Yellow dreams

One of his school classmates knew him - chum would be too strong a characterization of their relationship. This boy was not one to have friends.

The favorable acquaintance led me to him.

"you don't know my name, it's - the soccer boy who ..." he ran off, thoroughly abashed. He didn't say a name; he started a self-description.

His peer said, "aww, don't think less bout him. he is shy, but he really is a fine swimmer."

Monday morning, April 18th
Gardiner, Montana


Prelude

Had a rough night sleeping Saturday night in the town of West Yellowstone. Except for a gas station, and a few pubs the town was closed after 9 pm when I returned from the park.

Difficult to park somewhere and blend in. Harder still to get food, use the bathroom, and hook up to WiFi. I alternated between the Visitor Information parking lot and the McDonald's through the night. Sleeping three hour snatches here and there.

Nobody came to bother me, but I didn't want to give anyone reason to. I didn't pull into the McDonald's as the employees were driving home. And I didn't stick around in the morning when they arrived.

It was cold that night. 27 F. The hotels are all $100 a piece. I might've tried sitting in their lobby for a while, but... who walks into a hotel near Yellowstone at 2 am to work on their laptop?

Preparation

The next night, I resolved to use the bathrooms early and do nothing but sleep once I got into town. Sunday night, April 17th, north of the park in the town of Gardner. Found an inconspicuous spot on the street behind a line of parked cars.

I took Ulix down from his rear window perch to sleep on my armpit, but the street lamp glared at my face, so I put him back to block the light. Seems he was being useful up there after all. I was vigilant of every headlight that passed, but Ulix told me he'd keep lookout and not to worry, have a good rest. I listened to his advice and sure enough, the world outside passed the night by uneventfully. Slept 9 pm to 11 am.

Dreams

It was strange. I was tired but I didn't drowse. My body was heavy, but I didn't feel beat. Each moment of sleep passed by with neither gratification or discomfort. I felt detached from my condition, but not in an enlightened Daoist way.

It was just disinterest. Wanting the whole experience to pass. I think it was an overload of sensation and emotion over the past two days that hadn't been properly slept on, and it was too much unsorted data to feel one way or another about.

I did have several interesting and novel dreams over my 14 hour snooze. Here are the notes I remembered when I woke up.


Dreams

~~~
The African American girl
 

she was a police officer, she said. her black ankle boots angled against the concrete stair as she paused mid-step. 

"unless you want to see me again."

She somehow was an artist and a student, then she told me was also a police woman.  

"I would. Can I have your number?"

She turned fully to me, surprised. "Really?"

She handed me her plastic bag from Barnes and Noble. "Two seasons of Happy Feet." [Apparently, it's a TV show in the dream]. She handed me the receipt. Some way it had her phone number on there.

(In real life, it's the store's phone number... but either I fumbling in the dream, or I fumbled up the logic for the dream. Anyhow, I took the receipt a little uncertain, but not having the awareness of asking... assured blunderingly that I had her contact somehow because she gave me a receipt.)

I said, "I promise to return them when I finish watching." After I walked away, I felt stupid. I wanted to have some reason to visit her... but I should have invited her to watch them with me. She was creating an opportunity for me and I felt like I botched that one up.

She replied, "No, you don't need to. We professional artists make good money." I dunno if she was making fun of me. Or proudly refusing return of a gift. 

"You always talk about being sophisticated. [I hadn't mentioned it once in our conversation. It's like she saw through my words.] But you said 'some silly word with an extra syllable' instead of 'some art deco term'." [Like, 'nukular' instead of 'nuclear']

I laughed, embarrassed, but delighted at being thoroughly roasted. I now remembered making that blunder! I didn't even know what the art term she used meant, but I had heard it in passing years ago.

~~~

The swimmer Lust

there was a person swimming at the bottom of the clear lake, lifting a wooden stick up toward me. He was sending my cell phone up, but I couldn't reach him without entering the water. Who this strange man was, I didn't attempt to find out. But the water might be lethal to me, so I needed the help of a capable swimmer.

I walked back to the village, where I saw a marvelous young boy taking to the lake water. He was unaffected by the chemicals or the temperature of the water. This boy, I was half-certain could brave the depths to reach my phone. He swam off before I could approach. I inquired in the village about this boy.

One of his school classmates knew him - chum would be too strong a characterization of their relationship. This boy was not one to have friends. The favorable acquaintance led me to find him.

"you don't know my name, it's - the soccer boy who ..." he ran off, thoroughly abashed. He didn't say a name; he started a self-description.

His peer said, "aww, don't think less bout him. he is shy, but he really is a fine swimmer."

later, passing in the hallway... "you don't even know my name, i'm the swimmer Lust..." he continued to run off.

his peer went after him, trailing an affirmation, "he really is, you know."

this was the boy I needed for retrieving my cell phone dropped in the hot springs lake.

~~~

The class pet

I walked into one of the high school classrooms. The door was so tight I could barely squeeze in sideways. I felt my belly bulge to either side as my midsection squeezed against the door frame. What class is this? I asked the three students seated, talking to each other. History, my favorite. It was so boring, sometimes, yes. But in retrospect it was the only time in my life I'd received instruction in the subject, and it was probably the highest quality of education compared to other subjects studied during that time.

Mary Nelson came in and sat amidst a now crowded classroom. I called her name. What was she doing here? She pretended not to notice. Perhaps the rummaging of backpacks before the class started and the subsequent decree for silence by the teacher would save her to avoid my awkward confrontation. I persisted. 'Mary, we were in the same class together. Remember?' I said, stupidly. But she consented, yes we were, not offering to tell more. 'What are you doing here?' I put it bluntly. Could it be possible she never finished her high school diploma? Was she here to make up for history credits? The darling of the class, the teacher's pet, the well-mannered and well-liked cherub of her classmates and her instructors?

She was probably a teacher now, I reasoned. She must be sitting in on a class as training for her own teaching position. An amusing thought came to me. She could say, yes she had to do the homework and all the assignments like the rest of the class, and pass it off as being a teacher in training! Perhaps she caught onto this idea; maybe I wondered it aloud. She seemed to go along with the story. But I never found out for certain what she was doing there.

Perhaps her career in hotel service didn't require a high school diploma. Maybe despite her social success, she struggled with academic progress. But this would be too indulgent a fantasy to believe! But why would she be so reserved to say she was a teacher, and duck her head pretending she was one of the students? I think it has more to do with me needing to believe that despite her shining outward presence, she has something she is not comfortable with to hide.

~~~
The Gift

'pick something out, son'

'naw, dad. You don't need to spend money on any of this. I don't need it and it's too much money.'

'pick something out' he insisted. 'something you like.'

'i'm happy with what I got already, pop. you don't need to do this.'

'yes i do, son. i won't let the only keepsake you have to remember your childhood be this [round emblem. like a saucer-sized manhole cover. a mark of [failing to provide child care] given by the state. like the opposite of a gold circle on a certificate.]'

i cried real tears while I slept.

~~~