In the Murky Green

I had a snake dream again.
Not the serpant creeping between my sheets, wrapping around my ankle and pulling me off the edge dream. 
Not the wide-mouth, fangs in my face dream.
Not the dream where I had to beat it to death with a baseball bat.

This dream was in the water. It might have been a river. I got the feel that it was a river. A pipeline, a metal pipeline ran along the bottom, transporting oil or gas or maybe clean water to the masses. I was down there, looking at it, making sure it was carrying along alright.

Or maybe I wasn't there at all. Nobody seemed to notice me in the murky green. Sunbeams cut through the water, illuminating certain things I think I was meant to see, but not to touch. The ever-present worsh worsh of the rushing water throbbed in my ears.

That man plunged in. I noticed his glow right away. He was there to do a job. He was confident in his movements. He had done this many times before.

I don't think he could see the snakes cozied up against the pipeline. I hollered to him to watch out! But my voice did not come. Because, it was true. I wasn't really there.

The snakes reacted. The big, yellow one, as long as a train and as fat as a tree lunged itself at that man. He was quick. With one hand, he reached out and scooped the head, bigger than a basketball, into his hand and tucked it up under his arm. When the big, red one, just as impressive as the one before, tried to strike, that man got him too.

The thrashing was the scariest part. I woke with the image in my head of the three of them curling around each other, tossing the water about in the midst of a cloud of air bubbles. He tried to call out to me, but his voice never came. Because it was true. I wasn't really there.

Hearts

I can hear the wind outside, kicking up a ruckus and threatening to blow us all away. I'm feeling safe and cozy here in the shed. We're playing cards in a circle on the floor, but, I'm not quite sure of the game. We've got lights, but nobody takes them for granted. We are all very aware  that we could be left in darkness at any moment We use the time we have to memorize faces. I know everyone here, even her. She's up there on the sofa with him. She's curled up facing him, but, to my relief, she's not right up against him. I try not to let that jealous ribbon run through me, but it's so hard when she's sitting there, touching his arm, whispering in his ear, stealing his attention.

But she's not.

She's trying, but it's not working. He's staring straight at me, trying to say something with his sea green eyes. I've seen that look before. He's looking for an escape. Her endless prattling is driving him nuts. He winks, and I roll my eyes, indicating that he's on his own. He'll have to figure out how to get rid of her. I'm having too much fun playing cards with our friends.

Still, when she gets up for a beer, I crawl onto the sofa, curl myself into his lap and rest my head on his shoulder. He wraps a strong arm around me, and a gust of wind finally takes out the lights.

Limbo

You need to stay the hell out of my dreams, you little shit.

You think you're so smooth slippin' in when you think I'm not looking, sliding your arm around my shoulder, and acting all cool, as if you'd been there the whole time.

But it's not cool. I'm pissed off. You can't just disappear completely without even a good-bye, or at least a final, departing nod and wink. You can't waltz out, as if you never knew me, never call, never ask about me, never send me as much as a "hey, sup?" And then mosey around in my dreams all night.

I didn't invite you in there, you asshole. I don't know what you're trying to prove when I catch you beside me, giving me that look, that grin, that sigh. Never fight. Never argue. Never start any wars. What fun is that? If you're going to hang around all night, the least you could do is make it interesting.

I think it would have been better if you'd at least tried to be ugly, tried to be mean, tried to put some closure on it. Instead of letting it linger there on the edge, never pushing it over...

There Won't Be Clean Panties in Hell

We knew we were dead. You and I had been standing in line for a hundred and fifty-seven years at the checkpoint where the dead are admitted to the non-living world .  You busied yourself smoking cigarettes, and I busied myself wondering about the children- yours and mine, both.

Some stowaways from the living world were always trying to sneak in, so everybody had to be looked over and checked off the list before they could enjoy one moment of the afterlife. I complained that it seemed to be taking forever, and somebody up ahead warned me against advertising those types of opinions. If the souls in charge heard me, they'd bump me to the back of the line, and I'd have to take you with me, since you were my "afterlife buddy," whatever that meant.

Once we were approved, we began to understand the differences we were facing. We had our bodies and our personalities, but little else. The living would fade in and out. We might see a glimpse of them at the strangest moments, but for the most part, they remained obscure.

I have an eccentricity about clean underwear. I must have them at all times. Even in the living days, I spent far too much money maintaining a certain level of newness in my panty drawer. The problem with the non-living world is that you have to scavenge for the items you want to hold on to. New panties...not easily found.

You followed me around, teasing me about my craziness, but I located a chest of drawers, and the top drawer was chock full of  pressed, white bikinis. I thought I had hit the motherload, but as I pulled them out, I noticed a stain on each and every pair. I tossed each to the side, and when I reached the bottom of the drawer I turned to you and declared that we must be in Hell.

"We're not in Hell," you insisted, your Green Eyes twinkling. "Not if we're together."

My heart started beating in my chest, and I had to look away from you to hide my face and the realization that nobody had ever said anything so sweet to me until just that moment. I collected myself and thanked God that he had stuck me with you for the duration of Eternity, but even in Eternity, I couldn't openly commit to an attachment to you.

"Well then... I must be in Hell," I told you matter-of-factly, pointing to myself. For a half a second, I wanted to retract those words, but you being you, they slid right off. No worries.

"You're so full of shit," you told me as you spun me into your arms. "You know you're loving this."

Fate

We'd been told to pair off by drawing names from a jar. Half of us wrote our names on a slip pf paper and the other half were supposed to blindly reach into the mouth and call out what it said there. This was the way it had been played before, and there had never been any deviation from the method. Rules were rules.

You demanded to go first, insisting that you would be my partner. I smiled coyly and wished you luck, never thinking you'd get me. The odds were definitely against you. I was holding for out for Old Green Eyes, anyway.

But you always get your way, even in my dreams.

One by one, you rejected each person you drew.

"Not Nessa," you stated before tossing  each name to the side. "Not Nessa. Not Nessa."

Finally, you grinned when you found the one you'd been looking for. "Nessa!" you shouted triumphantly. You waved it in the air as you came to my side. "I told you I'd get you," you whispered into my ear and planted and kiss on my cheek. "It's fate."

Heavy

I guess something had happened between us, something had bonded us together. We were spending all our time doing the mundane things with each other, driving through traffic, grocery shopping, eating, reading-- your general passing of life, and dragging the kids along, which somehow made it seem like we were all united as a family.

You, me, and all the kids.

But not really all the kids. Just your kids and my kids crossing over and matching and switching ages. My two boys who have the same names as your two boys were my boys, but they were the same age as your boys, and they were your boys in the dream, not mine. And then my other two were babies again, instead of being grown kiddos like they really are. And for some reason, that made more sense than what goes on in our real lives, because I always feel like I'm just starting out, and I haven't had enough experience to know anything about parenting.

But, then again, do any of us have any experience parenting before we become parents? Of course not.

We're all just kind of "winging it."

So there we were, in the grocery store, moving down the aisle of the store together with the kids in tow. You were holding my hand, and I kept looking down at our joined hands in bewilderment.

Those other girls were flirting with you, the way they always do, and you were dismissing them, the way you always do. You're too cool, or too busy, or too bored for the flirts.

But they're so assertive, and I'm rolling my eyes, because I know these girls are knocking on a firmly bolted door. You smiled at me and whispered, "I'm going to tell them."

And I said, "Tell them what?"

You turned with your hands held up to get their attention and announced to the entire store that we had gotten married.

*@#$%$#$&*^#!!!

I didn't remember getting married, so I tried to deny these horrendous allegations. You looked into my eyes with your bewitching eyes and smiled that mesmerizing little smile, insisting that we were indeed wedded.

The ring on my finger was your proof, and suddenly, I couldn't even lift my hand from the massive weight of a wedding ring on the left finger, right where it really shouldn't have been.

When the hell did that happen? Who put that thing there, and why did I agree to it?

Assuming that I did, that is.

Even in my waking state, even in the clear light of day, I say you must have tricked me into it somehow...

Generally, I don't threaten small children.

I was standing innocently in the grocery store line (some obscure store I've never been to before, that's the way it is in dreams) awaiting my turn to checkout when it happened-- the creeping hand around the curve of my ass.

Whoever it was had a nice touch, but I wasn't cozy with the situation. This was hardly the time or the place for anyone to be making such movements across my personal space.

Imagine my surprise when I looked down and realized a small child had decided to grab a lovin' handful of my hiney! How...how...how forward!

I leaned down and whispered into the little guy's ear, "Just what do you think you're doin'?"

He beamed up at me with all the innocence of Satan's first born and explained, "I'm just trying to not be old."

(To be honest, I don't know what the hell he meant by that. These dreams rarely come with director's commentary.)

I quickly responded with a slight hiss in my voice,"Well, you are doing a good job, kiddo, because if you don't take your hand off my ass, you will meet an early death."
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