Ward Nicholson

Think Outside The Box masthead

A trifold dream

It is a Saturday morning during wintertime. At about 7:00 a.m. I wake up to go to the bathroom and then to the kitchen for a snack. As usual the cats are milling about, clamoring to be fed in their gentle way. We are temporarily out of dry kibble, since I hadn’t had time the previous night to refill their dry-food storage canisters upstairs from the long-term supply of bagged food in the basement. (If we keep bags upstairs, one or another of the cats will eventually claw them open.) I had skipped the chore to get to bed at an hour at least approximating something halfway decent.

After the cats have been fed some unexpected and always-appreciated canned food, instead of the usual kibble at this hour, I head back to bed for more sleep. It’s the weekend and I want to catch up. With enough sleep, I am myself, and I’ve been overworked and a little short of it this week.

I drift back to sleep. Then at some point I am in a dream. I am in a small town the size of, say, a small university town. Bigger than the one of less than 10,000 I grew up in, but still small compared to the cities where most of us live these days. (Having grown up in a small town, I prefer them to cities.) In the dream, it’s a gray day — the type of day I generally like, except it’s somewhat cold, and some snow and slush are on the streets. I find myself in the downtown area of this small town, with ice skates on. I begin skating over the pavement, and even though the snow and ice are melting away, I can still skate over the last remaining bits, more or less.

At the bottom of a slope, my momentum on the skates takes me into a light industrial area, and into the parking lot of a business with a tall chain-link fence around the perimeter. A man sees me and says I really should get a better ladder to use for the company I am employed with (a handyman-type business where I once worked).

He says the lightweight extension ladder I’m using is not good quality (actually it is, for its type), and points to one just ahead I should be using. It’s a very sturdy but also very heavy Little Giant-style ladder built like a tank. He doesn’t realize for this particular business we value lightweight items since we’re schlepping them into and out of job sites on a frequent basis, and have to carry other things too. And I am a slender guy, even though I do strength training. The man is friendly enough, but I ignore his advice.

The scene shifts. Now I am traveling in my car in the city where I live today, westbound on what used to be the main thoroughfare in my youth many years ago, before the street became a six-lane freeway. It’s raining steadily and water is forming pools and thin sheets on the road. Cars around me are beginning to slow down because of the hydroplaning risk.

I take my foot off the gas pedal to decelerate as well, but for some reason the car barely slows. I am coming up on an intersection and fortunately the stoplight is green and I sail through. Once past, I try pumping the brakes a little, continuing to try and slow the car down, but with little effect. Finally, I put the gear shift in neutral, but that too has little impact. If anything, the car may be speeding up a little. I don’t panic but am concerned if I don’t get the car slowed down in time, I will have a collision at the next intersection.

This scene then fades, and in the next one I am in a room about the size of a living room, mostly unfurnished, talking to a very fat naked lady. The building we are in has the feel of a house, or perhaps a house converted to a small business, and the room is just off the main lobby, perhaps a private reception room. The woman has an easygoing, genial personality, and I enjoy talking with her because of the calm presence she exudes, but she is giving me a sales pitch for sexual services there. I am not sure if we are in a brothel, massage parlor, perhaps some kind of one-off situation, whatever.

We are standing near a piece of exercise equipment that’s an unusual hybrid consisting of a stationary bike with a padded seat, combined with some other type of exercise machine for the upper body like you see in gyms. She is describing how one might have sex on this machine, facing forward or backward, doing this or doing that. There could be a couple of young women involved — plus herself if I wanted — however I preferred. I will keep further details to myself, but everything could be tailored to my desires and whims.

She is describing this all amiably but matter-of-factly. I don’t want to go behind my wife’s back and do this, but it is still an enticing proposition. (I am a man. These opportunities sometimes appear in our dreams.) The fat lady is not ashamed of her nudity or cellulite and is sexy because of her comfortableness with it all, and her relaxed, we-can-talk-about-anything way, but I manage to resist her charms.

I gradually wake up over the course of a few minutes as her presence lingers, then evaporates slowly.

I am rested, and think it will be a good day.

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