\"Writing.Com
*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1787794-What-Dreams-Are-Made-Of
Item Icon
Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Other · #1787794
Dreams can help us face our fears.
Kari and I are already at our regular table at Kelloggs. I'm on my second cup of coffee and Kari is reading the headlines to me. Our game is to make new stories out of the headlines. Most of them are junk, but it is amusing and gives vent to our more cynical side. We are waiting for Connie and Stasia. Stasia is always, always late--though of the four us, she is the only one who doesn't have a job or children. Connie, who is usually prompt, texted me that she overslept, but is on her way. Connie has four children, a husband, an ex-husband, and a job as a dental hygienist--she is a one-woman circus act.

Kari reads me the headline:"Still no progress in the Middle East". And I reply, "Sources, close to the President say that he is considering approaching the problem in a totally different way. His plan, which will be revealed in total in an address to the nation on Tuesday night, will reposition diplomats to work with the Bottom East first. Feeling that we've exhausted all avenues of the top down approach to the middle east, he will focus his administration's energies on the bottom up approach."

Kari refills my coffee cup, and laughs. "Bottoms Up!"

Before I can add anything, Stasia comes in a flurry. She is one of those tiny woman that can take up more floor space than a grand piano--it is a miracle of physics. She all disheveled, as she often is. "I had the most terrible night," she says.

Kari and I look at one another, we know already what she is going to say and we can't help ourselves, we say it together.

"I had the most terrible dream."

"But I did," she insists, "it was awful, I was dying. I couldn't breathe. I was in a sea of children, small, smelly, crying children--and I couldn't get away. They kept pulling at me. All snotty nosed coughing and crying. The smell of poop everywhere." She is truly distraught. Her face is contorted in anguish, she wrings her tiny ring bedazzled hands.

You can smell in your dreams, I thought, but said instead, "Isn't that the same dream, you had last week?" I hoped I sounded sympathetic. "I think the universe it trying to tell you something."

"I know," she says, momentarily pausing to pull her cellphone out of her purse, and stop the waitress to ask her to bring a pot of hot herbal tea. "but I'm telling you it is getting worse and worse. I think it will kill me one day. "

"What does your therapist say?" Kari asks as she circles a couple of headlines. The waitress returns with the pot of tea, and we all place our orders. I order for Connie.

"Didn't I tell you?" She says well texting someone and barely looking up, "I've got a new guy. Everyone says if anyone can help me, he can. "

Just then, the bell rings, the door opens, and three people come in and look around. One is a couple looking for a booth, but from the looks of things will have to settle for a table, and the other is Connie, who waves as she heads our way carrying a Macy's Christmas shopping bag. Connie recycles everything.

"Sorry, I'm late," she says breathlessly, "I can't believe I overslept. Hey, I brought you guys some stuff. I'm making these to sell at the School Fair." She pulls out three gorgeous aprons in bright floral prints. "There's one for each of you."

While we are admiring her handiwork, Connie looks over at Stasia. "Oh no, another dream. Are you all right?

Stasia shrugs and bites her lower lip.

"These things pass," Connie says,"It never seems like they will, but they do. Try not to give it too much power."

I'm astounded at Connie's common sense; I wish I had thought to say that. Really it was perfect. It validated Stasia's feelings and gave her some positive non-intrusive advice. Connie had clearly missed her calling.

The food came and we were all busy eating and catching up on each others families. Stasia has cats, so she has her fair share of adventures to share.

While we dig in our purses to pay the check, Connie says. "You're all still helping out at School Fair on Satruday, right?

"Wouldn't miss it," we say. And we wouldn't.

"Stasia, you've got the best assignment of the bunch. You get to supervise the Bouncy Palace. You're going to have so much fun. Last year it was the most popular booth of the fair."
© Copyright 2011 FictionFlasher (saoirse1458 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Printed from https://shop.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1787794-What-Dreams-Are-Made-Of