CALL IT DREAMING
a dream journal by MOLLY GOSEWICH
ILLUSTRATIONS BY MARTA HERRERA
December 11th, 2017. 9:01 AM EST.
I was with my old summer camp counsellor from when I was fifteen. At camp, he would teach my cabin water skills and first aid but this time we weren’t stuck in a lake. We were stuck in some alternate universe that as far as we could see, was just pale pink and purple clouds - an eternal sunset. Sitting in silence, he looked at me with sad eyes and told me we couldn’t go home, “for probably ever”, he said. No offense, but he was wearing a highly unfashionable combination of a puka shell necklace and Croc flip flops, it didn’t matter that we were stuck in some alternate reality, I couldn’t trust the opinion of a walking-talking knockoff Billabong advertisement. I dipped my toes into the in the clouds that surrounded us and made eye contact with the sky. Things started to shift and he yelled to hold onto a fence that was full with thick silver rings and locks that came up from the water. We held on with our faces pressed into the sand and all the clouds and water went away.
When all was calm again I wiped my eyes clean of salt water and thanked him, told him to “have a nice summer”.
December 21st, 2017. 7:25 AM EST.
Got my teeth cleaned in a basement level office in west end Toronto. Larry, the dentist is an old friend of my grandfather from his university days who is also old. The dental assistant, however, is young, very handsome and Jewish... like Andy Samberg. The best part is that he keeps looking and looking and looking at me.
My gums start to hurt a lot and the dental assistant tries to convince me that he knows me from “somewhere”, but I have no idea where that “somewhere” is. Maybe I went to highschool with him? Maybe that arts summer camp from back in 2011? All I know is that his eyes feel like they’re burning holes through my skin and I want to know more. The pain in my gums begins to die down now and he invites me to see a movie at a theatre down the street that only plays foreign films. In the lobby, he sees a long-lost friend that he just has to talk to. We end up missing our film because he spends hours talking to this old friend and my gums start to get that ache again. I sigh, trying to get his attention and shuffle my feet, only to have my dental assistant date grin in that kind of so-dapper-I-want-to-punch-your-lights-out obnoxious and offer me a sip of his tepid iced-tea.
I go to say something to them, to tell them I’d had enough of being ignored and blood just starts pouring out of my mouth while the dental assistant’s handsome face goes pale. “I had just wanted to see the fucking movie”, after I wipe my mouth with the napkin the friend gives me. The friend says goodbye and literally runs away, looking back at me like I have 3 heads. The dental assistant does his trademarked moviestar esque debonair grin but doesn’t say sorry. I still felt annoyed and my mouth tasted of pennies, but on the walk back to the dental office he held my hand. I never did find out where he knew me from.
January 2nd, 2018. 3:?? AM EST.
I go to visit my grandparents in the middle of the summer but their place isn’t what it is usually like. Did they move houses without telling me? I was going to have a long and serious talk with my parents if this was true. The house has way too many floors and is strangely opulent, like the palace of Versailles. I am the granddaughter of Arnold and Jackee, not Louis XIII and for all intents and purposes, it’s a complete stranger’s home with photos of my family hanging on the wall.
I go to shower in this sleek, white, modern bathroom that doesn’t match the rest of the house and find blonde chunks in my own brown hair as I shampoo. I was by no means a convincing blonde, so I grabbed the first bottle in front of me that just so happened to be jet black and full of a conditioner of the same tinge that stains my hair and the palms of my hands an ink-like dark.
I wasn’t alone the bathroom. My crush, who looked the exact same as he did from many summers ago, enters without knocking and began to talk to me through the glass panes of the shower like it was a completely ordinary thing to do in a situation like this. Butt naked, arms crossed over my chest, with stripes of black running down my back and my heart beating straight out of my chest. More people who I had never seen before began to trickle into the bathroom, while this guy asked me about the weather while I answered in one to two syllables with my back turned to him. Leftover shampoo got in my eyes and I yelled at everyone to get out. My old crush looked startled but didn’t leave the bathroom.
While he continued to drone on about the intense heat that had clouded the city, all I could think about was how glad I was that my hair wasn’t blonde anymore.
January 3rd 2018. 11:30 AM EST.
At a Foo Fighters gig in California, of all places. Dave Grohl pulls me up on stage from the first row and hands me a purple Höfner violin bass. The 50 year old groupies in the audience who looked like they were plucked straight from the Las Vegas strip all shoot daggers at me. as the first song starts. The strings on the bass came completely loose and only a muted out of tune sound came from as I plucked them. Those senile groupies with their red red red lipstick and tight tight tight tour t-shirts from circa 2007 definitely put a curse on the bass. Their
damn curse worked because the crowd started to boo. I left the stage, escorted by some balding roadie, crying so hard I think I gave the bass water damage.
January 10th 2018. 10:15 AM EST.
I left my favourite film camera in my room at the condo in Florida and my new friends (preppy looking blonde, curly haired twins) who I met at the pool wanted me to take pictures of them on the beach. We talked all the way to the elevators but the conversation had started to make me feel a little sick and stuffy. I told my new pals I’d catch up with them soon, so they walked down the hallway until their blonde heads vanished into thin air. In the bathroom in the safety of my own unit, I went to blow my nose and a red string peeks out of my nostril. I pull on the string and it comes out of my nose like one of those never-ending scarf tricks
that magicians pull. As I continue to blow my nose and remove the string, I look into the mirror and see there are words written all over it in pink lipstick. The shade was definitely Dior and the writing was definitely not in English. I hear my someone enter the unit, my mother, and she walks right by me in the bathroom, past me standing in front of a sink full of red string and satin finish Mysterieuse on the mirror.
February 2nd 2018. 7:01 AM EST.
At the same Pirates of the Caribbean themed Bar Mitzvah-slash-house party as a freshly famous and very good-looking young actor who made conversation with me while the people around us played soda pong (as I screamed internally). Later that evening, I was sat at a
round table with some girls talking when he came in from outside covered in a rash. “Jesus, are you okay?” we ask all concerned, but he just looks more upset and runs off into one of the rooms and slams the door shut. The girls at the table roll their eyes and whisper angrily to
each other but I could only see their lips moving. I followed him to the room he went into to see if he is actually okay, but it is locked and there is silence from behind the door. Hours later, I saw him sneak out of the party with two suitcases. He didn’t say goodbye on the way out and I decided that it wasn’t a good idea to see where he was going.
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