My dream. As we lay in bed last night, I said to my husband, Frank, “You know I had a funny dream last night, and I told him the story.”
In the dream, he and I were together on a trip with an assortment of our friends. We were all traveling to some remote area in southern Texas. I have no particular sweet spot for Texas, but that was our destination all the same. It seems we were to fly there, and we had cheerful conversation prior to boarding a commuter-type plane parked on the tarmac beside the small airport. We all boarded the plane and waited.
The reason for the plane delay was never clear to me, but in my dream I suddenly stood to announce that I had reviewed the map and our destination shockingly enough was only one hour away by car. This news apparently created division among the group and shortly thereafter I led a small band of supporters for my driving option down the steps of the plane. At this point my dream became filled with dismay as I looked around and discovered that my Frank had elected to stay on the plane.
In fact, I apparently became so distraught at my separation from him that I ceased to be a person and became instead a dessert plate. I do not know why I became a dessert plate, but only that it was so. I was a rather snazzy dessert plate with a fine white porcelain base and a rim of delicately painted burgundy ribbons. The center of the plate had colorful pictures from which emerged intermittently my lips and speaking voice. I kept step with the group with two stick legs. As best I could gather, my appearance did not astonish my companions, and we proceeded to walk on our way across the field next to the airport to reach the group of parked cars.
Alas, my plate was empty without my Frank. I had a flatness to my feelings, and every few steps I would look back hopefully at the plane, longing for Frank to come follow me. Just as we reached the cars, I turned back to see him smiling and walking toward me, instantly I transformed back to my full self, and we walked on hand in hand through the dream.
As we lay in bed and I finished my story, Frank just laughed and laughed about my being a dessert plate. His little cream puff chuckle made me feel right saucy, especially since I had become a dessert plate all on account of missing him.
“Well,” I huffed, “Next time, maybe I won’t be a dessert plate at all. Maybe I’ll be a salad plate.”
I can imagine that I would get all dressinged up and be perfectly radishing. I would hang out with all the cukes and not have any eggs for you. All of us would onion into our cars and carrot around town.
How would you like those peppers?