Hide And Seek as a Contact Sport

Dearest Rachel –

This is gonna be one of the more elaborate dreams that I’ve dealt with in a long time, and I don’t have a lot of time to put it together before it evaporates on me. Besides, that we’re coming after me shortly.

It’s taking place on the Wesleyan campus as we remember it from the late eighties. I am one of many people who hold a single letter of an entire message. The goal for the participants is to collect it all, and put it together, whereupon I think it becomes some kind of invitation to… I don’t know what, but it must be the social event of the decade, for the roughing up I get during the first round. I think I recall fighting off for five fairly big guys in order to protect ‘my letter,’ until I shout out in a voice loud enough to be heard from one end of the campus to the other:


Some kind of temporary truce is called; I have no idea how that supposed to work, you’ve got to remember this is a dream. Rules aren’t really very much of a thing here.

Well I do recall is that you were there to pick me up off the ground, and dust me off. Together, we head off to the art department building, whereupon I take my letter, and combine it with an entire alphabet from an identical font pack of letters to create one of those holoalphabetic sentences like ‘jackdaws love my big sphinx of quartz.’ This way whoever is looking for ‘my’ letter has to determine which one out of all of them ‘my’ letter is. Then I arrange the sentence out of a piece of paper, and take it to where these brutes are never gonna find it:

The campus library.

I slip the page into a random book, slide the book onto a fairly random slot in the stacks (trying to keep it in line with the sorting method that they use at the library; I never got used to it, since they never used the Dewey decimal system at Wesleyan, but rather the Library of Congress format. True story), inform some ‘officiant’ of the game of what I’ve done, and walk out of the library – and, by extension, the game – with you on my arm.

The funny thing is, you’re already dressed for this social event. Apparently, you didn’t have to go through this ordeal in order to get your invitation, and I am at this point your ‘plus one.’

You hold me up as I taught her off tartar off to my dorm room in order to get cleaned up and changed. You never leave my side, despite the fact that I am undressing completely, and we are clearly still in college. You don’t say much, either; perhaps at this point there really isn’t that much to say. All I have is gratitude my eyes, and all you have in yours… is love.

Eventually, I get myself put together, and we head to this legendary event, with my mind’s eye continuing to visualize those guys wrecking havoc throughout the library, trying to find the one letter I had left behind in there.

This isn’t a perfect representation of what we looked like, but it’s not that far off. Maybe I was incorporating this image into my dream.

Said event turns out to be more like a wedding ceremony than, say, some kind of formal dance (like you’d expect on campus). Indeed, I’m pretty sure it’s not on campus, as the building is nothing I recognize. The sanctuary is an amphitheater type seating arrangement, and looks like a cross between the church Heidi and Tony were married in, and the one we visited in Helsinki that had a ceiling made from a perfectly circular disk of petrified wood, surrounded by tight spirals of what I believe was copper cable. My memory doesn’t serve me very well; I may have that image completely wrong. But that’s what I saw in my dream.

I don’t remember that much more of the dream, who was getting married, whether there was dancing afterwards like I might’ve expected from a campus formal, or anything like that. The dream started to fade at this point; indeed, it had slowly been fading for some time, as I knew somehow that Chompers needed attending to back in real life. The fact that I’ve already recorded as much as I have about it astonishes me.

But there you have it. This is what I saw, and I have no idea what it means – assuming it means anything. I don’t know why I’m searching for meaning in this particular dream. It’s not like I never looked for any in the others that I’ve written about. Maybe I wish I knew more about this great social event people were breaking others’ heads to get into. Maybe I’m puzzled as to why we had so little to say to each other, and I’d like to fill in the gaps in our conversation. Maybe I just wanna hear your voice.

Anyway, thanks for showing up in my dreams. Hope to see you later. Take care; love you.

Published by randy@letters-to-rachel.memorial

I am Rachel's husband. Was. I'm still trying to deal with it. I probably always will be.

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