I had come to a turning point where I found myself with no other options, so I opened the smoked glass front door of the quasi-modernistic pecan colored office building (a warm, wooden structure), and stepped inside. It wasn’t a seedy place, by any means. It was clean and quiet. There could be any assortment of businesses operating from within these walls. I spoke to the receptionist and inquired, in a ’round-a-bout way, how one would arrange a business transaction if one had never done that sort of business before. It was the oldest profession in the world, but it was unfamiliar territory to me.
She made me an appointment. This is a double, she said. A double? It’s just as well. I accepted the appointment. I needed the business, and even though it was new to me, I had no other options, so I was grateful. I wasn’t really in a position to give too much more thought to it, other than it was something that I had to do. Stay the course.
The day arrived. I returned to the building, and the receptionist greeted me with a nod. I was feeling embarrassed, starting to question whether I really should be there. I timidly asked her where I might find Room 3D, and she pointed down the hall, to the right. I walked down the hall, vaguely wondering what circumstances brought these clients to this place. Was this their home? There were many questions, but I didn’t stop to give them much hold. I knocked on the door and went in to meet them. I had assumed they would be men, and they were. But there was also a woman in the room. I was a bit puzzled, but didn’t jump to any conclusions.
The one who opened the door was a black man, relatively young, maybe in his early thirties. He was fit and good-looking. There was a white man, and the woman. I didn’t notice anything remarkable about the white man. I was relieved that they weren’t old, greasy, smelly, skanky and creepy men. They seemed pleasant enough. Even normal. Although, I must say, the thought crossed my mind as to what circumstances cause people like that to make these, uh, arrangements. (It turns out they were going on a trip the next day. Europe, I think. This was just a stop, and they were just here for a while, having some fun. Seems reasonable enough.)
The woman was sitting on a four-wheeler in the living room. It seemed a bit odd for an ATV to be in the living room, but it wasn’t any of my business. It wasn’t dirty, or anything. Maybe that office space was also used as a recreational vehicle showroom or something. Anyway. She was skinny and blonde and sort of reminded me of a rocker chick, like the one on Guitar Hero. She had those low rider distressed blue jeans on. She said something about going to get some stuff to party with, and left the room. So I figured she was going to be back and somehow be involved. I was wondering what on earth I’d gotten myself into, but there I was, and I decided not to get worked up or freaked out, but to just stay calm and not jump to any conclusions.
The black guy was cheerful and gregarious. He was at the moment concerned with his glasses, which he was holding in his hand. Look, he said, they’re broken, and it’s a bummer because they’re really expensive glasses! He was fairly animated about it. I politely took them and inspected them, turning them over in my hands. They were heavy, not a bit flimsy, and did indeed have an expensive feel to them. They were dark stylish metal frames, smooth shiny black with nice boxy lines. Italian, or maybe French. Very nice. The lenses were clear, but the top corner of the right lens was completely crushed. Useless. A real shame. I handed them back to him.
So. Back to business. The reason I was there. I was trying not to sound nervous, but had to ask the question, before any, uh, business commenced. Do you have condoms?
No.
No?
No.
Well, I didn’t have any. It’s not the kind of thing I think about. I’ve not particularly lived a lifestyle that required them. But this was new ground, and one thing I knew (even though I was completely unprepared) was that it was ab.so.lute.ly necessary.
There weren’t any hard feelings and the discussion wasn’t all that awkward. Calm. Businesslike, I suppose. I agreed to run to the drug store and acquire the tools of the trade. Amateur. I sauntered out, and thought to check on my boys, to make sure they were okay. BB was supposed to be watching LB while I was out. I peeked in their room, and there was LB, perched high on top of a cabinet, holding a blue dryer ball in each hand (they are used for fluffing the clothes in the dryer –the boys love to play with them). He had a good hold of them. Very controlled. And he was well balanced and didn’t look to be in any danger of falling. Still. It reminded me of a scene from Kung Fu Panda, in which Panda was perched on the ceiling beams, in perfect control of the situation, munching happily on some treat. I closed the door and hurried down the street, thoughts of guilt and abandonment starting to seep in. I need to hurry up, get this over with, and get back to my kids. I kept going, until I reached the big store on the corner. It had dark glass walls, and lots of twinkling lights lining stairs, doorways, windows, and elevators. Sort of like a dance club, actually. But it was a shopping center. Maybe like something you’d see in Vegas. I’d been there before, in a dream. I remembered the place — when I’d been before, there was a room on the second floor with racks of pajamas, all white, in my size range, and I was quite pleased to have stumbled upon it, given my penchant for pajamas. But there wasn’t any time for browsing. I had a commitment to meet. I rushed in, past the racks of souvenirs and knick knacks that seem to be present in every drug store, scanning the aisles. A sales lady approached and asked if I needed help finding anything, just as I spied the rack I needed. “No, I’m good. Thank you!” I said brightly.
I quickly scanned the selections. There were quite a few choices, but what first caught my eye was a two-pack of clear cylindrical items that were apparently the female version. Interesting. I picked up a package and noticed a bowl filled with single purple packets. I picked one up and looked at the label. Apparently the contents were black. Interesting. They’ll work. I grabbed a handful, made my purchase and headed back.
And finally, finally, I thought to myself, why am I doing this? Why on earth do I think this is my only option? What made me think this was my only option? I don’t need the money. I don’t need this. I don’t need to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t have to do this. I didn’t go back.
We were all walking in a field, me, Gadget, BB and LB. It was late afternoon, not quite dusk. I turned to Gadget and said, “There’s something that I have to tell you,” and proceeded to recount what I’d done.
And then I woke up. And marvelled at the sheer detail of the dream.
In the next installment, I might delve into dream interpretation. Such an abundance of metaphors. So many details. Colors, thoughts, numbers, emotions. I’m a strong believer in the healing power of sleep, and I also believe that sometimes dreams are our brains’ way of working through things that we haven’t processed completely while awake. This one will take some thought.
