Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
I’m thinking about becoming a person who goes by one name. Join Madonna, Cher, Sting, Beyonce, Pink. Kick off 2025 in a different way. The Neurons came up with Midel as the name. This is the first two letters of my first name and the last three letters of my last name.
I ran it by my wife. She wasn’t impressed. So I ran it by my sister. She laughed and laughed…
Totally different environment for me. A young man, I didn’t look anything like the me from RL, except of the commonalities of being a white male with brown hair. I’d joined a household. I’m not sure what my status. I was given tasks and expected to get them done. I was working alone.
I was working alone, going in and out of the kitchen to the outside, as others came but mostly went. They ignored me so I only glanced at them, seeing who they were and so on. My job was to select fruit, mostly pears, to throw away. The pears were large, of the Bartlett or Bosc varieties often found in grocery stores, but larger than you’d find. Some were almost as large as my head.
As I worked this, transferring them from one location to another, I thought, why are we throwing these pears away? After examining them, I questioned what was going on and concluded they would be perfectly good to eat. Changing my process, I removed the tossed pears to a kitchen location and moved the rest of the pears there.
Then, on a whim, I made lunch for everyone. I wasn’t certain what to do and learned on the fly but made and baked a square pizza. Without planning to, I ended up with a house on it. As I did this, I encountered a bearded man with curly hair leaving the bathroom. Saying, “Excuse me,” I pushed past him, but thought, who is he?
I turned back and introduced myself, sticking out my hand as I did. “Michael,” I said.
We shook as he said, “Patrick.” But he didn’t call me Michael at any point in the dream. The name he called me was something like Metcalf.
Most of the people, including the head man, had returned. Seeing the pears, he said, “What are those?”
I explained what I’d done and asked him, “Do you think you can eat these?”
I cut one up for his inspection. As he looked at it, he said, “Where did these come from?”
“There were grown here, in your garden,” I replied.
He looked at a woman beside him and asked, “Is this true?”
“Yes,” she answered.
I gathered that he didn’t know what he was growing here.
Next, I showed them my house pizza. Patrick and others declared that they wouldn’t eat it. They thought it inedible. I defended the pizza but they refused. Shrugging that off, I cut some off and ate it myself, finding it delicious.
We’d moved outside. There were sixteen or seventeen of us on a sloping green lawn. As a sort of outside, I was on the edge and alone. A tiger approached me. Patrick said, “Don’t worry [some name], I’ll take care of him.”
Annoyed, I answered, “That’s not my name, and I’m not worried.”
They began talking. I asked, “What are you talking about?” None replied to me, feeding my irritation.
Finally Patrick said, “You haven’t said what you think, [some name].”
I said, “Why can’t you get my name right? I introduced myself to you. I’m Michael. And I can’t say what I think because none of you would tell me what you’re talking about.”
The head guy said, “We’re talking about how we would summarize 2022. What would you say about it?”
After a second of thought, I said, “I’d call it one of the best years in the last fifty years.” I was saying that to get a rise out of them because they’d been saying that it was a bad year. Then, doing the math, because ‘fifty’ was an impulse, I realized that fifty years ago was when I turned sixteen.
Dream end.
I arrived at a command complex. Although ultra futuristic in appearance, full of technology, it was no longer used. I wasn’t associated with it or the military but was familiar with it because of my past, and found it a friendly space. There were no windows and only one door, standard for such places, which were like vaults. Dark blue dominated, with matching carpet and walls. The console positions were all flat black glass with touch screens. As I went about exploring, others entered. I realized that they, like me, were past military. None of us were in the service any longer. We all chatted and introduced ourselves.
We realized some event was taking place. Console positions were powering up on their own, displaying incoming threat analysis. Despite this, we were all in high-spirits. Many people sat at console positions, taking the problem on. As I examined the consoles, I noticed that lines of red and yellow lights circled the positions and were growing brighter. Somehow, I recognized this as a trap. Warning the others, I told them to back off the consoles because something was about to happen. After they all drew back a few feet, the positions opened and emitted spurts of gas. If they’d been where they were, they would have been affected, so my warning saved them. All were grateful.
Things wound down. I got on my hands and knees, checking something out. As I was, I looked up to see a tall, white man enter. I knew he was retired four-star general. He paused as he reached me. I realized I was impeding his way and discovered my legs and feet were somehow under the carpet. As I apologized and laughed, wondering how I’d managed that, he brushed it off as inconsequential and went past. I stood and joined him. We chatted about trivialities and the shook hands and he left.
Others had come in again. One was a black female. I joined her at a table but then was called over by two other women. They were over at a display and had discovered a curtain. It had SLIDELL sewn on in in yellow thread. They asked if that was me. I said that it could be because one, sometimes people used that as a variation of my name, and two, such a misspelling sometimes showed up on correspondence. But, I said, I thought it was doubtful because we were at Bitburg AB in Hahn, Germany, and I’d only been there twice.
I returned to the table in the back and chatted with the seated black woman, sitting beside her as I did. I knew her and we exchanged information about what had been going on in our lives since we’d last seen one another. Others then came in and sat down opposite her. I realized after a moment that people were arriving to pay her homage. I thought it inappropriate to be sitting with her because that was a position of honor and she was the one being honored, but she told me to stay beside her. I did as person after person arrived to tell her how great it had been working with her.
Dream fade out.
TGIF! Yes, it’s Friday, April 16, 2021. Sunset is expected at 7:53 PM in Ashland while sunrise took place over thirteen hours before, at 6:29 AM. Summer’s shoulders are crowding into Spring’s thing as temperatures this weekend are expected to jump into the 80s. Controlled burns are underway around our small town. Smoke scars the blue sky and the burnt-wood smell lingers, an unpleasant reminder of past wildfires, and the ongoing threat.
Are you one of those who said, “Thank God it’s Friday”? I definitely am. I think that with so many people saying it, happy for the weekend, it lifted our collective energy. Still gives me a jolt although Fridays have much of the same flavor as most days of the week in these days.
“Name” by the Goo Goo Dolls (1995) came to me yesterday. I was in the car, waiting for my wife. She’d gone into a store to pick up two items. I wasn’t interested in going in. As I sat in the car, watching people going in and out, waiting in cars, etc., I remembered the song. I first heard it while on temporary duty in New Hampshire, visiting a satellite tracking station. The song always struck me as about anonymity, about being a person in a crowd of people where no one knows one another. Not a party group, but people going about the business of life.
Anyway, the song stayed with me. I present it to you. Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask, and get the vax. Cheers
Her name is Simone. She doesn’t know why that’s her name. People ask her why she’s named Simone, and she tells them that she doesn’t know. Many people mention that it’s a French name, and she replies, “Yes, but my father is German.”
She looks away and becomes busy as she answers, as though there’s a story behind her name that she doesn’t want to explore.
Or maybe she’s just weary, at nineteen years old, of being asked about her name.
Rising to pee at six AM and see which feline is scratching at what door to go in which direction, I sail my thinking through the dreams still cascading through my consciousness.
Then I set them aside. Forget about them. They seemed like much of the same.
But later, reading other blogs, a flash of remembered dream scythes in.
I’ve been in a school. Walking through it. Looking for a shirt. Being watched and judged.
I know I’m older than them. They’re looking at me for guidance.
I try to ignore them. I keep going, meandering through the school’s white brick walls, up steps, and down halls, looking for a shirt until I discover that, here, in this classroom, that I just passed, to my left, is the locker holding my shirt. But a class is going on in the classroom. I don’t want to interrupt it.
Then I do interrupt it. I slip in along the wall. I’m immediately noticed. I apologize for my presence and the disturbance and explain that I need a shirt from my locker. It’s well received, politely received.
Then I’m back where I was. I still don’t have a shirt. I did not go into the classroom, I realize, but projected myself into a possible future to see what would happen if I accepted that path. Then I decided not to do that but to continue looking for a shirt elsewhere.
While looking, I come to another crossroads. I’m in the school. People are off to one side, talking. Noticing me, they begin talking about me.
I try to ignore them. I’m focusing on my objective to find the shirt. I have the choice of three directions. Looking into one direction, I project myself into the future.
I’m surrounded by people. They seem smaller than me but they’re not children. They seem smaller because they’re all looking up at me. I’m speaking. I don’t know what I’m saying. They’re listening, nodding and smiling.
Returning to the crossroads, I project myself into another future in a different direction. I’m again surrounded by people. Again, they’re looking up at me. I’m telling them my name and spelling it for them. They’re listening, smiling and nodding. Some of them are answering me, “Yes, that’s your name.”
That’s all that’s remembered right here and now. I’m sort of breathless with the idea that I projected myself into a future, even if in a dream, but I remember thinking in the dream, The things we can dream.
Michael Seidel, writer 