In My Wildest Dreams

Definitely a stock image of a Black woman sleeping because pics of me sleeping are downright scary!

I have the wildest dreams. I always have. My friends and I think it’s the reason I write fiction so well—because my imagination goes completely left all on its own without prompting. Sometimes I dream that I’m back in high school and it’s hilarious. I’ll be walking around (Harry S. Truman of The Bronx) frustrated because I don’t remember what classes I have. I try to ease into a class, into the back and go unnoticed. The premise is usually that I took some kind of hiatus. I don’t know why. It’s not like I dropped out of school. I graduated on time and everything.
 
I also dream about my childhood home a lot. I once read that dreaming about places in your past has to do with some part of you that hasn’t grown up. I just turned 42, I’m in my Jackie Robinson year, what part of me hasn’t grown? Anyway, last night I dreamt my family was packing up to move out of my childhood home. We were spending a lot of time in the basement, making sure it was up to par for its new inhabitants. I was also hella-worried about getting married, because apparently I needed to sign my marriage license.
 
Yeah, let’s back up a little…

An Easter Sunday in the early 90s with my mother and brothers, in front of my childhood home.

A random Sunday when I dressed my sister like me for church in the late 90s, in front of my childhood home.

First of all, I moved out of my childhood home when I was twenty years old. It would take another three years for my grandmother to sell the place. Now maybe the fact that I was slowly eased out that makes it seem like my subconscious is holding onto something. I had my daughter at nineteen, and by the time she was a year old I was spending most of my time at her father’s house. Whenever I would come home, more and more of my little sister’s belongings would be in my room. Finally one day I came to find my stuff packed in a few boxes and my mother told me I was welcome to come back and get my dresser. So I called my uncle (Rastafarian with a van, because they all have a van) to come pick up the dresser for me and take it to my daughter’s father’s house where I resided for the next four years. On the way, my uncle told me he was disappointed that I had a child so young and that I was going to live with my daughter’s father permanently, but he was at least glad that I had a high school diploma and was in college. I was kind of a jewel to my uncle, so to hear that I did something that disappointed him stuck with me.
 
Fast forward though…

A weekend at my childhood home with my daughter, summer 2003.

​Last night’s dream was not only bugged out, but it seemed to drag on longer than a normal dream. We kept making trips between my old basement and the neighbor’s basement. My siblings and I grew up close to our neighbors and homes were almost identical except for a few minor details. In the dream I kept comparing the basements and at some point I realized my neighbors had passed away some time ago, and I wondered why it was my family’s responsibility to do whatever it was we were doing in their basement, when they had mad kids. Dreams are something else, aren’t they?
 
On to this marriage license…

​A few things—if you know me personally, you know I am skeptical about marriage. I’m a Gemini, have to be able to make decisions for myself regardless of what the next person says or thinks. I’ve been in a relationship for three years now, and while it might look like we just be vibing on the outside, I’ve probably made a conscious decision that morning to listen, put myself in his shoes, and compromise. On top of being an Gemini, I’ve been single and independent since I left my daughter’s father in 2007. You do the math, and if you know me personally, you’re welcome to subtract the fuck-boys along the way. None of them added value to my life or were about me the way this man is now. (I’m the writer, this my story.) I said all that to say, listening, making an effort to comprehend other viewpoints, and compromising don’t come easy to me. Being single and a mother (not a single mother, co-parent was/is hella-active) just makes you in charge of everything, and I did that for thirteen years. While I love my man down, signing a marriage license is terrifying, because what? He gets to be in charge too? What was even crazier in the dream was that I couldn’t remember my man’s name. It was absolutely insane. I kept saying, “Wait, who am I marrying?” And my family kept getting mad like, “Bitch, your fiancée! Sign the got damn paper so we can move on.” At one point I went down a list of male names in my head, and when I finally remember my man’s name, I was overwhelmed with this deep feeling of love I have for him, that if I were awake, probably would’ve caused me to cry uncontrollably. In the dream though I said, “Oh yes! That’s him! Oh my God, I love him so much! He’s like my best friend, he’s one of my favorite people, like in the top two! I would love to marry him, but do I have to sign the paper?”
 
Crazy.

Eventually we left my childhood home, and I was suddenly here at my current apartment. A bunch of high school friends were down at my building’s pool, and I headed down to join them. I changed into a swimsuit, snapped my clip-on shades to my prescription glasses, grabbed a pool towel and wandered around the pool looking for my old classmates. It was crowded. Finally I found them at the 5 feet end, where I usually don’t venture because I’m only 5’2, but I figured I could brave it for a little while. There was a white lesbian couple right next to my group and instead of me saying “excuse me,” to get by them, I latched on to the bigger one’s neck saying “You won’t mind if I use you to get over here,” and swung myself towards my friends. Why is that an important detail? Because I would nevaaaa! I think the lady in my dream was my neighbor. The fact that it’s unclear to me makes her a stranger and I do not touch strangers! So finally, I’m sitting with my friends, fighting for my life to keep my head above water and I realize the clip on is making everything too damned dark. I take it off and for what? Because it’s still just as dark. It’s then that I realize I attached the clip on the a pair of cat-eye sunglasses. Weird af.
 
I think I woke up after that.

People are often amazed by the amount of details I remember in my dreams. I don’t know why my dreams are so detailed and why the details can stay with me throughout the day, but I’m going to start really putting all these things to use. This is supposed to be a summer of writing. Writing is good when readers can relate on the deepest levels. Details of my dreams are coming from the crevices of my imagination. Incorporating them into stories could do a lot. I used to write all my dreams down. I’m going to start doing that again, as well as reading some of the old ones. Hopefully, I remember at the end of the summer to circle back around to this post, and see what good dreaming has done for my writing.