Still walking...

The dream began in a large barren dirt field, somewhat resembling a run-down town square. A road lead along one edge of the field; the adjacent edge was empty, and two imposing buildings formed an L enclosing the remaining sides. A group of about 15 twenty-somethings were playing a game that was like Red Rover. We ran at one another, trying to keep something that looked like a CVS savings card away from the other team. I had just made my run at the other line, and ended up grappling with a boy. We had made a habit of that when either of us ran (I knew this intuitively, though I didn’t see it in the dream), and this development was fairly recent. A voice called out to tease me about so easily switching to this new boy from the old – apparently, I had been doing the same thing with someone else, and had suddenly lost interest in favour of a new challenge. At that point, there was a swarm of people from the other team, and I lost the card to another girl in the pile of writhing bodies.

...I was walking down the granite steps of the building across from the road. It felt like I was leaving the Library of Congress, a fancy restaurant done up in mahogany, or some other such place where people are quiet and behave respectably. I was naked from the waist up and my jeans were unbuttoned, though I didn’t think that anything indiscreet or unusual had happened. The game was still being played in the square. My parents quickly drove up the road in an old, broken van and stopped across from the building. Mommy was clearly upset, and she was helping Dad out of the car. Naturally, I bounded down the steps to see what was going on.

Dad looked unwell. He was pale, with a yellow undertone to his skin. He was covered in sweat, but felt clammy. He was unbelievably thin, with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. He didn’t really know what was happening. He had a vacant stare, and the sharp blue of his irises had turned dull. We looked at him lying in the dirt with his head on a fluffy white pillow. Mommy said he was dying.

...The dream becomes kind of fuzzy from this point forward; I don’t remember very much. The scene shifted completely to a bustling little town fair like Steppin’ Out in Blacksburg. The field, Mommy, the buildings, and the Red Rover game all disappeared. It was my responsibility to take care of Dad. He was still just as ill, but he was somehow walking around and talking to people. I kept losing him. Finally, I was able to catch up with him as he was leaving the fair. We walked together through some wrought-iron posts along the sidewalk and continued on through a break in the trees. I think we made small talk about how pleasant the day was. He didn’t notice how flustered I was.

...The scene changed again, this time to a passenger train like in Murder on the Orient Express. The hallways were dark and narrow, and people kept getting between me and Dad. I tried to weave around them as best I could, but it was wasn’t enough. I was held back by the crowd, while Dad continued down the train. When I caught him, I asked how he was feeling. He spoke with me for a bit, and then we became separated again. This happened in almost every car. At times he would treat me like a stranger, while at other times he would be warm and confiding like a father. After one particularly meaningful conversation (I don’t recall what it was about), I couldn’t find Dad. Worried, I started opening doors to private rooms, pushing people out of my way, etc. Just when I about to panic, I found Dad resting in a room with several other people. They were sprawled everywhere, and I had to climb over them to get near him. There was no real room to stand, so I layed down on the twin bed with him. I wiped the sweat off his face, and repositioned the white sheet to better cover his bare legs. When I had made sure that he was okay, I tried to reopen our earlier conversation. He didn’t remember it. I’m not sure if he even remembered who I was. He was using all the energy he had to stay awake and be polite.

...A young man was driving us through a semi-rural area. I was in the passenger seat and Dad was slouched in the backseat. He looked the same as before, but now his behaviour matched how sick he was. Knowing that Dad had wanted to take a trip to the mountains (we had done that together when I was younger), I suggested that we drive up to Mt. Hood. The driver, who seemed familiar, glanced into the backseat. He looked back at me and said, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I don’t think he’ll make it.” Then I woke up.