In My Dreams

I wasn’t sure where this was going, then I decided to take it over the top (literally) because why not??!!

Written with my Thursday night writing group with the prompts:  break my heart buttercup, only in my dreams, beware you are bound for heartache, wine keeps blowing the seas, tell me straight, don’t mince your words, not responsible, I’ll shut it down, it takes money, sweet, love doing taxes, a lot to handle

Hank felt he could not be responsible for the dreams he had when he was asleep, but he worried that his new girlfriend might feel differently.  Nearly every morning over muffins and mandarin oranges, Cecily asked him what he had dreamed about.  Hank didn’t want to tell her that the only dream he could remember involved Gin, the receptionist at the law firm, the one who wore the deep magenta lipstick.  In real life his interactions with Gin were appropriately terse and professional, but in his dreams, she would hand him a stack of phone messages written on pink post-it notes, and then she’d utter some silliness like, “Break my heart, Buttercup,” and “Beware, you are bound for heartache.”

Hank and Cecily had only been together six months.  He thought it best to tell her he couldn’t remember any of his dreams.  But Cecily herself often related a surreal saga of childhood memories mixed with popular TV stars and politicians.  She might be in Disneyland, spinning in a teacup with the cast of Friends.  Or Barack Obama might approach her during choir practice and ask her to call her congressional representative to complain about gerrymandering.  “I told Barack,” Cecily declared, “that it takes money to mount a campaign in defense of electoral rights.  He needs to pony up.”

Hank laughed but he was admittedly envious.  His girlfriend was holding leadership summits every night while the mysterious jelly-lipped Gin was scolding him for being so guarded “Don’t mince your words,” she said forcefully.  “Tell it to me straight or I’ll shut it all down.”

Cecily sipped her coffee.  She seldom asked him about his dreams anymore.  Hank was sure she felt sorry for him with his excuses about fleeting unremembered visions.  “What about you, Sweet?” she asked gently.

He cleared his throat.  “I dreamed I was on a beach, probably the north coast, Mendocino maybe.  There were redwoods on the bluff above me.  A wind came up with a soft mist, and I realized it wasn’t water on my arms and face—it was wine!  It was a sweet white wine, blowing over the sea.  I just leaned back, opened my mouth and let it fill me up.”

“Wow,” Cecily whispered.  “Really?”

Hank paused.  Should he tell her he made it all up?  “Yeah, yeah, it was sweet.  Just an image, but it was something.”

“You might meditate on it,” she suggested.  “You might get the dream to expand.”

That night in his dream Gin told him that even though it was a lot to handle, she loved doing taxes.  He told Cecily he remembered nothing.

But Cecily dreamed she was snowshoeing with a family of polar bears in Alaska.  They ran into Nancy Pelosi who promised she would introduce legislation to alleviate climate change and the melting of the polar ice caps.

On Saturday morning Hank woke early, feeling elated because he remembered a fascinating dream to share with Cecily.  “Save it for breakfast, sweetie,” she told him.  “We need to get on the road if we’re going to beat the traffic.”She was right of course.  He’d promised to take her up to the ski slopes.

A hour later, they pulled into an IHOP, both hungry and eager.  They went inside and who did they see huddled in deep conversation at the first booth?  None other than Barack Obama, Nancy Pelosi, and Gin the receptionist from Hank’s office.  They were all dressed for snowy weather, and Gin as usual wore deep magenta lipstick.

“Am I dreaming?” Hank asked Cecily, but she was equally awed.  They watched speechless as the former President and House Speaker stood and readied themselves to slip out the back door, escorted by an entourage of security agents.  Gin started to follow after them, but spotting Hank, she dashed over to whisper, “Please, Mr. Jones, don’t tell anyone you saw me here today. There are many things I must keep secret, for the safety of everyone in the office.”  She touched a finger to her pink lips then swept out the door while he gaped after her.

Cecily looked at him as the server took them to their table.  “You had a dream you were going to tell me about?”

“I don’t remember,” Hank said.  “I honestly don’t remember.”

“I don’t remember mine either,” she admitted.

After breakfast they drove over the summit.  They decided to take a detour into Nevada and there they got married—because real life can be wild and crazy sometimes too.