Oh yeah and those weird dreams, which have been leaving themselves exposed even after I wake up. Revealing the strange scenes of sleep that I still don’t understand.
Last night I had two. The first one I had while I was passed out on the couch. This was strange because in the dream I was on the couch and waking up, so when I actually woke up it took me a moment to realize I was no longer in that surreal space between consciousnesses. That rarely happens. Usually when I wake from a particularly vivid dream I'm am jarred by the reality of my surroundings. This time it was different.
In the dream I woke from sleep to the sound of rustling in my bedroom. My bedroom is separated by my living room by two French doors, so I only had to lift my head to see from where this sound came from. What I saw should have stricken me with fear and paranoia, but instead I was only annoyed and slightly bored with the scene.
It was a man dressed in Middle Eastern garb [a long black robe, the hood of which was over his head, and a scarf wrapped around the bottom of his face, revealing only wide, frightened eyes]. He had been rummaging through my closet and in his hand were two hangers holding full outfits. I jumped up from the couch and walked over to him, an angry determination in my steps, and grabbed the clothes from his hands and threw them onto my bed. He cowered where he stood as I scolded him for his attempts at thievery. He said nothing the whole time, and I had no intention of letting him plea his case. Grabbing him by the arm, like a parent does an unruly child, I escorted him to the front door, which was slightly ajar. Just as we reached it another man, Middle Eastern as well but without the hood and scarf covering up his identity, walked up to the door, confused, presumably, by his thieving friends lack of haste in the robbery. Him too, I scolded on the ethics of theft, and I threw the first one out the door, making sure his body not only blacked the second mans entrance, but pushed him back as well. When they were both behind the locked door I went back into the bedroom to assess what was missing. Nothing was.
After a moment I walked into the hallway of my building. The men were gone. I suppose my aim was to alert the superintendent of these trespassers, but although the stairwells had a few stragglers climbing along them [i've no idea why they were awake, it was deep into the morning] the super was nowhere to be found. I stopped one resident and warned him of the burglars, giving him physical descriptions and also briefing him on my own experience. From the alarmed look on his face he took the caution to heart. We looked gravely around us, up and down the hallway, then bade each other farewell and wished one another luck. It was then that I awoke.
The second dream is harder to describe, as it was less linear and more surreal than the first.
I was in Northern California with my brother. I don’t know the purpose of our visit, possibly to visit our mother, but I recall he looked as if the whole venture was a burden. His face wore an impatient boredom. We were on a bus and he sat in front of me reclined in his seat with his eyes closed. When the bus stopped we were at a mall and I shook him to get his attention so we could exit. The strange thing about this was I don’t think this was our stop, but I had the impression we should get off. Maybe I figured it was something to do and would somehow make him more agreeable. I'm not sure.
We walked into the mall, which was modern and open air, and immediately I suggested we go get something to eat. With a grunt he agreed and I pointed to an upper level Spanish diner that, in the strange logic of dreams, I knew very well and whose food I was positive we’d enjoy. Like many restaurants in malls, there were no doors to the establishment, and we just walked into the dimly lit dining area, which was sparsely populated; just a few tables with single patrons picking at their plates. The walls were unseemly shades of brown and yellow. All the waitresses were in their 40's, but had that warm, buxom look that middle aged latinas can have after a child or two; small, protruding bellies and childrearing hips, big attractive smiles and long, dark, slightly curly hair that fell down to the middle of their shoulders. They had a middle age beauty and sex appeal about them. With warm smiles and large, heaving bosoms behind the aprons that they wore.
Will, still not in a completely pleasant mood, but not as bad as he once was, went up to the counter and ordered a typical plate. Tamales or tacos or burritos or something. I decided to be more adventurous, so I ordered the special.
Now this is where it gets weird.
My waitress, and attractive, motherly woman flashed me a huge smile, thoroughly pleased that I had ordered the special. She grabbed a bowl and began filling it with rice and beans and a dark, chunky sauce. Then, still beaming, she took off one shoe and sock. I stood staring, confused but interested on what was to happen. That’s when she took a large meat cleaver from the counter top and proceeded to chop off her foot from the ankle. Without so much as a grimace on her face, she gently placed the foot in the bowl with the rest of the food. Then she covered it with shredded cheese and, hopping around the kitchen, shoved it all into the oven.
She turned to me and nodded, that smile still wide on her face, and her eyes pleading with me for some semblance of appreciation. I realized she couldn’t speak English, and shyly gave her a smile and nodded back to her. This placated her some and she turned back to the kitchen and opened the oven and pulled out my bowl, which by then had steam rising from the bubbling cheese and sauce. I was appalled, but I didn’t want to look disgusted because she seemed so happy that I had ordered the special. She hopped around the kitchen [I could see behind the counter] and then placed my meal on a tray and slid it towards me.
I took it to our table, my stomach in knots for obvious reasons, and ate with my back towards her. I knew she was watching. I slyly took the foot, which had been cooked and browned in the oven, and placed it on the side of the bowl - myself on the verge of puking – and Will just sort of stared at me. Half his eyes filled with humor and the other with a sick disgust. I picked at the rice, not eating any, then took my bowl and tray and threw it all in the trash. I turned and waved good-bye as we exited and the footless woman, standing there and hopping to maintain balance, waved back, the smile on her face wide with a sickly pride.
Not long after that I woke up, as you can imagine, breakfast was not on the menu this morning.