Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
A friend who is a grandmother related a story about her latest granddaughter, Vera. As soon as she found the words, Vera announced that her name was Peaches and she would not answer to any other name.
That was two years ago. She’s now five. A young cat found his way to her side. Cat and human are with one another like snow and white. She calls him Butters. He’s nine months old.
The adventures of Peaches and Butters are just beginning.
These seem like a sequence of scenes from one long but fragmented dream.
I began with two young people, twentyish, male and female. Seated at a long folding table in a smallish room, definitely a temporary set up, the kind encountered at conventions and conferences for registration, they were going through papers I’d provided them about my visions, values, and dreams. Pens in hands, talking — and sometimes snickering — they made checkmarks and wrote notes. They seemed to be evaluating the for entrance somewhere, part of a process that I expected. I was the only one in there. I had other places to go and things to do.
A mother with her young children entered from a back door. Setting down a model of a dragon, she complained to me about the assignment’s difficulty. I loved her dragon, though, praising it for its blue and purple colors, telling her that she’d done a great job. As she departed, another mother — who turned out to be one of my younger sisters, G — entered with several children, She also had a dragon model, green and blue, and complained about the assignment’s level of difficulty. I complimented her on the model and her skill and imagination. As she was unmoved, I gave a pep talk, telling her that it was a stretch assignment to unleash her potential because I knew how creative, imaginative, and intelligent she was.
Next, I was out the door, walking with my wife, heading toward some sort of gathering. We were walking on a large asphalt area and our destination was a long way off. Scattered knots and small groups of other people were seen making their way, too. I roughly knew the way and told my wife that we needed to hurry. A coal-skinned squat man, very broad, walking with a cane, approached with a wide grin. Wearing a pork pie hat, he was dressed in black pants and coat, a green vest, and a white tee shirt, and was several inches shorter than me.
He asked if we were going to the event. I replied yes and he told me that he knew shortcuts which he would show us. That sounded fine. he took us on a diagonal course. My wife and I struggled to keep up with him. We had to go over a fence which was about knee high. Our guide went without problem, leaving me to wonder how he’d done it as I slowed, hopped the fence, and caught my pants cuff. As I finally freed myself, I saw a chain across an entry which was lower and realized he must have used that.
Another dream flash took over. I needed to change clothes. Uncertain about what to where, I had a wide selection of choices hanging on hangers on racks available. I tried and removed several. Everything looked good on me but was worried about being dressed not just for the event, where I was being honored, but also the weather. My wife joined me to hurry me along.
I moved into another dream segment. I was in a busy room. People filled tiers of desks and tables. Many consulted one another or spoke on phones.
I was standing toward the center. I realized that I knew something which they didn’t and began trying to explain. A large projection of a Google map sprawled across the room’s front. Taking an air mouse, I began scrolling up the map, telling everyone that what they needed was further north. The mouse and scrolling proved sensitive and difficult to manage. I kept scrolling up too far and then overcorrecting. People stopped paying attention as I worked the map and tried to find the place I wanted. I knew that it was far up north. I saw the Arctic Circle and told myself, it’s not that far, but then I saw an entire new land projected.
As I took in mountains, rivers, seas, and lakes, astonishment filled me. How did I never know about that area? I thought, too, it must be freezing cold up there, given how cold it could become in the northern continental United States. These places I was seeing were hundreds, maybe thousands of miles further north. But using the mouse, I found I could click on places and revealed information such as latitude and longitude. Displayed in negative numbers, they didn’t make sense. I began to guess that they were imaginary numbers, and thought, maybe it’s an imaginary land. Clicking more, I discovered the temperatures. Some said 20, 25, 30, and then I realized that these temperatures in Centigrade. They were warm places.
Dream end.
I arrived home as a young man. Mom gave me a room. I was happy to see her and happy to be there. We were living on a train, and the room she gave me was an entire train car. Long and narrow, I had a bed, desk, dresser, bookcase, chair, and wardrobe. I set them up to provide separate sleeping and living areas, using the bookcase and vanity as a makeshift wall. As I set it up, my young sisters came in and visited. Sometimes they brought young neighbor boys that they were watching. Mom would also occasionally come by.
I stacked my books and organized my desk, made my narrow bed, and slid against one wall. One side of the train had windows, and I set my desk up under them so I could look outside.
Young people in a sixties era Chevy Impala convertible (after the fins were dropped) began driving by. Whenever they did, some of my things would get shifted, annoying me. This worsened; even as I cleaned and organized again, they drove by, knocking things over. They never reached in or anything, but I knew it was them, as they were laughing about it.
I decided I’d put a stop to that and devised a way by changing the room around. The new arrangement was less satisfying, but it was staying neat and still workable. However, one of the little neighbor boys my sisters were watching kept sneaking into my room and tearing things up. He was fair and blonde, giggling often, but crying whenever he was stopped or reprimanded. I kept putting him out, warning him not to do that, and warning others to keep him out, and then cleaning up again, and again, but he kept getting in there. Mom came to me and told me to be more patient and tolerant because he was a small child and had mental and emotional health issues. I complained to her but took her point and promised I would try.
The train with my room went on the move. That pleased me because I thought we’d moved away from the boy causing the problem. But he got in there again. I was bewildered. My sisters explained that he’d come with us. I felt that I had no choice but to close and lock my doors. After I did that, I discovered him sliding in under the door. It looked like he could completely flattened himself, becoming as pliable and flexible as a sheet of paper.
My exasperation and irritation spiked. How was I supposed to deal with that. I took hold of the boy to take him out of the room. He immediately screamed, writhing and crying in my grasp. Others came running in. I said that I hadn’t done anything to him, that he was overly sensitive, defending myself with the claim, I was just stopping him from ruining things again. My sisters took him out of my room.
Dream end.
I was at a party and having a good time. Two women were trying to seduce me. Both were my age, and brunettes. One was tall and in a red satin blouse while the shorter one wore a forest green shirt. I was an eager participant. But every time that I was alone with one, an interruption would stamp stop. Once, one of the women became sick and vomited. Hah!
Meanwile, I then went out and off to a place being rented by me and others. The others had children and the children were making a mess. We were due to check out in a few hours. Walking around, I was horrified to discover the children had put food everywhere and seemed to have damaged some furniture. I went back to inform their parents, but they were having a good time and ignored me. After failing to get anyone’s attention, I attempted to dismiss it. Going to a recliner, I settled back. Two of my cats showed me, one on either side, which made me happy. The third cat showed up, wandering around the chair, sniffing. One cat jumped down and started going after the other one. The two cats went running around. I called to them to stop, then went to find them when they disappeared.
Other cats appeared. Two were black and white like the cat of mine who chased the other. Each was walking upright on their rear legs. One had a mop of pink hair on its head. The other had yellow hair. I thought each was my cat, Tucker, but realized it wasn’t. Then Tucker came out, walking upright like them, with a mop of light blue hair crowning his head. I tried telling other people to look at these cats but no one did.
A child had locked something up. A really tiny key was needed. I had one but it broke so I went to a counter where a man offered me a similar key. To get it, though, I needed to subscribe to getting a key a month. I didn’t need a key a month so I wasn’t willing to sign up. Looking for something to work as a key, I found some small toy and broke a piece off. That worked.
The dream was odd. It was about me and two balls. Ahem. These were small hard-rubber balls. They easily fit in the palm of my hand. I’d been traveling with friends. The friends included a person I worked with about fifteen years ago — a female who I’ll call S — along with a male that I didn’t know, who was white and my age, and another female not known to me, but a friend in my dream. The male and I were throwing the ball as we chatted. First, we seemed to be in a mall but moved on to a gathering that was by a beach. As we went, we encountered other people, talking with them.
I also discovered a special affinity with the balls. Although dull red and normal in appearance, I discovered that I could hurl them with great power and accuracy. I first found this on my own, then decided to explore it with my male friend. This happened first in the mall area. He was about fifty feet away. I thought, I can really put some speed on this. Worried about him not being able to catch it, I refrained from throwing it too hard. After visualizing a six-inch square target in my mind, I threw it with impressive velocity. It landed right where I wanted but he had trouble managing to bring it in.
S joked with me about the balls. Out on the beach, I explained to the male friend that the ball was energized; I fed off its energy and it fed off mine. It was a matter of being in the moment. I thought that anyone could do it. He asked for a demonstration of what I meant. I sent him out into the water because I didn’t think he could catch it and I didn’t want it hurting anyone. When he was about a hundred yards out, with waves splashing over his knees, I whipped the ball at him. It shot out above the water with a little rooster tail. He flinched and missed it. The ball skipped into the water.
But I had a second one in my hand. Using the second ball, I called the first ball back to me. My throwing prowess catch the attention of the crowd. They clamored to see more. I discovered by trying that I could throw the ball in a high, long arc that would bring it back to me, and that I could catch it. After I demonstrated this, others gathered, including male and female children. I kept telling them that they could do it, too, and then would throw it to show them. They would try to repeat what I was doing but kept falling short. Some tried catching the returning ball when I sent it off in a long arc, but it would usually come in too fast for them. Even when they missed, I could put out a hand and have the ball return to me, even after it rolled to a stop on the ground.
S said, “You’re pretty good with those. I think that’s something special.” I thanked her with a laugh. That’s where the dream ended.
I went to a bank, a modern building, small, almost empty. While there, I heard rumors of something else being behind the bank. I decided to investigate. After following a hallway briefly, I entered a large chamber. All of it was a very light gray stone, stone the color of pale, thin fog. The chamber is broad and tall, with an uneven but flat floor. Centerpiece to it is a giant square head carved from the rock. Trying to take it in has me craning my head back and shifting position. Three columns are hewn into the rock on either side of it. A sense of time thousands of years past washes out from it.
I’m turning toward the right. I can see that the broad chamber continues that way. I’ve decided to follow it but as I’m walking, I grow away that the chamber reverberates. I stop to feel it. It’s not a heartbeat. At once softer and more powerful, it flows through the rock and me. Feeling it, I become lifted by a glorious spiritual mood. The chamber grows brighter and whiter.
Next, I’m walking on a paved path through countryside. I’m among many people. My wife is with me, along with families with children. A large percentage of the children are riding little carts that they stood up in and propel along with their foot. Everyone is laughing and merry. We’re on our way to a festival. Conversations are struck up. We enjoy the company of two other couples for a while. They’ve just bought new homes and moved into them. I’m surprised to learn that they moved into my old neighborhood in Penn Hills, PA. I learn that one couple are now living in the house that my aunt’s family lived in up the street at 314 Laurie Drive. I wonder if anyone has moved into my old house and start asking questions.
We stop at a cafe. Adjacent to the sidewalk, it’s open on every side except the back. The cafe is light, airy, white and yellow decor. We sit in the back right corner. Drinks are ordered. We’re chatting with others. Everyone is so friendly and happy. Elderly people in black are passing on the sidewalk. One slips and falls. We all shout and leap up to help her. Five or six others fall. We realize that they’re playing a joke on us as sly grins spread across their faces. We all have a good laugh.
A little blonde girl sits beside me. She tells me she’s moved. She says she lives at 314 Laurie Drive. I turn to one of the men and he acknowledges, yes, that’s his daughter.
Then we’re walking again, resuming the way to the festival. My wife and I reach a hill. We can see a new housing plan below. The houses are all pastels. Many are turquoise and pink. Some are yellow and pink. They have round, green yards. Most have one or two doghouses in their yards. The doghouses are always in the same color as the people’s house. I ask my wife if we should buy one of those houses. She laughs and answers, “Those aren’t for us.” I nod in agreement because I feel the same. They’re too contrived and conform to some code that’s alien to us. We turn and move on.
An uplifting sequence of dreams all the way around.
I’m not going into details about dreams last night. I think, remembering so much, it would consume chunks of time and I have things planned that need time. So, in summary.
I dreamed first that I was with men in the military. It was not the U.S. military, but I don’t know what nation it was from. I was a young man, training the men how to build things. We were just finishing up, and it had been very success. I was basking in popularity. Young women came along. To help with celebrations for finishing, they set up a small store. The white store was decorated in purple and pink with heavy glitter, amusing me. They were giving out candy that was in buckets. A place beside them was grilling food. Everyone, including me, was eating, and having a good time.
Then, dream change, I was with a group of women. Again, I was a young man. We were out in a meadow surrounded by lush, heavy forests. It was a small group. The women were variously dressed in white, purple, or yellow gowns. I’m not certain what I wore. I think I may have been wearing orange. I was teaching the women. We were just finishing when a flock of birds flew overhead, seizing our attention. I said to them, “That’s a fitting ending.”
The third was briefest, where I, once again, a young man, was in a little classroom in a small, old schoolhouse, teaching young children. The schoolhouse was white. We were sitting on the wooden floor. I was talking to them, telling them stories, and they were laughing and cheering in response.
Remembering the dreams invigorates me and makes me smile. All were so sweet and affirming, even if it doesn’t come off that way in my brief captures. If only all dreams left such a positive impact when we awaken and take on the day.
It’s a flash dream. A little white girl. Chubby and blonde, in pink shorts and red shirt. She’s about six years old. She shouts, “No! No more children!”
Then she stands and thrusts out a chubby pale arm. “They are what they eat and they eat what they are.”
She strikes a pose on her toes, arms over her head. “Kazamm. It is fixed.”
Her life. She had such a life. All centered on her children. Now. Had been different. Career. Charity work. Volunteering at the Guild and the Food Bank, delivering meals to shut-ins, meeting with the garden club and the book club.
All gone with her macular degeneration. Reducing her life to her children. No, her grandchildren. She and her daughter ‘did not get along’. Saw politics differently. Education. Fashion. Manners. Daughter blamed her for – “Whatever,” she usually explained, too limp to delve deeper into words and emotions, too worn to extricate and untangle the relationship to the satisfaction of anyone outside of it.
The grandchildren, though – twins. He, dyslexic. Energetic. Masculine but wary. She, in the forefront. Quick-minded, always watching, pausing to see. Cowboy boots – red – and sparkling tutus. She, ordering him on what to do, when to do it. How. Correcting him. He, obeying, sometimes with frustration, which the girl child – they were only eight, miniature people, perfect little unblemished slender human replicas – soothed with whispers and touches. She could not see their future. That worried her.
Then him. His life. No life. Writing. Living to write. Brooding, apparently writing in his head. Reading. Walking around, sipping coffee, staring at walls, floors, windows, always there but never there. Her son. She could no longer connect with him at all. He was a house that couldn’t be entered. Curtains on the windows. No doors in nor out.
Phone rang with an old-fashioned tinny sound reminding her of the happy times at her grandmother’s home. Her daughter was calling. She didn’t want to answer. Probably about money. Usually was, when she called. She put a smile into her voice. Shook off her weariness. Must not upset the princess lest she cut off access to the grandchildren. But she would not do that, would she?
Not a chance to be taken. “Hello, honey,” she said, fake happiness in her voice, pressing forward with her life.
Michael Seidel, writer 