I just had the weirdest ass dream in a very long time. Please forgive the stream-of-consciousness style of writing; it’s the best way for me to recall certain details.
It starts out with me, my brother (it could’ve been my older because I was certain it wasn’t my younger, although I really couldn’t see the face) and my sister (whose face I really couldn’t see either but I knew it was her) walking along the sidewalk of a busy street (which looked like Hawthorne Boulevard) and we were approaching a corner (which looked like SE 39th to me, because of the familiar-looking Arista building that houses the Hawthorne Theatre and India Oven). I don’t know who started singing it (might have been me) but all of a sudden we were belting out Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. We weren’t singing too long and suddenly my brother and sister rounded the corner. I couldn’t see but it sounded as if they ran up a flight of stairs, still singing, and I heard them above me, presumably the second floor of the Arista building. There they were joined by other people singing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and there was suddenly a piano accompaniment to it. This whole thing had happened while I was downstairs on the sidewalk. I was bemused and suddenly jealous of them so I rounded the corner and saw the staircase my siblings had traversed earlier.
As I was heading up, following the music, I saw a plaque on the wall bearing the name of the restaurant– the one that I assumed was on the second floor where an impromptu choir of singers had suddenly joined in on an extended version of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. About halfway up the flight of stairs, I became strongly curious about the plaque on the wall and saw that it stated “Jam on Hawthorne,” which is a restaurant along the boulevard. I was suddenly obsessed about this revelation because (a) I finally got confirmation that it was indeed Hawthorne (although that fact was not all too important, really) and (b) “Jam” is not supposed to be on this corner of Hawthorne. So, I descended the stairs, no longer caring about the sing-along on the second floor, and stood at the street corner. I looked to my left and the familiar environs took shape: the Fred Meyer across the street; the Starbucks on 37th; and the general topography of an oft-visited area that I could describe with my eyes closed. When I looked to my right, however, it was certainly foreign. The street ended in a “T” and a picturesque mountain range jutted up from there. For those of you wondering (and certainly if you’re familiar with Portland), this is obviously not what one should expect to see from that vantage point. Having had no other compulsion, I walked toward the mountain range.
Cut to the mountain range. I realized very soon that it wasn’t the Alps or any place in Switzerland– although that’s what they appeared to be at first glance– but I was actually in an elevated part of some Latin-American country, which I thought was the Dominican Republic (to which I’ve been before), although I couldn’t be too sure, but I was convinced it was Ecuador (a place I’d never before been to). I came upon the oceanside and, from the steel banister, I spied the beach below. The sun was shining gloriously (it looked to be late afternoon). The beach was littered with people and umbrellas and towels and lounge chairs. To the right was a natural lagoon that lead to the ocean. A swimming pool was built along the ridges of the lagoon so that it was nearly seamless where the freshwater of the pool ends and the saltwater of the lagoon begins. I saw one or two swimmers making their way to the ocean from the swimming pool. Along the surf, I was surprised to see mini geysers jetting out from the shallow water, where the depth might’ve been about two or three feet at most. There were at least fifty geysers or so, and the people playing in the water did not seem to be frightened of them even though the geysers spewed steaming water in a violent manner. This all seemed natural to the beach-goers, who were mostly Caucasian. (Don’t ask me why that detail was important but I just happened to notice it because I was certain I was in a Latin-American location.)
I continued walking and found myself in a little indoor mall of small stores hawking artisan items. I passed by a couple of food stalls, but wasn’t particularly hungry. I kept walking and was suddenly aware that I was carrying a hefty backpack and I was wearing a pair of cargo shorts. At one point, it looked like the all the shopkeepers were leaving to go to lunch– all at the same time– and one of them approached me asking if I was going to buy something before they left. I told her ‘no’ but that I’ll come back later. I was standing in the hallway for a while before a man wearing a safari jacket (you know, the type that has multiple pockets along the front) tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I needed a massage. I told him ‘no’ but he invited me to his store anyway. Before I even stepped foot in the store, it looked very familiar to me, seeming to believe that the Ritz-Carlton bought some island jewelry in bulk from them before. I also seem to remember coming to the store at a previous time and perusing the merchandise, although I couldn’t remember when. “I’ve been here before,” I told the owner. “You do a lot of business with the Ritz-Carlton, don’t you?” I don’t recall if he nodded. I told him I’ll be back, but I knew it was a lie.
Then, I’m in a room with two ladies and a professor-looking guy, who was telling the ladies about how he would travel to all kinds of places but always to the shores of that place so that he could look at the sea. In this way, he explained, he would have many vantage points of the sea stored in his memory. I butted in, and started to tell the ladies that I, too, do the same thing, describing to them a recent time when I was at the Dominican Republic (or Ecuador, I’m still not sure) when I walked to every shore line of the island in order to view the sea. Oddly, I was speaking with a heavy New York accent or it could’ve been Bostonian. I just know that it sounded natural. One of the ladies had giggled. I don’t know when the professor disappeared but I was suddenly nauseous and (sorry about this) started throwing up green cylindrical chunks. I pointed to the aftermath and told the ladies that I didn’t remember eating anything that resembled that, and started snickering.
One of the ladies, whom I intrinsically knew to be my wife (I’m not married) smiled, shook her head, and said, “Charlie Charlie Charlie…” in a scolding manner. The other lady, rolled her eyes, smiled, and exited the room. I looked at my wife again and she had a taunting look to her. She shook her head again, and said, “Charlie Charlie Charlie…” I was confused because my name wasn’t Charlie. In a frightening instant, she bared her shark-like teeth and lunged at me…
It was then that I woke up.
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