Which do I write? “This morning, I dreamed about my dear friend Mike.” Or, “This morning, my dear friend Mike appeared to me in a dream.”
Saturday morning. A child’s alarm mistakenly goes off at 7:10 and is silenced. Kay & I look at each other, roll over, and go back to sleep.
I am at some kind of wooden mansion with other people. We go around and enter a large room. Something happened earlier in the dream, but it was unremarkable and quickly forgotten. Then I notice Mike, standing in a corner, looking straight at me.
He looks hyper-real, as if he had been doctored in Photoshop. He has no blemishes. The whites of his eyes are unnaturally white. We look at each other silently.
My son Trevor (for some reason, slightly younger than he is now) is standing right in front of Mike. Mike cautiously raises his hand and tries to gently poke my son. His fingers go right through Trevor’s head, as if one or the other of them is not fully there. To me, the rest of the dream has faded into a dreamlike quality, but Mike is oddly real.
He then reaches out his hand towards me—only this time, he does not go through! We are both surprised. I feel him, he is real. Though he does not speak, I can hear his thoughts as he tries to twist and pull his own arms: “I thought I’d be able to stretch myself into another shape.” (How like him! Instead of saying, “I have a body!” like any normal person, he is trying to deform himself like a real-life Gumby.)
The room we are in has great windows down one side. I pull aside the curtains to reveal a vast man-made pond, between knee-deep and waist-deep, filled with water lilies. “Look,” I point, “remember how we tried going through that, but got all tangled up?” The memory seems real, though nothing like that ever happened, at least not literally. But we are both laughing at the memory.
Then he grabs my hand, and looks intently into my eyes. His eyes smile.
And I wake up.