The other night I dreamt I was being chased by three zombie children dressed in white. It was horrifying. I jerked awake and lay in bed trying to shake the images from my head. Eventually, I drifted back to sleep only to be greeted with another dream of a man stooped before another man holding an axe above his head. The stooped man was pleading for his life, but the other man didn’t seem to care. Before bringing down his ax, he looked at me and smiled. The ax came down and the poor, pleading man lost his head. I woke up in a cold sweat.
A few mornings later, I was sitting at my computer typing away, as I am wont to do, and I heard my wife scream from the bedroom. I shouted, “What’s wrong?” To which she replied, “Bad dream.” I let it go at that because my wife often has bad dreams. When I ask her about them, she usually says, “It was just too awful. I can’t stand all these bad dreams.” Later in the day, I decided to tell her about my bad dreams.
She looked at me horrified and said, “Those are really bad dreams.”
I asked, “Well, what are your bad dreams about?”
“Nothing like that. It’s usually me showing up at some event wearing clothes that don’t fit, or I’m back in school, and I realize I haven’t studied for my final exams.”
I tried not to look amused or confused, but I must have smirked because she said, “Don’t laugh because you’re never there to support me when it happens.”
“You mean I’m not in your dreams?’
What’s the lesson? One wife’s nightmare is her husband’s failure to breach time and space to save her from total, albeit imagined, humiliation.
BTW – I let my wife read this before I posted it, and she refuted almost every word. I really am going to start recording our conversations.