Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
He wondered which of them had fallen out of love first. He believed that he did. He felt like she was always verbally abusing him and emotionally bullying him. He had a list of trespasses against her. She probably had one for him. The best thing to do is not keep a list, but there it was. They were so much alike, and they both always made lists.
The boy is four years old, a grandnephew. He’d brought over four of his monster truck toys to play with as he visited his great grandmother. The trucks weren’t large, fitting into his palm space.
But he was sniffing one. “What’s that smell like?” his great-uncle asked.
“My green dinosaur.”
That was a surprise. “What’s your green dinosaur smell like?”
“Apples.”
Huh. “Do you know what you call a dinosaur who smells like apples?”
Head shake. “No.”
“An applesaurus.”
The boy threw his head back and laughed.
After the server walked away, he turned to his partner. “Did you notice that she has glitter on her eyes?”
His partner’s expression widened in shock. “She has blood on her face?”
The shock was now his. “No, not blood, glitter. GLITTER.”
But he kept wondering, did he say blood? He thought he said glitter. Yes, he had to wonder.
Looking at the shopping list on the chalkboard, she said, “I know it’s my handwriting, but I don’t know what this says. It looks like chickpens.”
Walking by, without looking, he replied, “It’s chickpeas.”
“Oh, chickpeas.” She laughed. “That makes more sense than chickpens.” She laughed again. “Give me a break, I haven’t had my coffee.”
I wasn’t the person I am now, and I wasn’t married to the woman with me now. I still knew it was me but didn’t like the same, something known as perspective changed, as they frequently do in my dreams.
My wife and I were in a room with many others. Double beds lined the walls with the headboards against the walls. Every bed had a couple in it, including my wife and I, fully dressed with shoes on, under bed covers. Around the room were men and women, the men in either dark blue or white shirts, with loose black suits and hats, and the women in beige blouses, something with beige skirts, but sometimes with black skirts. Sometimes, the women wore a white bonnet.
The men and women not in beds were clapping their hands and dancing, thumping their thick-soled shoes against the wooden floor, chanting, “Kiss and dance, kiss and dance, kiss and dance.” Laughter kept interrupting as they focused on specific couples.
In bed with my ‘wife’, I moved close to her, getting face to face. Like most in the room, we were about forty years old, given one or two years either way. She looked white, wan, and tired. I asked, “What do you say? Should we kiss and dance?”
She answered, “No, I’m too tired.”
Disappointed, I snapped, “That’s what you always say.” Frustrated, I climbed out of bed and walked around the room as the “kiss and dance” chant continued. Other couples were kissing and several got out of bed and danced in the room’s center.
Another man climbed into bed with my wife. Outraged, I saw that she let him kiss her. At that point, a man called an end to the festivities and told us, “Everyone needs to go home now.”
My wife and the man left the bed. She came to me and said, “We should go.” Everyone else had already filed out.
Rage stoked, I replied, “No.” I took her by her shoulders, pushed her back against a wall, and said, “I have three things to say to you.” Her eyes were wide; she did not speak. “One, you never want to kiss me. Two, I saw another man get in bed with you, and I saw you kissing that other man. I am tired of all of this. We are done. I’m going home. You need to find somewhere else to do.”
I left.
Dream end.
I felt tremendously liberated and strong after awakening from this dream.
I was a young man, as I often am in my dreams, probably in my thirties. I was in the home of a woman I knew. It was a standard modern place but basic and clean. I was standing in a dining area by a patio slider. She wasn’t there, but two other young women and a young man were present. They were about ten years plus younger than me. We in the middle of a conversation in which I related to them that they were ‘taking the wrong medicine’ and told them what medicine they should be taking. The man walked out to get it even though I told him that I had it with me. One of the women left and the home owner returned. She asked what was going on so the other young woman and I explained it, with me doing most of the talking, telling her that they’d been using the wrong medicine. She appreciated me correcting them because one of them was her niece (I never knew which). The young man returned then, without medicine because he could ‘t find it as “everything is closed”. I gave him a huge black backpack which contained the medicine he and the others needed.
As the young man thanked me, the other woman returned and the homeowner announced that she was leaving. She told us we could stay or go, it was our choice. I said I was going because I needed to do other things. The young man left with me. We walked down a busy small-town street for a bit, and then separated. I went over and got into my Mustang. Red, it was a 1965 convertible in very good condition, highly polished, with a white interior and convertible top. I needed work on it, so I took it to this little place. I backed into a spot and then got out to get a number and get in line, because that’s how it worked there. As I was waiting, another person arrived and backed his car into the Mustang.
I was upset, more so because he shrugged it off and walked away. He was much smaller than me and a little younger. I confronted him, pointing out the damage. Body damage, on the driver’s side front, was very slight, but the tire was torn up. Looking at it, the tire was made of white foam mattress and had lost a large chunk from the accident. He talked to the man about it but he claimed it wasn’t his fault, went and got a number and got into line.
I was upset. He’d hit my car and wouldn’t take responsibility for it. A friend arrived and I told him about what had happened. The guy who’d hit my car was in line with several large companions, who had been there when I arrived. My friend said, “Know how to start a confrontation?” I shook my head and he said, “Let me show you.”
He walked up and attempted to grab the younger guy’s nut sack, but one of the big other guys instead did it to him, saying, “You trying to start a confrontation?”
That didn’t make sense to me. As my friend was released and limped off, departing the business, I decided that I would leave. As I went to depart, I encountered another young man with thick dark hair. He was looking into the shop and asked me if I would recommend it. I told him that it depended on what he needed and how badly he wanted it, but I was disappointed in the shop and told about the accident. I asked him what he was looking for. When he told me, I said, “I recognize you. I read about your story on the net.”
He verified that was him, and then the homeowner from the dream’s beginning arrived. As the young man looked across at her, he said, “Excuse me, that’s my mother.”
Dream end.
A note that the dream Mustang reminded me that Dad had a 1965 Mustang when he was stationed in Germany in the late 1960s, blue with a white convertible top and black interior, with a 289 and four speed. I wasn’t with him in Germany, but he showed me pictures of him with the car with its top down in Paris.
Yesterday nicked 99 to a 100 F locally. The high temp experienced is a spectrum dictated by microvariables. Today is cooling, touching 95 to 97. An hour ago, it was 19 C. Now it’s up to 22 C.
Sunrise on this day, Thursday, 7/21/22, was 5:53 AM. Sunset has drawn down to 8:41. Was it a month ago where I noted that sunset was 8:51 day after day?
Our heat isn’t as bad as other regions. Wildfire stories are growing, of course, as Texas, Portugal, Spain, France, Italy, Greece, Alaska, Nevada, New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, Montana, Idaho, and other places fight the flames. Extreme heat shut down data centers in several countries. Roads and runways were reported melted. Droughts are spreading, threatening food supplies. Yes, and numerous people around the world have succumbed to the high heat.
Deep breath. Hang on, I need coffee to continue.
The Neurons are singing a 1972 Rod Stewart song called, “You Wear It Well”. Why? You ask them. They won’t give the reasons to me. Not a bad choice by any means. I like the mellow and folksy rock sound delivered with down-to-earth lyrics about time, love, and the past.
Here’s the music. Need to see a man about a garage door. He’s just arrived to put in a strut to solve the bowing issue. Fingers crossed, etc. I would’ve done it but couldn’t find an appropriate sixteen feet strut and didn’t have a vehicle to transport said strut. Bummer; I like the DIY challenge.
Peace out.
I had an odd dream. My wife and I were in our house. It’s not our RL house nor any place where I’ve lived but I know in the dream that it’s mine. For some reason, there’s a small black kitten there. All legs and ears, with a short, pointed tail, he’s an energetic whirlwind, battling everything, prancing and spinning, on the attack, crabbing and racing around. It delighted me. “Look at his energy,” I said. “He’s amazing.”
Friends were moving away. My wife announced, “I want a new house. Come on.” I began protesting about it, asking, right now, looking for reasons why, etc. She was non-communicative. I get in the car with her, still trying to talk with her about it, and she ends up saying that she wants a smaller house, and she wants us to drive around looking for it. I have a small off-white kitten with me. The cat is basically sleeping on me.
We get to place where she wants to stop and look for a home. After parking, we’re walking to the place when she thinks she sees someone she knows. She just wants to say hello, she says, rushing off. I tell her not to be too long because I know how she is. Then I wander into a place.
It’s pretty non-descript. I put the white kitten down. It runs around, playing kitten games. Meanwhile, a young girl comes up and strikes me on the back with a flat metal object. It’s not quite a sword or any weapon I’ve ever seen. A young boy comes up and tries doing the same. The boy then explains that they’re playing a game, it’s part of a bigger game, and they get points by striking people. I take them on, encouraging them to strike more boldly and quickly. After a little of this, I recover the white kitten. The kitten and I lie down under a blanket for a nap.
My wife finally returns, calling for me. I sit up with the kitten. My wife tells me that she ‘still has feelings’ for this other person, someone she’s not seen in decades.
I just explode. “Fine. I’m tired of this,” I say. “Do what you want. I’m gone.”
Dream end.
After knowing one another for fifty-one years, including forty-five years of marriage, they remain a couple separated by a common language, even though they’re both American.
Michael Seidel, writer 