Re-Living in Dreamtime

Dream into Motion

Years later, I dream of her.

The dream is surreal, disconnected.

We start in a diner, taking cell phone pictures of a man in an ape suit. We ask him for his autograph, but he has no opposable thumbs, so he can't sign. But when I look away, he steals the croutons from my salad.

I walk through the dream, like walking through a museum of my past. Much of it is frightening and little makes sense. But from time to time, everything clicks into place and there's harmony.

At least until I catch her staring wistfully at the ape.


But when I ask her about it and try to figure out why everything feels so surreal, she just smiles. "Everything is just the way it's supposed to be," she tells me. "Maybe you just need to find another way to look at it."

And I look up and she's gone.

And I wake up, and she's been gone for years.

And that feeling, that believe that everything's the way it's supposed to be, fades into the back of my mind, left behind like the dream. Leaving me wondering if I want it to come around again.