Last night she dreamed of Keanu Reeves. He was an oddly goofy character in the dream, intensely focused on following his light-hearted senses with that intense mind. He danced with his lady friend, dressed almost as a clown, awkward yet child-like in his innocent enjoyment of the moment on the crowded floor as they moved around together. Somehow they connected, eye-contact, and that laser beam of light took enough flicker for her to know he would follow her before she reached her car. She didn’t know why. This was not the usual seduction scene. She had asked before she slept, to know the grace of acceptance, the ocean flow of energy as grace gives and changes. As she approached the block where her car was parked she heard him call to her. In the dark wet night his voice echoed around the street lamps and poles, cars and fire escapes, and she turned to see him running ahead of his lady friend and another as he called to her. She stopped.
Where are you going? He asked. I want to come with you.
His friend and hers reached their car in the alley, and she could feel their disgust, their misunderstanding of his intensity of energy, of change. Indeed, he did not have much grace in his way of making himself known.
I’m going home, she said. First I have to find my car.
He nodded matter-of-factly and proceeded to get his car, which turned out to be a trumped up jeep, like a combination of glider, jeep, and bicycle.
He followed her in her car and pulled up behind her as she reached the curb in front of her house. They entered silently, expectantly but without definition or destination. This was a different sensation. Then scenes in her memory mixed. In one she sat at a table in the small office, with no clutter around but an empty book open in front of her. She looked at the book without turning pages. The molecules in the room began to move, the air shifting and changing. She looked down at her own torso and her chest had changed to that of a young man, the muscles smooth and forming, her white shirt first disappearing then reappearing. She began to feel the arousal that came with the movement of muscle motivated by charm, by sea change so deep within the cells as if from the bottom of the ocean, by the urge and power of life expressing itself, the silt and sand heaving and lifting the particles into the waves like fine filigree, delicate lace. All of this came from her mind as she watched this body change as she sat still. She was lost in the sensations for a moment, which felt like a lifetime. When he came to the doorway and smiled at her, she marveled and smiled back as he turned to leave again.
Let’s talk about cellular reconstruction, she said, when they were sitting outside, at another place she could not name in her waking hours. They sat on grass in lawn chairs, overlooking a bay where birds flew at a distance.
When she woke up and poured a cup of coffee, Tom came to sit beside her at the kitchen table. He leaned against her, rubbing his chin on her shoulder. He was sleepy. She kissed him and began to tell him about her dream. He lifted his head and smiled a smile similar to Keanu Reeves in her dream. (a continuing excerpt)
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