Dream theater, elevated
Magda first had the dream on the eve of her 79th birthday.
She was disappointed to find that her lucidity did not bring youth as well; even in the vagueness of her subconscious, she retained the comfortable, sagging bulk, the spotted brown skin, legs sturdy and bowed like tree trunks, swathed in a housecoat with a faded flower pattern. She spent a moment in dismay, then shrugged it off and shifted her attention to the dreamscape.
Magnificent, surely, with the long pier stretching off into infinity behind her, and terminating about fifty yards ahead in a series of docks with small buildings perched precariously on the supports like sea birds. Cormorants, Magda thought, and suddenly there were two, tussling for space on a post. She blinked, filed that tidbit away for later, and began the short trudge toward the largest of the shacks, which was graced with an unreadable shingle that Magda nonetheless knew said 'Mamma's'.
The door to Mamma's was one of those half-shutter doors like saloons in the old west; Magda snorted at her own cliches. Inside was small, only a bar, and a wall full of papers that wavered in and out of existence as peripheral details will. Magda was not surprised by the woman at the bar. Mamma could have been herself, except fatter, browner, older, radiating practicality like a Madonna, the essence of mother. Magda felt content, so her intended bark just came out matter-of-fact. "What am I doing here, Mamma?"
"This is KJWL, and you could be a winner! Just call in and tell our morning show hosts the worst birthday gift you've ever gotten!" Magda's eyes popped open, and she lay, disoriented, for a long moment before fumbling to shut off the clock radio alarm. The dream faded without much notice; being old and getting out of bed are two things difficult to reconcile.
***
All for now, and it was a fuzzy series of dreams I had, so it'll be fuzzy coming together. I just had the hankering to write something catchy.
She was disappointed to find that her lucidity did not bring youth as well; even in the vagueness of her subconscious, she retained the comfortable, sagging bulk, the spotted brown skin, legs sturdy and bowed like tree trunks, swathed in a housecoat with a faded flower pattern. She spent a moment in dismay, then shrugged it off and shifted her attention to the dreamscape.
Magnificent, surely, with the long pier stretching off into infinity behind her, and terminating about fifty yards ahead in a series of docks with small buildings perched precariously on the supports like sea birds. Cormorants, Magda thought, and suddenly there were two, tussling for space on a post. She blinked, filed that tidbit away for later, and began the short trudge toward the largest of the shacks, which was graced with an unreadable shingle that Magda nonetheless knew said 'Mamma's'.
The door to Mamma's was one of those half-shutter doors like saloons in the old west; Magda snorted at her own cliches. Inside was small, only a bar, and a wall full of papers that wavered in and out of existence as peripheral details will. Magda was not surprised by the woman at the bar. Mamma could have been herself, except fatter, browner, older, radiating practicality like a Madonna, the essence of mother. Magda felt content, so her intended bark just came out matter-of-fact. "What am I doing here, Mamma?"
"This is KJWL, and you could be a winner! Just call in and tell our morning show hosts the worst birthday gift you've ever gotten!" Magda's eyes popped open, and she lay, disoriented, for a long moment before fumbling to shut off the clock radio alarm. The dream faded without much notice; being old and getting out of bed are two things difficult to reconcile.
***
All for now, and it was a fuzzy series of dreams I had, so it'll be fuzzy coming together. I just had the hankering to write something catchy.