My newfound guide and I walked out on the flight deck to catch our transport. We were about a quarter mile above the ground, on a platform terminal bathed in sunlight and surrounded on all sides by a bright blue sky. The terminal itself was huge, open, clean, and free of almost all obstructions. It was kind of like walking on an empty aircraft carrier deck or freeway overpass where someone had erected canopy-covered benches every thirty feet or so. There were a dozen or so transports lined up along the edges of the platform, bound for destinations all over the city. They were light grey and conical, giving a slight twinge of familiarity - as if they were second cousins once removed - to the big Imperial Star Destroyer seen in the opening minutes of Star Wars IV chasing down Princess Leia. Except each of these was only the size of a living room.
As we stepped aboard the small transport ship to get from one end of the city to the other, there were only a few people on board. The craft was surprisingly open inside - it looked about twice as big from the inside as it had from the outside, with a row of padded benches lining the triangular floor. The middle of the flying living room was open, with a ceiling high enough for commuters to stand without feeling confined.
We walked over to the large horizontal window at the rear of the transport and gazed out at the hustle and bustle of the station, slowly receding behind us. My new guide was in her early seventies, and thin. She had a warm smile and an intimate way about her. She had a knack of standing close to me, and touching me on the arm while making a point in conversation, or laying her hand on my shoulder by means of saying Hello when she approached from the rear. She was a hugger. I found as years went on that she always hugged when she met me each time, and again by way of saying Good-bye. Somehow none of this seemed offensive or intrusive. Regardless of how long I’d known her - in fact, from the very first time I’d met her - she seemed as comfortable to have around as she seemed to feel. It was like the intimacy of a sibling or parent; warm, comforting, reassuring, unassuming.
As the transport moved farther away from the terminal and up into the open sky, we were buffeted by a much larger craft heading the opposite direction just above us. Our craft tilted suddenly upward toward the sky, then immediately to our left 180 degrees and swung down so the tip was jutting straight towards the ground, far below. This all happened so quickly I hardly had time to panic before my brain could talk with my senses and figure out the problem.
The problem was I did not feel upset in any way.
The scene out the large window went from the normal expanding horizon and receding terminal in the distance, suddenly to the ground filling the entire window, and then just as suddenly to the stark clear of a light blue sky. The scene inside the craft, however, remained unchanged. A couple sat on the bench toward the nose of the living room, eating out of square take-out containers from a local restaurant. A few people sat by themselves reading or staring out the window. My guide and I stood unmoved at the window, as if still on the firm footing of the ground. We tossed around like a loose fishing bobbin in the wake of a high speed boat, and gradually settled down to regain our original heading and speed. None of us inside the craft were the slightest bit worse for wear. Inside the transport, in had not seemed as if we had deviated in the slightest from a straight line.
I turned to the woman I’d accompanied onboard and introduced myself with a disconcerted smile. She smiled in return and said her name was Lacy Dashall. “But please,” she said, “call me Can. My father used to call me Can, or sometimes Can of Puke. You kind of remind me of him. I’d be honored if you called me Can.”
*****
I don’t know where this dream came from, but I present it to you here in the hopes that somebody out there can analyze it and reassure me that I’m not insane. It makes no sense to me. The woman is actually a real person from my past, whom I have not seen, heard from, or even thought of in about a decade. It took me until 8 hours after waking to recall her true name, and a couple more hours to figure out why she was in the dream at all. I believe I portrayed her accurately, though.
-2×4-
