Dreamed I was playing a friendly game of baseball with the neighbors, all of us clean-cut men, while the women in bright floral dresses busied themselves nearby chattering and carrying trays of lemonade.
Suddenly, there was a noise - a dull drone - and all the men and women stopped what they were doing and looked into the sky, slacked jawed. It was a returning bomber from a mission. I looked past them - we weren't in a neighborhood, we were on an Air Force base. These weren't houses, they were barracks.
The small group gathered under a tree on a spot of grass and grew melancholy. I befriended a sensual but sad black woman who was so very familiar to me but whom I could not place. She spoke philosophically in a matter-of-fact manner. The discussion was the last dance - at the armory - tonight, before us men we shipped out to WWII the next day.
I got back to my room and a very young, age-appropriate for the 1940s Frances was there; my grandmother-in-law. I was her husband. I had just quantum-leaped from the future. So had apparently, she. She was aware of who I was, and what had transpired. She knew I was not her husband Bill, and remembered as if it were the day before instead of 60 years ago, where we were and the coming events of the evening. She was reliving this day in her past for unknown reasons, and was going to do everything exactly as she'd done.
After I'd changed into my stiff olive drab and khaki officer's uniform, I couldn't stop fiddling with the accouterments which adorn it - placement and spacing on the epaulets and such. When I knelt down to tie my shoe (which had frustratingly come undone again) I recognized them as my grandfather-in-law's. "You know he's going to have these shoes for a very long time, right?" Yes, she remembered. She remembered everything and seemed to be doing a fantastic job keeping her mind focused on the task at hand given the circumstances.
When night came, she took my hand and we walked to the armory. Glenn Miller was playing and I noticed the scene was in black and white. As we walked down the narrow, crowded hallway I knew I'd never make it onto the dance floor before I "jumped" out.
Now I was standing on the main road in our subdivision in Newton, Kansas presentday. Someone was street-racing themselves in a maroon Corvette. Very loud. Around the block, screech down the main street. Around the block, screech down the main street. Over and over over. It was annoying and I was surprised the police hadn't shown up. There was a man standing next to me. It was Ernest. We were talking. I remembered he had a Corvette. He no longer wanted it and gave me the keys. I thought that awfully generous of him.
I took it for a spin around my old neighborhood in Irving, TX. At some point I crawled in the back, as if it were a full-size van. It had a hardwood floor, and a single leather seat in the middle. I sat down in the seat. Someone else was driving, and making wide, but fast turns. I was surprised to find a seatbelt attached to this single-seat in the middle of the back of a cavernous Corvette, but there it was. The moment the buckle clacked into place, catttitude touched my chest.
I was laying in bed. Her touch had startled me awake. I told her of my dream about being her grandfather. She thought that was silly and asked if I was ready to go. I looked around the small room. I didn't know where I was. I couldn't see the kids. I took her to a restaurant where we sat at the tall tables in the tall chairs only they were in the isles between the rows of booths. I had accidentally left the brightly colored coats of my son and daughter in one of the booths, but another couple was already sitting there. I could hear their conversation. I could hear everyone's conversations. It was very distracting.
My wife had a heart attack or something severe like that. I was upset and sad both at the fact it happened, and that there was nothing I could do about it. I felt helpless. She excused herself and went to the restroom. I looked down and noticed I was wearing a red short-sleeve shirt with a collar and the Corvette logo embroidered above the left chest. I had thought that also a dream. I guess it wasn't. The logo was not visible however, because it was covered with the black-leather jacket I was wearing. Somehow the logo's visibility seemed important in what I was about to do: retrieve my kids' coats. By the time my wife returned from the restroom she was fine. I was grateful for that, and had the children's coats. She was ready to go.
We made it back to the small room and I tried to untangle these odd dreams from reality.
Cause he's always living back in Dixon, stuck in 1949
And we're all sitting at the fountain, at the five and dime
'Cause he's living in some B-movie, the lines they are so clearly drawn
In black and white life is so easy, and we're all coming along on this one
'Cause he's on a secret mission; Headquarters just radioed in
He left his baby at the dancehall - While the band plays on some sweet song
And on a mission over China
The lady opens up her arms
The flowers bloom where you have placed them
And the lady smiles, just like mom.
Angels wings are icing over; McDonnell-Douglas olive drab
They bear the names of our sweethearts, and the captain smiles, as we crash
'Cause in the mind of Ronald Reagan wheels they turn and gears they grind
Buildings collapse in slow motion and trains collide, everything is fine
Everything is fine