Dream from December 29, 2013
On a warm night in September my dreams take me just outside the decrepit party store in the rundown trailer park of Arbor Village. There is a big rig parked outside it. I believe this place is closed down now. My mind is recalling a memory from long ago.
The sequence cuts to a classic tube TV sitting in a tiny compartment between the cab and the trailer hitch; there is an orange metal bench built into the wall. The television is brown and rectangular with old fashioned channel dials. A heavy set man is sitting on the edge of the bench to my right, crowding me to the outside. I hesitated and then eventually got into the compartment with him, feeling rather uncomfortable. We are waiting for another person to join us…but they never come. There are stereo headphones hooked into the TV that me and the big guy somehow wear at the same time even though the band obviously wouldn’t fit around both of our heads – or maybe they were the earbud kind. I am concerned that the bulky TV will be a problem as the truck is moving and will suck a lot of energy from the battery. The TV moves around freely in its shelf space as it isn’t tied or bolted down. The guy fiddles with the dials on the tube but it is never turned on. I’m not even sure it was plugged in.
The dream leaves the compartment briefly to appear inside a convenience store with a lady behind the counter. She looks like the Venezuelan gourmet chef Lorena Garcia from the Taco Bell commercial for their Cantina Bell menu.
Now cutting back to the truck, it is stopped on the southbound side of a highway. I and some other people I cannot identify since they are blurry are standing about on the road, walking around nonchalantly with no cars or trucks zooming by at all. I take a look at the grassy center divider on the right and walk into it. Seconds later, though, I am waiting to cross back over the road I came from after some cars and a line of people have gone by which includes a short, stout chick from Plasma who always wears a black t-shirt with some rock band logo on it, and my funny, dependable, and sometimes kooky uncle Jack, who is wearing his usual plain dark blue shirt. I eventually cross and hop back in the truck, this time in the passenger side of the cab. I do not know if the fat man is still with me at this point of the dream.
Now it is my mom, dad, and I sitting on the porch of a house somewhere in the rundown slum neighborhood of Jackson. There is a close-up of a dish in my hands called “Internet” (as my inner mind puts it) that I created with ma and pa – why it is called that I do not have the slightest idea (maybe it has to do with the Internet being out at my house for about a week and the frustrating, impatient longing for it to work again). The dish is a sort of taco or nacho supreme bowl with veggies and meat piled together. There is a tetherball swinging from the porch ceiling . I eat most of the “Internet” meal, leaving a small portion for sister Emily. I hear myself say “It’s great to live the life” and then think but it won’t last forever. Dad gives me a concerned look as I wolf down the cheesy dish. The porch is very similar to the one belonging to the house on Baker Street in Spring Arbor, where I used to live.