Irritating Dreams

Dearest Rachel –

You know, honey, not all bad dreams are nightmares. You don’t spend all your unconscious moments being chased by a monster or a psychopath (which I guess is the same thing in humanoid form), or otherwise in the midst of mortal terror from one danger or another. Nor do you necessarily find yourself in an embarrassing situation, where you’re naked (or at most, in underwear) in a public place, or unprepared for an examination you’d completely forgotten about, because it’s a dream, and not real life.

No, sometimes the ramblings of your unconscious mind are just… irritating. That’s how last night started out for me. Actually, that’s not entirely true; there was a touch of the ‘unprepared for examination’ bit, included in all that, but I swear it wasn’t my fault.

The dream involved two assignments that needed to be turned in by finals week. One was a map with various points labeled on it, but without any context, such as scale, speed and direction. The other part was an object we were to do a research paper on, involving measuring it, somehow using a laser scope; don’t ask me how that would work. In any event, as with the map, we as the class weren’t given any of the tools necessary to solve the problem – such as the aforementioned laser scope. Only on the night before the assignments were due were we given the instructions (for the map: a predictable get from point A to point B in the least amount of time, but with stops of x amount at points C, D, E and F en route, but now we finally knew what we were riding, and how fast we could go) and equipment. Naturally, we were expected to have pages of data and description written up first thing the next morning, which would necessitate pulling am all-nighter, which I was never any good at. Even once I woke up, I found myself stewing in bed about the absolute unfairness of it all.

Somehow, however, I managed to get back to sleep after all, and things got… better?

Actually, it’s hard to say. I found myself in the flat back of a vehicle that would’ve been just a little too small to call an SUV, but too big (and too modern) to be a station wagon. I was lying back there with a girl that I’ve never seen before, but somehow I knew her name was Denise. I’m thinking she must have had some connection to the driver or the owner of the vehicle, as she knew to hold onto the hatchback. Whenever she would let go, it wouldn’t so much as fly up, as sloooowly rise up and open, even as it we were careening down these narrow streets at some 30 or 40 miles an hour, which looks a lot faster when there are buildings within an arms’ length on either side of you. Again, not the sort of thing that you would call a ‘nightmare’ as such, but it certainly had its share of terrifying moments.

I don’t know that we ever reached our destination, necessarily, as Denise, no longer made an appearance in these scenes (nor, for that matter, did whoever it was that was driving that vehicle). At least, I don’t think so; Denise had been wearing a purple shirt and had shoulder length hair. The girl we (and yes, I mean “we” – you, me and Daniel) were now walking around with had shorter hair, cut at the nape of the neck, and was wearing… well, I’ll get to that in a moment.

First thing I should do is set the scene. I’d describe it as half like a mall, like Woodfield during the slow season, and half like Jerusalem’s Yehuda market at night, but indoors, and sparsely occupied. They were labyrinthine corridors going in all sorts of directions. Every other storefront was closed, with colorful graffiti scrawled upon the garage-style doors. Those that were open were… not what you’d call thriving, but they did all have customers. It was a colorful and cheerful, if eerily empty sort of place.

It wasn’t the Detroit I knew from when my mom’s parents lived there (okay, they lived in Dearborn, but it’s not like we didn’t go downtown every so often when we visited them), but I’m guessing it was supposed to be, as at one place, we sat down in the midst of what might have been a food court, only to be joined – and serenaded – by a group of four guys, and a couple of girls, who called themselves the Detroit Kings, complete with shiny steel crowns on their heads. I actually got my phone out to take either pictures or a recording of them, but you stayed my hand, warning me that there might be copyright infringement issues if I did so.

I’d say something along the lines of “and here’s where things got weird,” but I think you can tell from the descriptions thus far that things weren’t exactly what one would call ‘normal,’ even at this point. But as I lowered my arm to comply with your request (despite feeling that it was a rather silly one – after all, they were singing in public; if we didn’t record them, somebody would), I noticed that there was nothing on the camera but the blank wall behind them. Even as I was trying to film them (one way or another), they weren’t there to be filmed. could this have been what you were warning me against?

And I now should probably get back to the girl that was walking around with us, as she sort of added to this strange vibe of the place. Somewhere throughout our meanderings, she hopped up on an empty kiosk, and sat on its counter, allowing me a good look at her. Ordinarily, I would be embarrassed to admit that I don’t remember anything about her face (apart from her short haircut) because I was looking at her chest, but who wouldn’t? First of all, she wasn’t wearing any sort of top. Secondly, she’d clearly gone through a double mastectomy, so there wasn’t much to ogle in that department.

However, and most notably, she bore a deep, diamond-shaped scar from the base of her throat to her sternum. You could practically see inside her, as far back as the spinal column, which had, over time, been covered over with skin throughout however long it had been exposed to the outside. What internal organs she had were not visible, as they were lower than the point of the scar, but it was clear that some of them had been removed, at least partially. It was a fascinating sight, although I suspect she went around shirtless not so much to show it all off as to avoid rubbing the fabric against the scar, and whatever else might be exposed beneath it.

We moved on from listening to the Kings. I can’t recall if we tipped them or not; in real life at the moment, I actually am a little short on cash, so that might have applied here. but we continued further on into ‘Detroit’s’ literal underground economy. At some point either you or this girl mentioned a desire for Chinese food; somehow, I pointed out that you’d be more likely to find Vietnamese or Thai food in the area (I don’t know why, or if that’s even accurate). But eventually, after going down further levels, we came to an atrium with a ceiling that looked to be three stories high, complete with a waterfall.

And playing in the pool at the base of the waterfall with Daniel – or rather, a twelve year old version of him. I guess we all have several doppelgängers in the world, but it looks like we met one of his here. As the scene dissolved, and I began to wake up, we greeted him and exchanged pleasantries with his parents (who looked nothing like us, I should mention).

I don’t know what to make of the area; as I keep saying, it didn’t really look like any place I’ve ever been to, let alone Detroit. For all I know, this might be more the underworld than the underground; not exactly heaven as I might envision it, but certainly not hell, either. Don’t know if you and this girl (whose story I don’t know, but you might at this point) were just showing Daniel and I around, so we’d know what to expect when we got to this place some day. In which case, I guess I owe you some thanks for the tour. I would’ve liked to of been able to stay and talk a bit longer, but I guess we can’t have everything.

Anyway, I’m back to the waking world, and everything that entails. So, if you don’t mind, honey, keep an eye on me for the rest of the day, and wish me luck. I’m gonna need it.