Tag: missing clothes

Late, Lost and Unkissed

Posted on by Decade Dream Journal

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.

(Photo by Maksim Larin on Unsplash)

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.

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Lost Priest and Lost Pants

Posted on by Decade Dream Journal

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.

“A PSYCHOLOGIST, Father!!!”

(Photo by Joshua Eckstein on Unsplash)

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.

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Lost Jackets, Lost Shoes

Posted on by Decade Dream Journal

I’m a soldier sitting at a table in my own IRL living room. A fellow soldier is sitting next to me. We are searching through a pile of jackets belonging to prisoners, one by one we rip the seams with a pocket knife, searching for hidden money or keys.

There is a journalist hiding in the room, taking pictures with his phone. We grab him, try to force him to release the phone, but he says the public has the right to know what we’re doing! We have to call one of our special agents, a skinny guy with glasses and a lab coat on. He smiles gleefully in a disturbing sort of way, gives the journalist a drug. I shake the scientist’s hand, it gets covered in spit. His mouth is full of spit too, he reminds me of a boy I was forced to sit next to in middle school.

I go to my usual salon and look around for F., the man that always cuts my hair. I notice stairs that weren’t there before and go up to the second floor: F. is on the balcony smoking, a balcony that looks almost like mine. I tell him about my new job and how I urgently need a haircut, he’s very happy for me and tells me to go fix an appointment.

( Photo by Guilherme Petri on Unsplash )

Downstairs next to the register are standing Naya Rivera and Heather Morris. They look older than what I remembered, Naya is wearing a baseball cap and stinks of alcohol. They greet me because we went to school together, ask how my cat is doing. Hearing this, my sister walks up to show us the cat inside her tote bag, it’s a white and brown kitten that looks very unhappy. I get mad at my sister, how can she just walk around with a poor kitten like that! She ignores me and skips the line, so she can pay for the roasted potatoes she apparently bought at the salon.

I suddenly realize I’m not wearing my shoes and I don’t remember taking them off. The place is now filled with hundreds of people. I try to look outside in the yard, but I’m chased away by the Golden Girls. Inside a child is arranging hundreds of shoes in a long train on the floor, I pick them one by one but can’t find mine. Then a thought occurs to me: I’m wearing no shoes because I’m in actually in bed! And I wake up.

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