jubyred

Lost

When I was 6 years old, my family moved to Orange Park, Florida.  I had started first grade in another state and moved mid-year to Mrs. Lanham's class.  As I would soon grow accustomed, my mother walked me into the front office and brought all the necessary documentation.  We met the school principal and took a tour of the school.  And then, together, they walked me to my new classroom and introduced me to my new teacher.  I was to take the school bus home from school that day.

At the end of the day, class was dismissed and we were escorted to a huge bay of school buses.  At some point, I guess, someone told me what number bus to get on.  But my memory is of me standing there, looking at all those kids, all those buses, and swallowing hard so I wouldn't cry.

I sat halfway back on the bus and watched as we would come to a halt and kids would get off very confidently, knowing exactly where they were going.  We kept stopping. And more kids would get off the bus.  This continued until I was the last one left.  I sat there silently, alone in the seat looking out the window for anything familiar.  Again, willing myself not to cry.  I didn't cry in front of strangers. 

I'm not sure the bus driver even knew I was there at first.  But eventually, she looked up in the huge rear view window, saw me there, and said that was her last stop. 

-Did you get on the wrong bus?

-Uh, I don't know.

-Where do you live?

-I don't really know.  We just moved here.

She asked me to walk up to the front of the bus.  I sat down on the first seat near the door.

-Do you know of anything that's near your house?

-Uh, no.

-Okay, well, let's see...let's just drive around a little and see if we can find your house.

-Ok

She drove me around for a good 10 minutes until I recognized a grocery store I'd been to with my mother the day before and knew that our neighborhood was not far.  She knew exactly where I was talking about.  From there, we were able to find my street, and even my house.  She wrote down the number of the bus I would take the next day and pointed to the spot where it would pick me up.  I hopped off her bus, completely relieved, and never mentioned it to my mother. 

Since then, I have had ongoing dreams of getting on the wrong bus.  I had another one last night.  Probably because I was reading The Kite Runner before I fell asleep, this dream was a bit more ominous.  My bus was in Afghanistan and the driver was a member of the Taliban.  It was dusty and dirty and I couldn't understand anything he said. 

Sometimes I am young.  Sometimes, I am my current self.  But it's always that same feeling of sitting there alone in the seat, trying really hard not to be scared, feeling like I might start crying any second, but forcing myself to be brave.  No idea where I'm being taken and no way to communicate where I'm supposed to be.  I'm not sure if I found my way home or not because I woke up from the dream. And there I was in my bed.   

Dreamland

My Dream Last Night:

I'm lying around watching TV at this house, maybe a friend's parent's house. There are a bunch of us on couches and under blankets and it kind of looks like the scene the morning after some big college party with blankets everywhere and everyone looks kind of hungover. Dirty dishes piled up, empty beer cans scattered around.

Except my friend's mom is sitting there at the kitchen table smoking in her nightgown. And I'm lying there on the floor with the blanket pulled up to my chin, knees up, watching TV.  And the whole room is decorated with all this crap from the 70s and 80s.  There's a big poster of the cast of Growing Pains and lots of old 70s Playboy Magazines with Barbie Benton on the cover, blonde chicks in red hotpants sucking on lollipops.  The whole room is decorated like that. Lots of brown furniture like someone's basement. Dark, paneled walls.

Everyone gets up and leaves the room and I'm still there watching TV.  It's a concert featuring (ready for this?)  Lenny Kravitz who is singing this Ray LaMontagne song.  Dancing by his side is Angela Basset as Tina Turner.  She's in this short, fringed, silver dress and is going nuts even though the song is really slow.  And sitting on a chair with a guitar on her lap, is Cher.  70s Cher with long, black, shiny, straight hair.

I am mesmerized. I can't stop watching.  They are amazing.  And I keep turning around to see if anyone else is in the room so I can say, "Oh My God.  Are you watching this?  They are sooo GOOD!"  But I'm the only one in there.  I keep thinking, "They are really missing out, not seeing this."

So, the concert is over, but the coverage continues so I can see the concert audience filing out.  And when I see the audience, I notice that  everyone there was over 50.  I realized that all my cool friends who had left the room would laugh at me if I told them about the Lenny Kravitz/Angela Basset/Cher concert that I loved.  So I decide to keep it to myslef when they come back.

I called Drew at work and told him all about it.

"What do you think that means?"
Long pause
"Uh, I think it means that the big wheel just keeps spinning around."
Yes, exactly.

CHiPs

You know what is really boring and chronically unintersting?  Listening to recounts of other people's dreams.  Now I'd like to tell you mine-

Ok, so last night, I ended up on the couch in the living room.  The living room separates our bedroom from the hallway where the 2 kids' rooms are.  In other words, the comfy sofa is right outside both bedroom doors pretty much.  At 2:30, GirlChild is doing her talking/singing/wailing combo she often likes to pull.  We don't know whether to stay up and listen, to sing along, to ignore it and go back to sleep, or to turn on the tv and wait it out to be sure it does't turn into full-blown screams.  Usually, this is Drew's job.  But I was feeling generous, so I grabbed my pillow and planted myself on the couch.  All in all, I got, maybe three hours total sleep.  Ugh.

Well, you know how when you're awake and then asleep a bunch of times, you have tons of bizarre dreams?  Am I the only one?  Usually, I dream about being asleep and not being able to wake up.  It's kind of a variation on the I-need-to-run-but-my-legs-aren't-working thing.  I'm dead asleep and there is something urgent.  I am needed, but I am just sooo tired and I can't open my eyes. 

So, I'm lying there, dreaming that I'm lying there, and I feel something cold and wet on my cheek.  But I can't wake up.  I am drugged.  Eventually, I manage to rouse a bit and notice that it's a big dog lapping away at me.  Kind of weird since we don't even have a dog, but you know, whatever.  Back to sleep. 

All of a sudden, I hear a ruckus in the room (in my dream) and I see there are dogs everywhere-running around and chewing on things and in the kitchen into the pantry.  And I get up and realize that BoyChild has left the door open and all these dogs have come in the back door.  So I walk to the door and boy, am I surprised to see Eric Estrada sitting on the chair in shorty swim trunks and no shirt.  He's just hanging out in the living room.  The dogs don't seem to bother him.

As it turns out, it's a good thing that I got up to check the door because I find that my computer has been stolen.  I'm super bummed and start making a mental list of all the stuff stored on it that I have no other record of.  I am devastated.

Then I woke up.

And now I'm realizing it's strange that I never suspected Eric Estrada of stealing.  Maybe 'cause he used to be a law enforcement officer and all.  Ole Poncherelli wouldn't play me like that would he?