Sweet Dreams

“I had the most wonderful dream,” says my husband as we snuggle in bed. “It was my perfect fantasy. I was on this beautiful deserted beach...”

Now, you all know how my mind works, so you might assume this is leading to some sort of seduction. You can just get over it because that’s not how my husband’s mind works, although like you, I had a brief minute of hope.

“…and the sand was just covered with the most amazing shells and fossils. I couldn’t decide which to pick up first!”

“Was anyone there with you?” I query.

“I never saw anyone, but I believe there were other people somewhere. It was one of those post apocalyptic dreams I think”

Now my only experience with post apocalyptic dreams is listening to Dylan’s Talking World War III Blues, so I’m not identifying with this at all. My dreams are always crowded with people and very busy, sort of like my life. He continues telling me about how incredible these shells and fossils are as my mind wonders to my last dream.

I was at an outdoor party at night and a man came up behind me and put his hand on my hair, presumptively. I did not turn to look at him because I knew he was a stranger, but at the same time he represented all men who have tried to bend me to their will, my father, my first husband, etcetera. The party is lively and no one pays attention to this man’s actions except my husband, who is standing across the way, looking at me casually. The man is suddenly sitting behind me in a chair. I am still facing away from him, but he pulls me to my knees and wraps his legs around me, vice like. I can feel his breath right beside my ear and while I can’t remember what he said, I know this man feels he owns me. Unless I am willing to make a scene in front of all these people, I am trapped. I cast frantic pleading looks to my husband less than 20 feet away, but he only continues to stand there keeping me in his line of sight..

“I think there was a whole dinosaur on the beach,” he continues shaking my brain back to full wakefulness.

“So, where was I while you were all alone on this beach?” I guess I am still thinking to turn this around.

“Oh, you were there somewhere, I just couldn’t see you.”

“No bikini clad women, no naked island girls?”

“No, not a sole in sight, but the fossils were just remarkable.”

I am beginning to drift off to dreamland about this time myself. “I found out something about you,” he said, not taking the bait, but realizing my interest in fossils was not intense enough for this conversation to move along further. “Right before you go to sleep your whole body does a sort of jump, a quick shutter.” His recounting sounds familiar to me because I have often been awakened as I am drifting off by a brief startling feeling of falling. My fight to stay conscious is only a token one, but as I prepare to take that jump I am analyzing, thinking of how different men and women really are, or at least how different this man is from me. The pictures he remembers from his sleep are sometimes erotic, but generally they are happy scenes of tigers, dinosaurs, and places to explore. My dreams are filled with intrigue, hidden meanings, twisted plots, sexual symbolism and my darkest fantasy. When everyone else is “knitting up the raveled sleeve of care”, I seem to be exhausting myself with secrets and schemes even I don’t understand.

He has told me he sometimes dreams of me in carnal ways, but in all my dreams of him over the years he has most always been the silent watcher, waiting patiently but doing nothing. Of all the people who have ever been in my life he is the one who knows me best, knows how I fight the confinement of my job and societal conventions. Perhaps that is why I am expecting him to read my mind, not only in dreams but also in real life. In the partnership we have I am not the damsel in distress. My fearlessness and impulsiveness have not tempered much over the years, but he has learned not to hold me too tightly. In my dream I could have escaped by myself if I had wanted. In real life I could also quit my job, pack my bags, and go join a commune or the Peace Corps like I wanted to in my youth. The reason this union works is that he would let me do it, and most likely follow me to make sure I was safe. I have come to another one of those places in our relationship that he already knew and I only just assimilated. He holds me and I sleep, taking him with me to stand watch.

...I am on a road that winds through a wood. The branches of the trees form a canopy over the dirt path, making the day seem dusky and dark. There is a faint smell of death on the breeze, stronger than the normal smell of decaying leaves and damp soil. I am walking with no destination in mind but safety and that seems too far away to find before nightfall. My pace is brisk and confident and I do not slow or react when I hear the rustling in the underbrush. My hands are empty of weapons, but the thing I face will be fought with words alone. As it steps out of the shadows of the path in front of me and speaks it’s challenge, I notice my man standing at the edge of the tree line, watching silently. I smile, but only with my eyes.