I Hate This Dream

 

It is a very old city, although new to me.  So easy to get turned around, lost.  Cobblestone streets, narrow – uneven.  The feel is cold and impersonal.  My outlook for today is nothing.  I have no expectations, only hunger.  I’d like to come across a café and get a hot coffee – maybe a pastry but I doubt I even know what the currency is.  The language couldn’t be more foreign, the signs – forget about it.   I am fully aware this is a dream and yet I find myself here every night.  What does it mean?  Where am I and why am I here?

How is it I am now smelling coffee?  Is it just up ahead?  Maybe around this next bend?  Without even thinking about it my hands dig into my pockets for change.  There is nothing, no car keys, no papers.  What’s the matter with me?  How did I get here?

From behind me I hear footsteps.  This seems unfamiliar.  I don’t remember anyone else in this dream.  It has always been just me.  Should I stop – turn around and look?  Why is it suddenly different?  They are not high heels.  They sound more serious, if shoes can sound serious.  They are deliberate and getting closer.  Shoes can be deliberate.  I’m thinking nonsense.  My thoughts have gone off the rails.  Is this it for me?

Around the corner there is a café.  I know this place and instantly I can feel there are coins in my pants pocket.  I take a seat at the counter.  A middle-aged lady with too much makeup, wearing an apron asked what I would like.

I dig the coins out of my pocket and place them on the counter.  Is this enough for coffee and one of those pastries?  She nods.  Her cigarette bounces as her head moves.

“What about those?” she asks.

I turn and look behind me.  There, on the floor, are a pair of deliberate shoes.