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Welcome to Dream Interpretation for Dummies, where Dear Abby meets Native Americana. Come to the campfire, peer into the yawning grave, and take a dive into the collective subconscious… or maybe just explore some weird clown imagery. We’ll wait for you here.
Howdy Note: This dream has been very lightly edited. Everything you are about to read has already happened, is happening, will happen…
Another Howdy Note: SATURDAY IS MY BIRTHDAY!!! Feeling very in my power, etc. Thank you all so, so much for reading. I feel supported beyond my wildest dreams! Happy tears & I’ll eat a slice of cake for you. Let’s continue on together, shall we?
Dear Howdy,
I dreamed about you last night. Well, I’m not sure what my dream was about.
Last night I dreamed. You were there.
My dream began in an open-air parking lot. I was helping the parking attendant (a middle-aged white man) write down the identification numbers of visitors as they entered the parking lot—some sort of security measure. After some time, an older woman came up to me and said, “Shouldn’t you be doing something else?” in a sly way, implying that I was working too hard and ought to take a break.
I decided that I wanted to go to the roof of the school building next to the parking lot. This roof had some appeal to me that I don’t quite know.
When the woman left and I turned around, the parking attendant had gone, and you were there, smiling, ready to come with me.
We walked to the school building, which was overgrown and empty. All the windows were dark. You tried to open the door, but it seemed to be stuck. I took the handle, and it opened.
We walked through several dim, empty classrooms that had wooden furniture bolted to the floor. The staircases in this building were on alternating sides of each story, so we had to walk through many classrooms to ascend the school. The further we climbed, the lower the ceilings became, until we were crawling on our bellies through these rooms. As we traversed the building, we avoided the windows because we were trying not to be seen, presumably because we were breaking some rule by being there.
Finally, we reached a teacher’s office, where we saw a math teacher from my high school who had resigned following a former student’s allegation of abuse. He looked at us both kind of sadly, like he was about to turn us in, but he felt bad about it.
I wanted to keep going, though. I thought if I moved fast enough, boldly enough, I could reach the roof of the building before I was caught. I stood up and opened the door behind the math teacher, which led to a brightly lit classroom filled with high schoolers and a teacher (another old white man). I walked nonchalantly through the room, hoping that my confidence would prevent anyone from realizing I wasn’t meant to be there.
The exit to this room was a crawl space behind the teacher’s desk, so I ducked behind the desk, which was when the teacher started shouting at me. I ignored him and tried to enter the crawlspace, which is when he grabbed me.
He was larger than me, but not by much, and I knew I had seriously upset him by undermining his authority. I also knew that he was going to hurt me.
I started screaming and struggling, but I could not free myself from his grasp. I hoped that one of the students would start filming this. You were still in the office with my old math teacher, and I both wanted you to come save me and was horrified by the idea of you witnessing the violence that was about to occur.
It was then that I woke up, shaking and sweating, at three in the morning. I immediately wrote down the events of this dream.
Howdy, I miss you. I’m sorry I brought you into such a terrible dream, but I did enjoy committing mischief with you, before it all became so scary. I hope the next time we see each other will have a better ending.
Love,
Pardner in Crime
Dear Pardner,
Thank you for the gift of your dream. In your post-script, you apologized for the length of this dream, but I can not bear to part with any detail, especially if it’s from you. I am very susceptible to flattery; as you know, it makes my rosy cheeks even rosier and sends me into a state of both embarrassment and pleasure. So, to be able to witness a dream, to feel it in my hands when it also involves me, is a true delight.
So, blushing, into your dream we go: Last night you dreamed, and I was there. You begin in a liminal space — because aren’t all parking lots liminal spaces? A place between going and staying, of eating a full lunch behind the wheel of your car and listening to a friend’s voice memos like a podcast. In dreams and occasionally in life, the old can represent wisdom, of a time inaccessible to us because of age. This woman is giving you good advice; take a break, she seems to say. And don’t we all need to hear that?
So you do, and you go to a place where you can see everything, where you can keep tabs on it. You crave this semblance of grasp. And then, a friend appears. Me, specifically. Am I a guide? A kind presence that your brain and spirit have gifted you for what lies ahead? I’m not sure, but either way, I’m glad to be with you.
We know, however, that you are the important one in this dream. You can open the door when I cannot, and you are the center in the widening gyre. I am piqued by this occurring in a school building. This speaks to a sense of a past, maybe a mutual one. We are shaped by what happened to us in our respective classrooms, and I have recently decided not to return, at least not for a while. But here we are. Furniture bolted to the floor, dangerously sloping ceilings, presumably cobwebs and creatures of all kinds — sounds like a horror movie in the making.
At the risk of referencing Scooby-Doo twice in this newsletter, so often the monsters we meet aren’t mythological or scaled, feathered or heaving with teeth. They are people who hide behind guises, which can be paper-thin or under a heavy laquer of respectability. This math teacher has committed a horrible, indefensible set of acts, and yet he displays emotion for us, the trespassers. Or, perhaps, the searchers. What are you looking for my, friend? Why can’t you find it?
It is a sad truth that in your body, in your place in this world, there is less safety for you than those who would seek to oppress you. You have to be careful in ways that other people don’t. This is true, and it is painful, and that you know without me having to tell you. What you may not know is that this scenario — the teacher, the crawlspace, the violence, the deep need for escape, is not something you ever have to face alone. Even if the thing you are experiencing feels too ugly, too complicated for words, the people who love you don’t think so. We will bear witness for you, we will protect you when we can, always. You deserve to be anywhere and everywhere you want, remember that.
Pardner, I miss you. Don’t apologize, I would follow you into the dark again, and again. Even to the witching hour. Let’s commit mischief soon. Together we’ll write an ending so beautiful it will read like poetry, beautiful and heartfelt.
I hope this helped. I’m sending you a dream of a large picnic table, with comfortable chairs. We’re eating fresh fruit and laughing, laughing. The weather is perfect, a slight breeze. We meet each other with understanding and kindness. That’s all there is.
See you on the other side,
Howdy
P.S. from a Dreamer! “Thank you so much for this! I totally feel the interpretation and receive the message! I'll let you know if the dream you sent comes to be!” — Jade Chang
Fancy a trip to Dreamland, pardner? Send your best to sadboyhowdy@gmail.com!