There were unrelated bits before and after this- but this part really stuck.
I’m walking along in town with my new girlfriend and her friend. She is shorter and cute with long brown hair and wearing all brown. Very hippie-ish, peaceful and kind. She is happy and sad at the same time. More sad than happy though. He is a young black guy who is smart but quiet and reserved. I get the feeling that he doesn’t approve of her being with me. Not so much that he doesn’t approve of me. More that he doesn’t approve of her having a boyfriend.
As we walk along a man stumbles out of an alley and into me. He’s in bad shape. Bloody and coughing. He doesn’t say anything just hands me a sword and takes off his brown leather jacket and gives it to me. The jacket is thin brown leather with holes in various patterns cut into it and sparse silver ornaments. Then he falls down and dies.
We’re all sitting in a Volkswagen Rabbit. She’s driving. I’m in the back. We’re heading back to her house after the ordeal. She lives in a large farmhouse partially overgrown. Potted plants under giant trees. A longer driveway. This is obviously the original old farmhouse surrounded by newer housing on all sides. It has a larger yard than theirs and stands out because its yard isn’t perfectly manicured. It’s in need of paint and some yard work but isn’t really rundown. Its lived in. Comfortable. Field stone foundation with worn wood siding that might have been painted once but doesn’t look bad with the paint gone. Some ivy creeping up. Flat driveway. This house sits on top of a rise. All the newer houses are downhill from it- but only slightly. And the newer houses aren’t really new. They’re almost 50 years old themselves but obviously not as old as the farmhouse which feels as though it has been there forever. I feel at home here.
We all get out and go inside. Sitting down and relaxing from the ordeal. Talking about what might have happened. But not much. More me talking and my girlfriend politely listening with a look of tolerant love on her face. Like she loves the sound of my voice but isn’t at all listening to what I’m saying. Her friend says nothing. Just watches us.
I’ve taken off my tall green leather Dr. Martins sat back- trying to figure out what to do with the sword. The sword and the jacket are lying on the dining room table in the corner.
Her and I talk for a bit and things get kind of heated. I can’t remember why. But she says something and I’ve had enough. I can’t remember what it was but it was completely unacceptable to me and I want to leave. I look around and can’t find my boots- so I ask them to give me my boots so I can leave. My home is far away and it’s a very long walk but I don’t care. Just want to go. They or someone else must have taken my boots away and I wanted them back so I could go. She and her friend leave to find my boots for me. She seems a little upset but resigned. He shows almost no emotion but I get the impression that he doesn’t blame me for being upset by what she said. Part of him is on my side and part of him is just happy I’m going to leave- but not in a selfish jealous way. Its almost like he wants me to leave for my own good but isn’t allowed to tell me this.
I’m angry at what she said and that my boots are missing and I notice suddenly that I’ve been in this house before. Many times before.
Ok- here’s where it gets really interesting. I’ve racked my mind since I woke up and I can’t for the life of me remember being in a house like this. I’m a bit uncanny in my recall of floor-plans and I have never been in this house in real life. But in my dream I remember having been there many times. But not in a real world kind of way. I remember the other times I was there as other dreams- making this at least a partially lucid dream- but I’m still completely unaware of my waking self. It’s almost like the dream/real life relationship reversed. I can remember other dreams clearly- like normal memories- but the waking world does not enter my thoughts at all. The waking world- in my dream- has no meaning. I’m lucid enough to know that I am dreaming and to remember the other times I was in the house as other dreams with other characters and even geographic locations, but this seems completely normal to me. No thoughts of the waking world at all.
I’m talking to myself out loud- about being in the house many times before.
“I keep getting pulled back to this house. Maybe ten times now. I was at a party once here. House was filled with maybe 30 people. Great party.” And suddenly I notice there are two old guys in the living room with me. They’re watching the TV avidly. They take no notice of me or what I’ve said. I’m embarrassed for a second until I see what they’re watching on TV. It was like Pokemon meets the 700 Club with a hefty dose of Touched by an Angel. Too hefty in fact. The show was a live action soap opera about angels that have different clans and families and fight each other with their own unique powers. One of those shows you couldn’t follow unless you’ve been watching it for years. But it was really cheesy. All the angels had white plastic wings and wore these garish almost Anime costumes and carried tons of weapons and gadgets and magical stuff. It was a grab-bag of gimmicky TV crap. And then before the commercial break there was a segment back with the studio audience where it got all religious. People in the crowd really enraptured by the fake angel on the stage as he closed his eyes and put two fingers on his head and said, “Is there someone here with…”
Cut to a shot of the spellbound audience swelling with hope- eyes growing wide.
“…a hundred dimes?!”
One girl screams while the rest look mildly upset. Someone comes to help her to the stage as everyone claps and acts more excited then they really are. It couldn’t be more fake and these two old guys were drinking up every second of it.
I ask, “What the hell is this?”
They respond, “You mean you don’t watch it? Everybody loves Angels.”
I’m a little disturbed by all this and now really want my boots so I can leave. The commercial is on and they wander to get stuff from the kitchen. They notice the sword on the table and recognize it. They start going on about how this is such-and-such’s sword and it occurs to me that they are talking about the show- they really think its real. Even the stupid audience crap didn’t break the spell for them. They’re arguing about angel genealogy when the girl and her friend return with my boots. I sit on the couch to put them on. Still angry with her and weirded out by the old guys and the strange angel show. The boots are for some reason covered in and filled with gravel and dirt. I empty them out on the floor and clean them as best I can. The girl and her friend watch me intently but the show is back on so the old guys are glued to the TV.
I finish cleaning one of the boots and start pulling it on only to discover it’s a short maroon boot and mine were tall and green.
“These aren’t my boots!”
I’m very irritated now. I order her and her friend to bring me my boots and they go off to get them. They don’t seem very upset that their ruse didn’t work. Its almost like they were just too lazy to care and hoped I wouldn’t notice or something.
Finally they return with my green boots which I put on and get up to leave about the same time the show ends. The old men notice me again. I say they can keep the sword- I couldn’t walk home with it anyway. They are grateful for this but keep arguing about the show and which angel the sword belongs too and what they should do with it.
I pull on the brown leather jacket and head out the door. The old guys follow me- trying to preach to me about the angel show and how important it is that I believe too. I can tell they mean well but I want nothing to do with any of them.
“If you asked me I’d say you’d be better off as atheists.” Then I start walking down the street.
Just at the edge of their property a flashy red sports car pulls into the yard of the corner house next to the farmhouse and parks in the middle of the front yard facing the street. It’s a convertible and sitting in the front seats are too young attractive guys who do nothing but sit there talking to each other. Suddenly the whole area is filled with crowds of people watching the two and photographers snapping away. I would much rather avoid the whole thing but I can’t- I have to walk right through the crowd to head home so I keep going on down the sidewalk – round the corner and in front of the house. There is a wall between the sidewalk and yard where the yard is much higher than the street- so everyone was looking over me to see the two guys anyway- which was fine by me. I started home.
In my pocket was a “Cup-o-noodles”. I had no water or any way of heating it up but I was really hungry so I broke off a piece of dry noodle and crunched it as I walked home.