I don’t remember much, but I’m on some green planet fighting Darth Vader. I cut his limbs with my lightsaber, and somehow this splits him into two separate people: the all-evil Vader and our own Anakin Skywalker.
Anakin, now free from evil, walks into a cave and removes his black mask. There is a man there, an old and stern cyborg with mechanical red eyes that move independently. He warns Anakin that he’s gonna die without his mask, but it’s too late. Anakin wears a pair of sunglasses over his burned and blistered face and goes out to see the world.
Dad and I are watching a movie. It’s very experimental, during the opening credits we see the landscape running away as if it was filmed from a car, from a window here and a tree there certain images or words pop up, conveying a dreamy, hopeful mood. Dad is impressed and asks me if I ever saw anything like it. I say no.
The movie begins properly and we are both taken aback to discover it’s not recent, but a vintage one with Sophia Loren speaking a passable English. The scene is set on my house’s balcony and neither of us question that.
My penpal C. has come to visit, but every time I turn my back or move to another room I forget what she looks like, I keep needing to go check again. Eventually I learn that she has short blonde hair and a bit of a plain face (nothing like IRL C.): she looks like a less attractive Saoirse Ronan, but I’m not that pretty either so I think we’re reasonably well-matched. I want to impress her, so I tell her my family has an acting tradition; why, even Sophia Loren filmed in this house! C. likes acting, I reason, hopefully she’ll want to marry me and take my genes, even though we’re both girls and that’s not how it works.
I’m late for school! As I look for my coat she protests out loud. I need to go to these classes, I explain, or I’ll have to repeat the year come September. Her mom is now in the room with us, sitting in an armchair and talking about boys, oblivious to what’s happening. C. gets really, really close and pins me to a wall, I feel her warm breath as she asks me,
“Remember what we did to that donut last year?”
I whisper yes, she asks if I’d like to do that again. “Yes,” I say trembling,”if you want to.” She’s about to kiss me, when I wake up.
I fall asleep again and dream the same dream. Now I’m running to get to school in time, I have to attend at least 70% of my classes and I’m not about to skip them this afternoon. When I arrive though, I realize with horror I’m not in my usual class with the boring philosophy professor, I went to work instead! Except work is a greenhouse miles from where I’m supposed to be, and what’s worse, I’m not wearing any shoes.
Two friends come to the rescue, they are two young men. I get in their car and one of them borrows me his shoes, because we are the same size, don’t I know? I congratulate myself, I’m so smart for remembering such a crucial detail, my narrative skills are on point even when I’m dreaming. We are showed a flashback where the friend buys me a pair of cool shoes, yellow and blue.
The car crosses a bridge, I notice racists graffiti on the walls. I look at the time, it’s almost six and I only have one hour left to not completely waste my evening. Unless… unless I was actually in a coma, in a tank full of red water and electric eels, and I never left the house. I missed school, I’ll never graduate now.
I’m sitting in a Catholic church somewhere in an unknown city, quietly drawing a statue on my sketchbook. An altar boy comes in and I realize Mass is about to start and it’s time for me to go.
He’s followed by a person straight out of my childhood: Father A. from the neighborhood church. He has clearly aged, he’s oblivious to the people around him and he’s rambling, crying, asking God what was the point of moving to this big, ridiculous stadium of a church.
I don’t know if he even remembers me but I still shout:
“Forgive my bluntness, but JESUS CHRIST, Father, why don’t you go see a psychologist?!
He blinks, looks at me quite shocked. “What?”, he asks faintly.
I go back home and I’m about to climb the stairs to my apartment when I realize I’m not wearing any pants, under the coat my legs are bare against the winter cold. Did I forget them, do I have to go back all the way to the church?
I close my eyes and try to visualize my pants: maybe if I concentrate hard enough I can trick myself into teleporting back. It doesn’t work. I’m about to leave again when I realize with relief I’m carrying the pants on my arm, along with my red scarf.
I’m with my sister on the beach. We’ve been fighting lately, but we apparently made peace in my dreams. She puts on her sunglasses, slathers herself with cream and proceeds to sunbathe like a lizard; meanwhile I stay fully clothed because I’m shy.
Times flies and it’s soon time to go back home, she has to pay for our train tickets because I only have five bucks on me. On the train I’m reading a Mickey Mouse comic strip, my sister reads from over my shoulder and chatters on about the artist, apparently a favorite of hers. “See how Goofy really moves like a dog,” she says enthusiastically. Horace is buff, like veins bulging ripped for who knows what reason.
I keep on reading, there’s a two pages interview with a Spanish-speaking comic book writer named Ricardo Pollo. I start chuckling uncontrollably, my sister asks why so I explain: the guy has a son who was born on January the second, and thus he named the poor kid “One Two Pollo.” In the dream, I find that utterly hysterical.
It’s dark and stormy, outside my window I can see a tomato tree: not just a plant, it’s a big palm tree ripe with red tomatoes and shaking in the rain.
Everyone is my home is wearing a t-shirt even though it’s March, and I’m ranting about climate change. Remember when we used to have winters? Good times. My grandma is sitting on the couch caressing her belly. She’s pregnant, but she explains the baby belongs to a cousin and she just borrowed it for a while. Indeed a few minutes later her belly disappears and my uncle E. walks in the room to announce the baby is born: they named him Christian.
Meanwhile, my dad is doing some charity work for people with Down syndrome. A portal opens inside the organization’s building, and yes, it’s Doctor Who again. She walks in with her squad and leads everyone into the portal and across a long path filled with blue crystals and dangerous gases. After a long walk they emerge on the other side and the doctor collapses. Her companion, Yaz, kneels next to her and gets the psychic paper from her coat. It’s a leather wallet that, once opened, reveals a long string of photos depicting all of the Doctor’s past companions. Yaz gets mighty jealous.
Back home, I’m looking for my dogs* and cats. I spot a few black kittens playing on the floor, but where is my very own grown up cat? She’s hiding under the table! I take her out and the moment she comes in contact with the kittens, she merges with them. They fit together like pieces of a puzzle and the result is a single, slightly bigger black cat.
*I don’t have dogs, these were actually two dachshunds that belong to my boss IRL
I’m in my house, but I’m also participating in The Great British Bake Off. It’s the finale, and the two other contestants are Liam O’Brien and Taliesin Jaffe; our assignment for the final round is “butter” and we rush into the kitchen –that is, my own house’s kitchen.
Taliesin definitely knows what he’s doing. I cut open a bread roll and start buttering it, making quite a mess; next to me Liam has dipped in oil a bruschetta and is now frying it on a pan, damnit, he’s gonna beat me at my own bread game! I fill my bun with soft goat cheese, because it’s white like butter, I guess. It’s still too plain and I’m starting to panic. What can I add, what can I add!? I remember I have some trail mix in the pantry and toss it in my bun, mixing it with the soft cheese. I add some sugar on top and slam it in the electric oven next to Liam’s bruschetta.
It’s now time for the judges to try out dishes. The three of us are sitting on bar stools in my living room, a screen behind us is showing our journey through the show. When it’s my turn the screen shows a young Asian woman dressed in a Brazilian outfit, dancing with a group of men in shiny jumpsuits. Wait, was I competing in Dancing with the Stars??
I know my dish is no good and Taliesin is gonna win, and indeed Paul Hollywood is very brutal when he tries it. The other judge, an unnamed lady, is kinder. I’m so disappointed I start stress-eating my buns and Liam’s dish, which tastes like cream and honey cookies. Mine is slightly better, I think, but not enough. As I shovel both the cookies and the buns down my throat, my mom, who in this dream is Angela Bassett, looks at me from the couch and shakes her head in disappointment. I know, I know, I’m gonna get so fat.
I’m in the TARDIS and possibly the Doctor. A portal opens and the new Master and Missy strut in. They are Doctor Who villains and technically the same person, but in this dream they are married and have a little girl with brown curls. Some time passes, another portal opens and now it’s Missy alone with her newborn, who is a boy instead of a girl! Since I’m the Doctor and clever, I realize this version of Missy comes from the past and I must have swapped her real child, the boy, to protect him from the Master. Missy makes a face (Michelle Gomez makes very entertaining faces even in my dreams!) and says she will pretend to love her fake daughter, “if she really must”. I know she’s lying and she’s really lonely, because I’m the Doctor and I’m clever! This is what happens when I watch a Doctor Who episode before going to sleep.
I’m half awake and I dream that I’m at work scanning documents. Scanning, scanning, scanning, scanning.
My cousin and I are on the run because we killed someone in Venice, and I can still feel the blood spraying from his throat. We desperately need to rest and get rid of evidence, so we choose a random, empty-looking house, we shower and change and are about to leave when a woman appears on the door. She’s around sixty, has short hair and glasses, looks like Phyllis Smith. We’re petrified for a moment, thinking we got caught, but luckily the woman is short sighted and mistakes us for her own nieces! She sees we showered and that we are carrying black garbage bags (to get rid of evidence!) and, bless her soul, just assumes we must have had our periods. She tells us to not worry because “it’s perfectly normal” and that we can use her house whenever we need. “See,” says my cousin as we leave. “Peace of cake.”
My siblings are now tagging along because they’re also murderers. We have found the perfect hiding spot: we’re sailing along the good guys’ ship, so massive they’ll never notice the small boat hiding literally under their noses. Or at least, we think we’re safe, but a government agent storms into the boat and easily defeats all of us! We think we are doomed, but to our surprise he offers us to become state-sanctioned assassins. We quickly take the offer.
I need to leave the house in a hurry: I signed up for some classes and I’m late, but I keep forgetting something and having to come back. At one point I realize I even forgot my underwear, and there’s even a pretty girl laughing at me. My building is a maze (that’s another recurring dream of mine) and I can’t find my way back.
Eventually I’m ready and running through my town; the streets are more colorful somehow, people are wearing summer clothes and palm trees are greener, I feel like I’m in California. There’s a giant papier-maché head peeking out from a roof, it’s bright pink and I want to take a picture of it. But I’m late! And what’s worse, I suddenly remember I need to go to work, so I have no choice but text an excuse to my classes’ group chat. They all rage against my job, they say my boss is overworking me and paying too little.
Turns out I’m a baby sitter, my charge is a little boy named Marcus, son of a rich, somewhat bossy couple. I show his mother a painting on my notebook, tell her Marcus made it. She’s skeptical though, so I have to admit it’s actually by my friend F. But Marcus helped!
IRL I have a penpal of almost 10 years, C. I never met her in person, but in tonight’s dream I go visit her for apparently the second time, I’m on vacation from work and I’m gonna spend a week with her.
She hugs me so tenderly, because after all we’re in love and neither of us will admit it, and she invites me to her school. I watch her play some sort of nerd game, kinda like Quidditch, then we go to class together. I think the lesson is rather easy, we learn about smaller or greater math numbers, but afterwards the teacher says something truly offensive and homophobic and C. and I storm out of the room.
She walks me to her house, where her dad –a man with a truly impressive mustache– hugs me. Her mom and grandma are very lovely and welcoming, they make me olive pizza. I notice there is no drinkable water anywhere in the house, but they have a kitchen cabinet full of alcohol and soda bottles. As we’re eating, another grandmother appears at the table. She’s a ghost, and also she looks uncannily like my mom.
DECADE DREAM JOURNAL 