What dreams may come
August 13, 2011 - 9:44 a.m.

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I dreamt, I dreamt.

I dreamt of a hotel surrounded by garbage.

I dreamt it was an event, and all my friends were there.

I dreamt I went with G. We were sharing a room, and we were sharing a bed.

It was the evening of the first day. Nothing much was happening except parties.

I dropped my gear off in the room, and got changed into my clothing. He did too, into his usual black velvet ensemble.

I barely got a chance to do or say anything before I was stolen away by a handful of friends.

One, a woman, took me to her room and pushed me onto the bed. The coverlet was that kind of slightly off-white that you only see in decor from the 80's and early 90's.

The whole hotel was done in that color. The walls, the carpet, the bedspreads, the sheets.

When she finally let me go, dizzy and thrilled and feeling a little bit guilty over what I'd done, I walked, trying to get back to our room.

I walked all night. I couldn't find it. The hallways all looked the same.

I found a bachelor party for an East Indian fellow. He was younger than me, and slept the sleep of the drunk, his face plastered with sequins.

I found small pockets of parties of my people, just little bits here and there of folk drinking and talking quietly, surrounded by people sleeping off their drunk.

I thought I found my room once, and walked in, only to find the bed occupied by a lumpy, white, middle-aged man I only vaguely recognized.

He looked at me, sleepily, out of his lumpy potato face, and I excused myself quietly and made my way back into the hallway.

I walked outside for a while, but the garbage was overwhelming. It was a dump out there, literally, with broken dressers and bags of garbage in heaps taller than I was.

The sun was coming up, the sky turning pink and mauve over the glistening black plastic.

I returned to the hotel. I don't remember going inside, but I can remember deciding to.

There, I found a small alcove with some couches and a television and a coffee maker, and I sat there, despondant that I would never get back to my room, and never get back to G.

The woman I had slept with found me there, and laughed when I told her I was lost. She took my hand and guided me to a door that was maybe twenty feet away.

I walked in. There were a few people sleeping there, but none who should have been.

There was a figure in the bed that I went to sleep in, curled in the foetal position, facing the wall.

I was tentative, but I could see the dark curve of his skull when I stepped up, and I felt better.

When I sat on the edge of the bed to get undressed, he mumbled something, and turned, curling his body around my sitting position.

I knew everything was okay, then. When he put his head in my lap, I pulled off his boots, which he'd fallen asleep in.

And then I woke up.

Have I mentioned lately how much I hate dreaming?

.

Rosie.

Before&After