ASSISTING STUDENTS

I am in a university dorm room which is co-ed.  It is occupied by a young man and a woman who are preparing their assignments.  These assignments have something to do with musical composition and history, and just prior to me becoming aware of my dream, I know that I did much to assist them with their work.  I feel very satisfied with my tutoring, and as they walk out, I decide at the last moment to join them.

We walk into a large lecture room where they put their assignments on the desk.  I am mildly surprised to recognize the professor sitting there, although I couldn’t quite remember his name.  The room is quiet as all the students seem to be busy with their work, and the three of us also silently take our seats.  The professor obviously has other ideas and suddenly gets up and begins to play a clarinet, just some arpeggios, mellow and liquid rippling up and down through various keys.  Obviously this is something the students are familiar with, because they all break out in groans and laughter, as though sharing a private joke. 

“Oh, you don’t like my clarinet playing?” the professor asks in mock surprise, and bounces off towards the piano, where he duplicates the rippling arpeggios on that instrument.  “Maybe I should wear a dress while doing this!”  The classroom dissolves into laughter, the joke completed.

And this is where I recognize him.  He appears to be a very gentle person, humble, but totally accomplished in his musicianship.  He is rather heavy-set, tall and black-skinned.  I nod and smile widely, enjoying the way the students are reacting to this display.  I tell the couple I came in with that I know this man, but from a different circle in my life.  “I haven’t seen him for years!  We first met in the SCA”, I say.

The couple laugh with new understanding.  “So his comment about the dress has more meaning than we realize!” responds the woman.  I nod.  “Yes, there his name is Fardou, and he is a middle eastern persona, and he usually wears loose pants and a long tunic over them.  And you should see his turbans!!”  We start laughing again, “And during events, he likes to play a bassoon – beautifully!”  I add. 

We sit there for a moment, savouring the memory of many performances by this amazing man, and then I get up and go towards him, eager to greet him, even though I know that he will have no memory of me…

A STRANGE HOUSE AND EVEN STRANGER MALL

I am in a house (sometimes it feels as though I own it, at others that I’m a guest there), and am entertaining some guests.  I have a partner, but he is always in the background and I do not see him distinctly.  My guests are a family consisting of a man (who also disappears very quickly), his wife who worries about him constantly, and their two children, who eventually blend and become my granddaughter.

The woman is the only one I see distinctly – she is a bit shorter than me, plump, with dark blond hair that puffs out in unruly curls at her shoulders.  She smiles often, but that smile does not reach her eyes, because there’s a deep abiding sadness within her.  She dresses plainly.  At one point while we’re talking in the kitchen, she not only relaxes enough to laugh, but also gets carried away enough to actually lift her shirt and flash me!  We collapse in helpless laughter on the kitchen chairs and it takes us a long time to pull ourselves together.

There is a feeling that her husband has disappeared, and a search begins to find him.  This adds to her worries but she does her best to keep the children calm.  Eventually, we do try to go to bed, but when we go into the bedrooms, we see there are all sorts of pigeons sitting on the window sills.  She tells me that I must get the screens installed, as this will prevent such incursions, and all the while we’re busy shooing the birds outside.  The birds are not alarmed, and almost as though they know what to do, they hop out onto the outside sills and simply continue to roost there as we close the windows.  In the morning, I look out onto the property which is now under water – it had rained during the night and now everything is flooded.  The woman is nowhere to be found, until I go outside and stand on the stairs.  I see that she slept the night on the small porch.  When she sees me, she, in her frustration, gathers up all the linens and just dumps them onto the soggy lawn before storming into the house.

It crosses my mind that it will take a long time to wash everything because I have only a small washer and dryer, and sincerely hope that the grounds will dry out soon so I can string up a clothesline.

Once we get back inside, we suddenly become aware that there is a faint knocking noise coming from somewhere.  The woman suddenly shudders as though finally waking up, and says, “Now where is that knocking coming from?”  We split up and begin to search the property and finally get alerted by the children that they found something.  We rush into the small back room where there is a heavy metal trunk, and yes indeed, the knocking is coming from there!  It is obvious that her husband had somehow got trapped in this trunk and was unable to get himself out!  I leave them to their reunion while I go into the kitchen to make breakfast.

Abby greets me there, and we begin chatting.  She is a bit older now, and I find it difficult to connect with her.  She’s aloof, a typical teenager, and is talking about the latest fashions she’s interested in, and her favourite mall.  Instantly, the house fades and I find myself in that mall.  It’s a small one, but filled with expensive boutiques and exclusive stores.  I walk around and wonder how I can afford to buy a pair of socks here, let alone a dress, or how my granddaughter can shop here. 

Suddenly, I hear a joyous shout from around the corner, followed by boisterous singing.  I follow the sound and come into what appears as a medieval kitchen and dining hall.  A lot of people walk out laughing and talking, reliving their experience.  And obviously, I now see it’s a theme dinner theatre, like Medieval Times.  The kitchen staff is all dressed in white and red uniforms, and some are doing a circle dance.  What surprises me is seeing very young children employed there, children who are no more than four or five years old.  Their chef style hats are way too large on them, but that doesn’t stop them from expertly integrating in the choreographed dance which normally happens in a large kitchen.  A couple of them stop to look at me with large eyes and solemn faces before running off to haul pots as large as themselves over to the tables...