Rowyn (rowyn) wrote,
Rowyn
rowyn

A Dream of Dancers

I haven't recorded one of my dreams in a while. This morning I had a pretty vivid one. As usual, the end of it remains most clear to me.

The earliest part I can remember is driving along a local highway. At one point, there was an exit that required traffic in the opposite lane to cross over my lane in order to get off. (This isn't a real highway layout, I know). There was some construction going on, and traffic in the lane leading to this exit was stopped in a long line. A construction worker was directing the cars when they could go.

I had the feeling that I was driving in this lane -- the one that was filled by stopped cars headed the opposite direction--when I came to this blockage. I got confused and swerved to avoid the line, but instead of swerving to the right, I went left, into the lanes of oncoming traffic. [I bet Brenna will find this dream-account of my driving skills totally convincing.] And since there was this long line of stopped cars in the lane that was now to my right, I couldn't get back onto my side of the highway, either.

But eventually I did. I'm not sure how. This dream was happening after my boyfriend got up and was getting ready for work, and while my cats were meowing relentlessly to be fed. I was awake enough to be semi-cognizant of these fact, and I think I was also awake enough to tell my mind, "I don't like this driving on the wrong side of the road thing. Fix it."

So now I was slalomming down the correct side of the road, but I wasn't driving a car any more. Instead, I was clinging to a sort of foam mat, like a body board. The manuevering that I'd done to get back to the correct lane had left my mat crooked to the road, and I was having a hard time controlling it. I took an exit onto another highway, and then took the next exit off from that one, not because I wanted to get off there, but because I wanted to kill my momentum before it killed me. [You try steering a foam mat down a highway at 60 miles an hour, k?]

Once I was off the highway and had slowed my mat to a halt, I debated what to do next. I wasn't at the right exit. I could get back on the highway, hopefully with my mat straightened out and in better control. Or I could just walk home. I wasn't sure how to get my foam mat back up to highway speeds, though I knew it was capable of them since I'd just been doing it. I thought it had something to do with starting off downhill. The road I was on now led up at a steep slope, and I thought that my home was somewhere up from here. I checked the street sign: 54th, at least twenty blocks from my apartment, I decided to walk anyway. I tucked my mat under one arm and set out.

The landscape looked sort of like my home city, and sort of not. At first I was pretty sure I was east and north of my home at first, but then I realized that I must be south of it; I needed to head towards downtown to get home, though I wouldn't need to go all the way there. I live in midtown. So after walking east up the hill for a while, I turned north.

As I was walking, I went under an overpass, and found a police officer arresting someone. I turned down an alleyway. A few moments later, I saw the man who'd been arrested, walking free. He told me the 'arrest' was just a training exercise for the cop.

I turned at one of the building, and descended into what I thought was a little basement shopping area. I thought that I had been there before, and that it was a half-empty community of clubwear shops. I remember thinking, "I bet Postvixen would like this."

The stairs leading down were in the center of the area, which had space for maybe five or six storefronts. The stairs came to a landing overlooking the storefronts, then doubled back to lead to the ground. There were no windows. The lighting was dim. I came to the bottom of the stairs. There were a couple of women there. They looked middle-aged, with dark hair and tanned skin, and the kind of wrinkles that sun damage tends to give people. One of them unfolded the doors leading into what I had thought was a storefront. The doors were such that she folded and slid them out of the way; they had comprised most of the front wall. Inside, there were young women dancing.

For a moment, I thought, "It's a dance club!" with something of a shock. All of the dancers were wearing short formal dresses, in pastel colors, made of stretch velvets and silky fabrics. I remember one woman wearing a pink halter dress of crushed stretch velvet, with a flowing knee-length skirt. Sort of like the famous white Marilyn Monroe dress in cut.

All the dancers were smiling. They were facing us as they danced, and they moved in unison. After that first moment, I realized this had to be a dance class, not a club; they were performing a choreographed routine. They varied in age, from young children to early twenties.

The two older women were talking. I got the impression one of them was the dance instructor and the other was considering taking lessons. I wanted to join the dancers. I was a little impressed, and a little disappointed when I realized that it wasn't a club. If it had been a club, I could have put on a pretty dress and joined them. But since it wasn't, I knew I'd have to take lessons and practice before I could join in. But they were so beautiful as they danced that it seemed like it would be so much better than dancing in some club where no one looked at you or cared.

I wandered around the rest of the complex. I went through one open door and fingered a stack of folded dresses, like the ones the dancers were wearing. But I wasn't sure any more that these were stores; they didn't have storefronts or windows, just a single plain door. I thought this might be some dressing area for the dance class. I withdrew, and watched the performance a little more. Part of the routine had the girls collapsing together into a heap. They did this once in the middle of the floor, very gracefully, then got back up and danced a different set. Then they all folded into a single bed. They had a harder time getting that move right. They had to practice it a few times, to get it to flow together smoothly, so that they would all end up curled against each other at the end, the littlest dancers spooned against the bodies of larger ones.

The instructor and the other woman, along with a new figure, were talking about lessons still. The one who'd said she was interested was saying that she'd been worried about not getting along with the other dancers, but that this group all seemed to get along well. She pointed to the new figure and said, "I'm sure me and Retha would get along fine." They all laughed.

My sense of self faded out at this point. Instead of being in the dream, I was just watching it. I watched the nameless woman who was interested in lessons walk back up the stairs. She became grotesque. Her face got younger and prettier, but her body became huge. Her back humped up past the top of her head. Her legs turned thick and stubby. She said something that didn't make much sense, like, "My husband wants to stop me from getting lessons so that I won't marry Rick, but I'll show him." It felt very sinister. She gestured with one hand, and I saw that the palm of her hand was greatly enlarged, and her fingers tiny stubs in it, as if the flesh of her hand had swallowed them.

That was the last thing before I woke up.
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