It was such a lovely dream, too. My first dream about Sadie, how could it be anything but? So rife for pseudo-Freudian psychoanalysis, everything a metaphor for my fears and desires, my excitement and my frustration.
The dream started with me at work, caught in a playful argument with my fellow workers about whether or not my dream girl actually had any interest in me, especially seeing as she hadn’t shown much. Then to the amazement of myself and the others, Sadie appeared behind me, surprising me with her hands clasped on my shoulders. “Let’s go,” she said. “I’ve got something to show you.” Those who weren’t slack-jawed let out the type of “Woooo!” sound you hear on bad sitcoms.
I followed her out of the office and suddenly, on a dime, as happens in dreams, the location changed to the university where she studies (though truth be told, it looked more like the one I studied at). She smiled at me and said, “I have a new dance routine.” The brazen confidence she exuded belied the meek insecurity she held inside. Sadie hadn’t danced for anyone in years.
She didn’t express any of this, explicitly or implicitly. I knew because this was a dream, and in dreams, you know.
I felt completely honored.
Sadie took me into a lecture hall that was unlike anything I’d ever seen, except maybe in a video game. Completely circular with nothing in the middle and ledges along the circumference. I wanted to just take it all in, but I knew I had to hurry to keep up with Sadie. She was already on the stairs to the next level.
Each tier was occupied by ballet dancers, each clad in a unitard, each stretching, each glaring at me as if I didn’t belong. And perhaps I didn’t. But it didn’t matter. There was only one person I cared about, and I continued to chase her higher and higher. My acrophobia kicked in. I noticed that there was no sort of protective barrier on any of the ledges. One misstep and I could’ve easily fallen over into the abyss. But though there was no physical contact, I felt Sadie’s hand holding me, guiding me through a safe route.
Finally, we reached a private room, and I was lead inside. At first, it didn’t seem as if there’d be enough space in the room for any sort of dancing, but with a second glance around, the room was relieved of most its clutter. There were three easy chairs pressed together in the back of the room. Sadie pointed to one and said, “Pull that one out.” But I didn’t know which one she was referring to. So I tried each one and found that I couldn’t pull any of them out.
“You’re hopeless,” she said, but her tone wasn’t mean-spirited or condescending, just teasing. She pulled the middle chair out herself and told me, “Well, can you at least get the music going?”
I walked over to the stereo in the opposite corner. All the controls seemed foreign to me, so I just started blindly stabbing at buttons. “I’m no good with technology,” I mumbled, in my best attempt at self-effacement. Somehow, miraculously, the stereo turned on, and the sweet sounds of Kaki King floated from the speakers.
Sadie said, “Sit down, relax, and enjoy.” I sat down in the chair, excited for what was to come next.
And that’s when the phone rang.
Too bad. It was such a lovely dream, too.
About the Author
Al Cerda is a former writer/editor for Generation Magazine. These days, he devotes most of his time to his family, but occasionally writes a little something