biker gang house, the front side of the alley I’d walked down.
Chuck is there, he and another guy, a big guy. Really big guy, he’s fat, not really fat though. He’s massive, has some dark hair, wearing a biker vest and biker boots. A t-shirt, jeans, wallet with a chain to the belt loop. He has a bandanna on. I can’t clearly see any facial characteristics. They don’t focus in for my eyes. I am in front of the stand, the guy on my left, his back to the huge horizon decline. Chuck on my right. They’re chatting easily. I know this is the guy from Kas’ house. This is the guy that was on the couch, but it wasn’t him on the couch, it was a much smaller version of him.
I feel that this guy and the girl with black curly hair are siblings. This is her brother. Chuck and him are friends, not exceptionally close but real friends. I remember the girl, Chuck’s ex. Where is she? I am curious, I am looking for her, seeking her out, I’ve been chasing after her. She won’t stop. I don’t want to fight. Chuck belongs to this biker gang. He’s part of this group, has been for quite sometime now. It’s not new or unusual. I begin to get a bit impatient. I want to talk to this girl. The girl with the black curly hair. She keeps running off, she won’t even let me get near her. I don’t want to fight her! God! What am I, stupid? Fighting is childish ridiculous. No. I just want to talk to her. I just want to grill her. She called late. She called my phone. Who is this girl? I don’t know this girl. What is her name?
…
Chuck climbs into bed.
I audibly say “I’m not jealous”.
Chuck says “uh oh. Baby, what are you dreaming about?”
I repeat “I’m not jealous. I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t want to fight her.”
Then it dawns on me this is Chuck. I swing at him less severely than on Saturday night but with gusto and an obvious anger.
I think but don’t say aloud “Your EX. I was chasing your Ex girlfriend. I think it was your ex. She had black curly hair. She wouldn’t stop. I’m not jealous. I don’t want to hurt her.”
Chuck wraps his arms around me. Tells me to shhh, it’s OK, calm down. He’s there. It’s a dream. It’s OK.
Sleep finally makes camp. A dreamless peaceful sleep.
And that ends “The Weekend of the Nightmares”. Tuesday night I went knitting, talked with Chuck, made a stir fry dinner, watched some TV. Fell asleep around 11pm, didn’t wake up until after 5am. Did not recall or knowingly participate in any dreaming. Did not pee, did not collect $200.
