Dislike

Betsy and I are trying to switch out the bulbs in a complicated light fixture in one of the guest suites. As I casually flirt she abruptly says I dislike you.
I’m completely taken aback. What?
I dis-like you, she enunciates carefully.
I don’t say anything, just throw the bulbs down with a pop, turn away and stalk out the door. After a moment she follows Wait! as seemingly surprised at my reaction as I am at her words.
I hear her behind me and somehow have the realization that we’re both having the same dream at the same time, two actors collaborating in what is usually a solo show. Because her statement originated from her, in her dream, it was completely unexpected and genuinely hurt me, while she’s shocked at its effect because my feelings exist independently of her, in my own dream.
I resist the urge to turn around and her footsteps fade as she takes a different turn in the maze of corridors and we diverge into our now separate dream paths.
The next morning I wake up a little disconcerted, pull myself together, have a cup of coffee and walk into town. I go into the hardware store to get more bulbs and there’s Betsy. Hey, she says, looking at me curiously. I’m glad to see you.
No, you’re not, I say.

About ubu507

memory documentation and manipulation
This entry was posted in art, From A hypnagogic Journal, Poetry, Poetry and Art, specific imaginative compulsion, Woman and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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