Dreams are not always destined to end. We are often awoken from our imaginative state from a distant car horn, a subtle draft, or a creaking floorboard. Sometimes we wake, unsuspecting of the characters we have left behind, unwelcome in the “real world.” Other mornings, we pause to remember the hours we have spent with others. Upon waking today, I did just that... and wish to pause to remember the one with whom I had just spent a few hours.
As my dream began, I found myself sitting in an examination chair in a dentist’s office. I could not tell you what was wrong with my teeth, but they hurt, nonetheless, and I sat there waiting. The dream dentist’s room was familiar to me and I was, apparently, well acquainted with the office. After waiting in the chair for hours, for what I suppose now was no more than a few milliseconds, I rose, grabbed my coat, and walked out of the office and into the street.
Down the road I miraculously encountered two male friends, and we walked and talked for a few paces before spotting an overweight 12-year-old boy a few yards ahead. The boy walked with a large backpack, lunchbox, and his left hand sported a walking cane. My two friends muttered something about both the boy’s weight and limp. Their insults didn’t warrant my response (It’s nice to know that I remain empathetic in my dreams).
Suddenly, the sidewalk ended. The boy, coming to the decision before us, was forced to either take a path straight into the intersection, or to climb a three-foot wall that ran parallel to the road. Upon choosing, the boy struggled to pull his large body up onto the wall -- cane and all. The two friends I was with ran ahead -- choosing the road, unfazed by the cars that passed. I neared the boy and helped him off the wall, sharing that it was more dangerous, and that I would help him manage the street. As we began talking, he shared that he was on the way to the doctor. Suddenly, I remembered that I had abruptly walked out of my appointment, and that I too should head back to the office, which we determined was the same one.
I looked at the boy one instant, and immediately noticed he had aged in reverse. The boy now stood less than two feet tall and no older than four years old. He was staring back at me with enormous bright eyes. What before had been a large backpack was now twice his size and was pulling him down like an anchor. I grabbed his bag, lunchbox, and cane; my hand would be the new form of walking-support for the tiny, still-limping boy.
The two of us approached the office building, where we “eerily” found nobody inside. Instinctively, I helped the limping child up the staircase that I knew led to the office. At the top of the stairs, the landing was not as it once was. There was no door to any office. We took the staircase up another level. At the next landing, we came across the dentist’s assistant who had helped me earlier that day.
“Hi! I’m hoping you can help us. We’re very lost. I’m trying to find the office door.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m on my break -- I cannot help you,” she said, turning so abruptly that her hair drove a breeze of chilled air across my face. Surprised and confused, I looked down at the little boy, whose expression was now one of fear.
“But the doctor…” he half-whimpered to me. I grabbed his hand, and marched us to the next stairwell. I knew the office was there. I had been seated in the chair. As I flung open the door to another level, sure that we were on the right path, we came across a dimly lit hallway and a dead end. When we turned in the opposite direction, three students who were meticulously painting every inch of floor-space stopped us -- there was no means to walk through.
Suddenly, I was in my bedroom -- awakened by the sound of birds scratching on the branches just outside my window. The light streamed in under the curtains, creeping a subtle welcome to the day. A yawn brought a happy discovery that my teeth no longer hurt. But, then panic: What happened to the little boy... and where did I put his cane?
