"Tell me, the dream, again..."
"Well, it's night, and New York is particularly quiet. It's not necessarily late at night, it's just the neighborhood that's quiet. Maybe it's a sleepy street in the Village, but more often than not, I think it's Brooklyn"
The therapist thought, never in a million years would I think I would hear a dream that took place in Brooklyn. Times have changed.
"Okay, Brooklyn" the therapist answered the girl.
"And, I'm holding his hand. I can't see his face. But he is dragging me - up the stairs - to his apartment."
"And the apartment, what does it look like?" the therapist probed, bored at this point, and thinking about redecorating her house in the Hamptons.
"There are tall ceilings. Wood floors. And a mattress - on the floor - with white sheets."
"Do you feel safe? In this apartment?"
"Do you see a man's face?"
"I told you already. No. I don't. Or at least...I used to not see one."
"Does he speak to you?"
"Yes, but it is garbled. I can't understand everything that he says. Some - but not all. It's a dream, you know?"
"What happens, once you are in the apartment?"
"The man takes my bag or suitcase, whatever it is that has my belongings in it. He carries it for me and puts it up against a brick wall. He drags me to the mattress."
"Do you have...sex...with...this stranger?"
"NO - we don't have sex...right then... And he's not a stranger. Technically not a stranger."
"That's what I said. I do - I mean, we do know each other."
"So, you're friends?"
"Yes - I mean - it's fresh...it's new...but old at the same time. Do you understand what I am saying to you?"
"I think I do. You mean you think that even though you just became friends, you already feel like you know him?"
"Yes. I...think that's what I mean."
"Why don't you sleep with him...in the dream?"
"We're...not in love...yet"
"Is that important to you?"
"God, yes, very important."
"Are you mad that you are not in love?"
"No, because I think we are...falling..."
"I see...there is potential"
"Potential, yes. We are both...falling..."
"What do you do...then? On the mattress?"
"I told you. We listen to music....It's not the type of music to make you think too much. It simply makes you...feel good. And...relaxed...Peaceful. It's gentle. He's...big...but gentle."
"Well, on the mattress...does he touch you? At all? Do you touch him?"
"We just listen to his records and hold hands. We listen to the music. We listen to each other breathe. We listen to each other's stomach gurgle...maybe once or twice. We are hungry. I think we forget to eat something. That is all."
"You mean to tell me you spend a weekend, lying on a mattress on a floor, in Brooklyn, listening to records, holding hands with a man, who is new to you, but not so new, and the two of you stare up at the ceiling with all of your clothes on? "
"Yes. Although sometimes we feel the vibrations, from his speakers. They are large and old fashioned. The beats from the music pulse into the wood floor and shake the bed occasionally. They are the speakers I remember having as a young woman. They were bigger than some refrigerators. Those giant speakers, and listening to music - Sterolab's song Cybele's Reverie specifically -lying on the wooden floor of my first apartment. Well, it is one of my fondest memories of being a young girl. And I relive this memory...with him"
"A man who you just met, but feels like an old friend?"
"Yes, well - familiar. He is familiar because of these dreams that I have already had..."
"And the two of you are alone in the apartment.."
"Well, not technically alone...he...has a cat"
"Okay, there is a cat"
"Is the cat friendly?"
"Yes, the cat is happy that I am there."
"Is the man happy that you are there?"
"Yes. I...believe he is. In fact, I know he is. He's just good. I can't explain it more profoundly than that. He's good."
"But you...and this man...in the dream...you're dressed...what are you wearing? Is that something you remember?"
"Um...he's wearing shorts being held up with a belt and also a worn-down concert t-shirt. There are Sambas lying beside the bed, on the wood floor."
"What.., are you wearing?"
"A dress. Thin, silk, dark colored. The hem is above my knee. It has buttons from top to bottom. I am not wearing stockings. It is Spring - or summer - obviously - the boy - I mean - man - well, he's wearing shorts, isn't he?"
"I've been having this dream for...I don't know, at least three years. If not longer. But there has never been a face...you know...on the man? Well...not...until now"
"I see. You know who this person is, don't you?"
"Yes, I do know who this person is."
"You've been having this same dream for three years. And now this strange man, who's not a stranger, has a face. And a name I presume?"
"Yes, he has a name. It's...foreign. And I probably pronounce it incorrectly."
"Does this...make you happy?"
"Happy...and angry. I don't know if he has ever had a dream about meeting me, before we met?"
"Just because you dreamed of him, before you met him, doesn't mean he has to have dreamed about you before he met you"
"I wish he had"
"It's not essential to him loving you. We all fall in love differently. Remember that"
"Has anything changed other than seeing the man's face, in this dream of yours? It's obviously incredibly special to you, or you wouldn't keep having it, for so many years"
"Well, on the last night, of the weekend, he takes off his shirt and places both of my hands on his belt buckle, and he helps me take his shorts off."
"Are you conscious of him being naked?"
"Well, he's not naked. Like, I told you. He's in his boxers. Or at least I imagine him to be the type to wear boxers."
"Do you undress?"
"Well, he unbuttons my silk dress. I told you, there are many buttons on the dress. But he is patient, and unbuttons them all."
"And now, you are naked?"
"No - I told you! We are not naked! I am just in my bra and underwear! But, but, I am shaking now. I'm nervous. I want to tell him to touch me, but I don't. I have Goosebumps...all over my body. And I am wet...between my legs."
"O-kay. You started telling me the dream, this dream you've had for awhile now. Well, the details..."
"They have started to get filled in...And...I didn't think the details would ever...get filled"
"I'm starting to think you want to sleep with this person."
"I think you're right"
"But you just said, you have to be in love. He has to have dreams about you, just like you have dreams about him."
"Do you...do you have an orgasm in this dream?"
"Well, I don't say a word...in the dream. I just...I just...take one of his hands...in my own...and place it in between my legs."
"He kisses me, softly, and my lips are trembling, and my legs are shaking and before I know it...I'm..."
"Do you wake up right then? From the dream?"
"What happens next?"
"He smiles at me"
"Yes. A big and silly smile that makes me feel warm...on my insides. Just like the first night that we met. That feeling. The warm feeling. On my insides, that first night. Well, it surprised me. I think I made him also feel warm on the insides, that first night. I think it surprised him, too."
"Well, he's sweet...and passionate. The kisses and the smiles...well...they put me at ease...I won't say that Temptation being his favorite New Order song had anything to do with it..."
"I'm not sure his liking the same song is enough..."
"And he hates Cat Power. And I love Cat Power. Why on earth does that excite me? It excites me a lot!"
"Did you kiss him, the night you met him?"
"No, but, at the end of the night, he threw his coat on and squeezed me in his arms and ran out the door. Like...disappeared in a cab, within seconds..."
"Well, he was nervous, I don't know, maybe he was just under the weather, but I just, well, I had this feeling he was afraid he might kiss me that night..."
"Afraid to kiss you?"
"I don't know...afraid something might happen. Afraid of what he was capable of. Not that I...well, would ever make the first move. I just...liked the way it felt to have him sit beside me. I hoped he would hold my hand or something, under the bar that first night. Maybe just wanting to hold hands with him is how he became the face of the man in my reoccurring dream."
"Are you in love with him?"
"Well, that night, I...I was sober. I even told him, I don't drink too much so that all of my decisions are deliberate...and made from an authentic feeling...not from...alcohol..."
"Well, the bartender made some kind of a quip and I answered him by saying something like, I wish I liked someone enough to sit and talk with them for hours"
"And what did the man sitting beside you say?"
"He just said wow, I think, and sipped his shot of Tequila. Then I looked up at the clock above the bar and realized I had just been talking to him, for hours..."
"You didn't answer my question. Are you in love with him?"
"Well, I think, in the dream at least, I love him."
"Does he love you...in the dream?"
"Yes....He does...love me. He loves me even though I find the slightly sociopathic Husker Du song Diane to be a great love song. Maybe, he loves me because of that reason."
"Did you ever cum from this dream before?"
"No, never before"
"You have never cum in this dream before? The dream you tell me you have been having for three years? The one where up until this point you do not speak, nor ever get naked? The one with a man without a face?"
"You are correct."
"The dream with a man who always has a record collection, a cat, and soccer shoes. The man who has an apartment in New York? Maybe Brooklyn?"
"Yes. I know. It sounds crazy - although the cat detail is brand new. I am still trying to wrap my head around it. And he has a Caveman like quality. At the end of the day, I am old fashioned and need to be won. Need to be possessed."
"You think this man, who's face has finally appeared in your reoccurring dream is a Caveman?"
"Well, he eats Wild Boar"
"The fact that he eats Wild Boar makes you think that he is a Caveman?"
"Yes, a Caveman with a sophisticated palate. Imagining him asking an Italian Butcher for Wild Boar pleases me, immensely."
"Yes, Wild Boar. And I think it is indicative of him having a deep-down Caveman like quality. Like he could hit me over the head with a wooden bat and drag me away with him. Kind of like the Husker Du song Diane but - without a rape, or knives..."
"I am not familiar with Husker Du"
"Oh, it's just a band. From my youth. And Diane happens to be one of my favorite songs. He sent me an acoustic version. I loved it. Goosebumps."
"Yes, Goosebumps. He is a very sweet Caveman. Wouldn't really ever hurt me - physically. Just the initial bump on the head, some dragging. Would put ice on the bump, and feed me Ibuprofen and some brown liquor until the swelling went down."
"Wow. You have some interesting fantasies."
"Remember, I am a writer. In the Stone-Age romantic genre."
"Does this man, the one with a face now. The one who you liken to a Caveman because of his foray into Game meats. Does he remind you of anyone you have met before?"
"No, not at all. That is the best part about him. He is completely unique. And brand new. I hope he thinks I am also unique, and brand new."
"Now is that the end of the dream? Your climax? Knowing you love one another?"
"Well, I roll on top of him and kiss him fervently."
"Well...I have sex with him"
"Is this the first time you have had sex in this dream?"
"Well, yes. The first time. You know...from our speaking before...I have not had many lovers...hardly...any...But I always wanted...someone to teach me... about sex...it might be him...I mean...I want this man to teach me about sex. But I want him to love me first."
"I think I have - or been changed, at least. In fact, I feel like it is out of my hands and I am just watching it all happen. And I am enjoying watching it fall into place."
"Sex - just the one time?"
"Well, no. A few times...I can't seem to get enough of him...And once I think I've had enough, he starts to touch me again..and it starts all over. But I welcome it. I welcome him. Like I said, we're hungry."
"And that's the end of the dream?"
"Well, no, not exactly..."
"What do you mean, not exactly?"
The therapist looked at the clock on the ceiling. The session was almost up. This girl - today - was exhausting. She had been talking in circles. But at least her dream wasn't boring. The therapist looked at the girl- sitting in the chair in front of her - and she was smiling, and quietly...content.
"I kind of want to hear him tell me - You're it"
"Well, yes, its the opening line to Sonic Youth's Teenage Riot"
"Is this another song?"
"Yes. Another song. Music is important - to me - and my writing."
"You want him to tell you - you're it?"
"Yes, just like Kim Gordon."
"And then I will tell him - you're it."
"Listen, I don't know who these people are that you speak of - Kim Gordon? Sonic Youth? But what you are saying - telling someone - this man who was in your dreams for three years, who now has a name - foreign - I think - and a face - and soccer shoes - and a record collection - and an apartment in Brooklyn - and..."
"A cat, he has a cat"
"Well, it sounds romantic. You know, telling someone - you're it"
"I like this dream."
The therapist looked over this girl. This girl who was talking in circles. This girl who was smiling. This girl who was quietly content.
"I... see that you do."
The girl in the chair stood up and started walking toward the door to exit.
"I...I think this dream...it's...just...the beginning...And, I like the way I feel right now. I'm not in any rush...I like waiting...I hope he doesn't mind waiting...for me..."
"Let's wait and see what happens" the therapist advised, cautiously. Her stomach was growling. She hoped there was a Protein bar in her desk drawer that she could eat quickly before her next appointment arrived.
And then the girl - who was actually a woman(but who felt like a girl - when she thought about the boy - who was actually a man) made her way out the door of the office, skipping slightly, and feeling warm on her insides all over again.
A Pool Hustler's Daughter grows up in subterranean America. She dreams big, hustles daily and loves her Daddy. With empathy, fascination and grace she navigates and inhabits every tier of society; sees beauty and hope and magic in all things; respects and lives by the "mitzvah."
A Pool Hustler's Daughter calculates the trifecta payout at the racetrack, hides money on three parts of her body, has an arsenal of "Uncles," and keeps a baseball bat by the front door. She values friendship, loyalty and experiences over "things." Like her father, she seeks to learn "The secrets of the universe" and believes "Life ain't on the square." She applauds the self-made and those who learn to "overcome" their circumstances. Her door is always open for a sofa to sleep on, a hot meal, or an eager listener for a life story.