Why I remember this part of what I otherwise only remember being a very busy dream is beyond me. During this particular dream scene, I am at work, walking through the open doorway that leads to the area behind the counter. It’s the routine I take when I clock in for the day. I am right at the end, by the first touch-screen monitor and register. There are countless people around me, all familiar, and in the distracting mess of bodies and faces I quickly meet eyes with one girl, maybe blond hair, and something dawns on me. She seems awake. She seems real, I’m attracted. And I’m utterly confused. Immediately and intentionally I break the gaze, look down. Nervous. For a moment it is as if I realize this is a dream and that she doesn’t belong here. That she is somehow real; not a dream character, but a dreamer, like me.
I’m attracted to her immediately, but its not fake so I cannot act like this is fake. I try to just look down, pretend I didn’t see her, pretend that I was not partially jolted into awareness through the meeting of our eyes.
I’m suddenly afraid that looking away gave me away, that she knows I know, and I do my best to feign ignorance, hide behind the masque of sleep in this dream. I try to keep the act going, feeling observed by this girl even when she is out of sight. I forget if it was the alarm or spontaneous, but I awoke shortly thereafter and just sat for a moment on the edge of my bed.
“That was weird,” I found myself saying aloud to myself.