memories ought to live in your elbows, ‘cause they’re funny things
I had a dream last night.
(reading that again, i realize how utterly boringly banal it is to start a post with those words)
My daughter and I were going to a Supernatural conference. We could actually afford to go to one! We chose to pay only to listen to them talk/chatter/banter. The autograph and/or photo-ops were unchecked. (For us, someone’s ungainly scrawl on an otherwise beautiful photograph of themselves, and the very impersonal photo ops would probably be too disappointing.)
The ‘talk/chatter/banter’ part of the convention/conference thing turned out to be some kind of luncheon thing at which the participants sat at those long plastic-and-metal ‘picnic table’ contraptions one usually finds in high school cafeterias. Sat directly in front of us-my daughter, to be exact-was Jensen Ackles. Jared was no where to be seen.
For some strange, out-of-this-world reason, I consciously chose to spent more time looking down at my lunch than at Jensen Ackles. My daughter, on the other hand, had no compulsion whatsoever with bombarding the poor guy with question after question. (I should note, at this time, my daughter is almost fourteen years old.) Jensen, however, did not take too kindly to my ignoring him. He tried various ways to get my attention. I could ‘see’ him looking at me, staring at me, making faces at me. Even pointedly asking my daughter why I was ignoring him. I don’t know what my daughter was saying; the asparagus was way too important.
The room itself was a long, wide, dark, short-ceilinged room. There were lights on, but they seemed covered in a haze, giving off way more shadows than there should have been. It wasn’t so much loud as it was aurally intense. Everybody was speaking in normal tones, but the combination of so many voices in that low-ceilinged room made them seem all shoved together into one massive sound.
Maybe that’s why I didn’t even bother trying to talk, my voice would simply get sucked up into the aural mass dominating the room. I would have become like everyone else, and would have lost myself. So I didn’t speak; I just ate.
But it was almost like Jensen could tell there was something amiss: my voice. So he kept trying to get me to talk. I can’t remember if I eventually did. I think I might have. I think there might have been a good discussion. But I can’t remember things clearly enough.
Then I woke up.
Things feel weird now, more like a ‘real’ memory, than just a memory of a dream. I hate it when dreams to that: implant themselves firmly in the memory-part of your brain so the associated feelings also seem so real.