Whenever I write a dream sequence I write it in italics. This isn’t a dream sequence but I’m just showing you what one would look like. This next part’s a dream sequence. When I get back to the part where I wasn’t dreaming, it won’t be in italics, like this. I never was good with computers.
OK. This part here is the dream sequence. See, the thing is, I’m not sure if the events of that day were real or not, because most of my dreams revolved around Edmund staring at me with accusing, jealous angry eyes whenever I spoke to anyone but him. Sometimes I dreamed of him choking me with white knuckles during conversations where he thought I might leave him. This isn’t the dream sequence part. I’m still explaining. I am pretty.
Laying on the road, crouched on his hands and knees, was a man wearing but a purple and green paisley loin cloth. The General Lee came to a swerving halt, leaving an arc of gravel dust blowing downwind, like someone was shaking gray flour all around. Of course, I stared in the car (you hear those stories you know of gorgeous brunettes alone on country roads, especially around natives), but stuck my head out the window.
“Are you OK?”
(This is the dream sequence, as far as I know, and it was me yelling “Are you OK?”)
It is, as I understand it, a human tendency, to care for others, no matter the problems their people may or may not pose on civilized society as a whole, when there is an emergency. And this young man was terribly attractive as I could tell by his heaving sculpted muscular chest and long hair which flapped over his face like a flag at a military funeral.
I whisked off my racing helmet (I had put that on before I left), and my own hair swayed in the wind, shiny and manageable for what seemed a very long time.
His words were short and terse in the solemn tone of the Native American, his brow furrowed in reflective musings and he gazed at the sky as if calling for Ursa Majora to come for him.
“The great bear?”, I asked, “the constellation?” I’m pretty sure that didn’t happen at that moment because I would have had no idea what that was unless I looked it up on the internet. I’m sorry. I can’t remember how to use italics.
(not in italics ->) OK. I have to tell you. Some of this I made up, and I used Wikipedia for a lot of this stuff, because there was something so unsettling, so different about this young man, that I found myself confused and mesmerized.
(in italics) “No, the MP3” and with that he hoisted himself to all fours, crouched like a lion or a bear, some type of wild animal, maybe an elephant, and lowered his chin towards his chest, which I can tell you, dream or not, was carved by the latter day Saints. Around his neck, like a Saint Bernard would wear, was the latest generation iPOD.
“Isn’t that what I should say?”
“Well, you’re one of them?”
And so I plugged the ipod into the Auxiliary jack of the new car stereo I had demanded Charlie purchase me because he never was a father to me, and selected Music>Playlists>Stella>Dire Warning
The music was haunting and vivid, so unlike the temple choirs I was accustomed to in Provo, and carried the irony of an upbeat, almost Spanish tempo. Yet the tone, almost pleading, yet more, resilient, full of conviction, was foreign to me, as if it were Wilma Flintstone speaking Swahili.
The one you warned me all about
The one you said I could do without
We're in an awful mess, and I don't mean maybe - please
Papa don't preach, I'm in trouble deep
Papa don't preach, I've been losing sleep
But I made up my mind, I'm keeping my baby, oh
I'm gonna keep my baby, mmm...
That was in bold italic because it was a song in a dreamscape I’m describing.
Jaycub was hanging out the passenger window wagging his tongue, clearly enjoying the breeze.
I yelled over him as I swung the wheel hard and careened over a bridge.
Jaycub pulled himself into the car, and looked at me sternly.
“I argued with my father. He said Yap! Yap! Ruff! Ruff! Woooof!”
I hardened my grip on the wheel and punched’er to the floor staring ahead angrily.
“And so what did you say to your father?”
Jaycub sat down on his haunches and dexterously scratched at his ear with his toe before letting out a long forlong howl and in the distance other things of less consequence likely happened, but at the time, I realized three peculiar things about Billy’s son.
One, he was clearly native, but pale enough to be attractive. Two, he seemed to be concerned about my well being and he insisted the music was some kind of cryptic warning which I would get later (spoiler: I never did)but most importantly and most obvious, he had a crush on me, and if I played my cards right, I could exploit his feelings to get to Edmund. Also, he felt as if it were his duty to tell me that he was really into “puppies”.
“Shall we get to school?”, I asked.
And before all you haters start hating on me, I was in love with Edmund, and that excuses any and all of my behaviour. OK?