Last night I had the strangest dream (and yes, I do believe those are song lyrics.) I rode my bike to my grandmother’s house. Already you know this is a dream because my grandma lives on the west side of town, and there’s no way in hell I could ride my bike all the way over there. In fact, this dream conveniently began with me pulling into grandma’s driveway, so even when unconscious, I know my limitations. I parked my bike against the hose reel in front of her house. Some vague dream-like things happened, most of which I can’t remember now, but what really stood out this morning as I lifted my head groggily from a drool-soaked pillow was looking for soccer shirts and my missing son (I do not have a son, by the way), who was still alone at the mall at 6:10 pm on a Sunday. He was 4 and wanted to be independent so I gave him two uncashed checks and sent him on his way, thinking he would chicken out and come back. He called my bluff, though, and spent the afternoon wandering around the arcade and a glasswares sale at Macy’s. Now it’s become a nightmare, because I really have nothing good to say about Macy’s, yet I had to spend a considerable part of my sleeping hours walking through a dream version of the store looking for my nonexistent child. During a glasswares sale, nonetheless.
At some point, my husband showed up to grandma’s in a tiny scooter that looked like a toy truck, and wanted us to drive that over to the mall to find the boy. I asked him how on earth he thought we would fit a child in the back of this scooter, let alone our big butts. Subconsciously (how can it be subconscious in a dream? Is there a sub-subconscious?) I think I felt he was being pessimistic about our chances of finding “Austin”. I’m sure claustrophobia never entered into the picture.
The police had found Austin, fortunately, though he was charged with check fraud since I forgot to sign the checks over to him and he got some kind lady to do it instead so he could get fries. Then I was back at grandma’s, where my bike was still hanging on the hose reel but it had been completely stripped by some neighborhood hoodlums (probably led by my son).
I then panicked, realizing the girls were supposed to be at a soccer game, and started hunting for their uniforms. They eventually turned up in a strange mini-refrigerator in my grandma’s bedroom. O4 didn’t want to wear hers because it was frozen stiff and she couldn’t move in it.
I have no idea what all of this means. All I can say is, Austin, you’d better get mommy’s money back.