Dream 1

A short telling of a dream I had turned into a form of fiction.

The storm raged on while she slept. The name of a woman rushing through her head. In the dream she walked into a school, a school that felt familiar and foreign. Was this Riverview high? Her mother attended this school. She kept on walking. No-one questioned her, she looked just like a student. She wandered the halls�"what was she looking for? Something. She passed the girls bathroom-she knew it could be a risk to walk inside there wearing this suit. She kept walking. There was the boys bathroom, not interested in that either. She kept walking, the halls were becoming empty with the start of classes. Older adults would wonder what she was doing outside of class, but she had freedom they didn’t realize she possessed. All these students did: being psychologically manipulated into thinking these older people and institutions had some kind of power over them. BULLSHIT. Why are some older people so threatened by younger people? She never wanted to be like that. She refused it.

As she rounded a corner she realized she was looking for the gymnasium. She wanted to run, or climb, or swim, or play basketball. She found it. It was a YMCA membership only gym�"inside a school? Whatever, that’s dreams for you. She had a feeling she may be able to maneuver her way inside; she was smart and goddamn observational. She always had been, since she was a young girl. Getting into places where she wasn’t “supposed” to be. What does that even mean? How can one person not be allowed somewhere and another person is? The facade, she had been aware of it since the beginning. Why? Who knows, maybe it was her ancestors’ traits or maybe something new.

Regardless, she walked into the gym. She swore she had seen a sign about a promo for signing up. Maybe she could pay a cheap 5 quid to get a pass for the day. While she looked for the computer to sign up the room about her changed. It was an indoor soccer hall. Students began to arrive for classes, for training. She felt a sense of intimidation but also an awareness they could feel intimidated by her. Or ready to pounce. People go all sorts of ways. She ignored that and focused on her goal: could this be a space she could use?

Just then a boy appeared from her past. A boy who all the girls said had committed a sexual assault. A boy she was close friends with, who she always felt a little uncomfortable around but could never tell why. They had gone to Junior Prom together. He had given her a corsage. His mother had made her flan for her birthday. But her friends told her he fingered a girl while she was asleep at a party. She was so young back then, she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to have that conversation or support the girl who experienced the assault.

10 years later, in dream form, she was confronted with him. He said her name, “Hey”. She said hello and continued to pass. He had a friend with him. The friend made a sly comment about her looks, her body. She insulted him back, said “I won’t be treated that way”. He was surprised, she began to walk to the door, the walk to the door had appeared to become longer. He made another comment, this was more repulsive. Something about her and porn. She turned around again. Faced him again, struck him down, made him feel low as he had tried to do to her. She started to walk away again, faster this time as she could feel the anger she had stirred up in him. She was nearly to the exit, but he was right behind her. He was huge, he towered over him. He could hurt her, he could rape her, the exit was right the door but the door was hard to budge. Was this the consequence of standing up to abuse? She wasn’t sure, as she awoke just then.