Yesterday, I dreamt that this chick from BattleStar Galactica, the blonde #6 Cylon that is, was staying at my house. Or the house I was living in at the time, which Incidentally looked like this one I’m in right now. Except it wasn’t.
She was showing me this bomb that people have in their houses and how to disarm and remove it.
Fast forward… I’m alone, and I find another one.
The way this house works, is like this. Right now, it’s four mews style houses all connected to each other, but completely separate.
In the dream, all four houses are still separate, but the gardens are connected, and there’s a door that runs through the connecting walls of each house.
The house I am in is on one end of this building, and the houses have different groups of people living on each of the three floors in each house (got that?). All except the house I’m in, where I’m the only person living on all three floors.
So when I find the bomb, the new one that is, I go downstairs and walk through the gardens, to the bottom floor of the house at the other end, where there is a pair of Chinese brothers living.
When I knock on the door, they are both sleeping in a bed that swallows the whole room. The taller of the two brothers wakes up, and when I tell him I need his help, he comes, sleepily with me and helps me to disarm and remove the bomb.
After he is standing next to me, and as I’m thanking him, I look up and notice how handsome he is, and he is ‘giving me the eye’ and smiling.
Later that night, I dreamt I was buying a 10 bag of weed, from this guy and go to meet him in a square I’m sure is in Maidstone, but I’ve never seen it on any of the trips I’ve been on.
When I get there, another Chinese guys asks me if I want some weed, and I tell him I’m waiting on someone. So he walks down close to the main road, and stands there; I can see him from where I sit, and he’s illuminated by a street light.
The guy comes, a young African guy, and I get the weed. He tells me if I want more, I can just walk over to his house, where there is always someone home. The Chinese guy is gone when I look up.
He takes me across the square and the house is in a lane off the opposite side of the square, from where I walked in.
In the house, the Chinese guy who first offered me some weed, is sitting there in the living room watching TV, cuddled up with his CHinese girlfriend.
I say my hellos, and the African guy and I talk for a bit and then I leave. When I am walking away, I look back over my shoulder and can see the lane illuminated by the street light, but there’s only one there so the light only lights up part of the lane, not the whole thing.
I just woke up from a nap.
I dreamt of Keffi. First we are in her house in Barbados and I think I am from the future.
We are both hanging out, and a friend of hers comes by. She asks Keffi how she has been, and she has this sad look on her face.
When she doesn’t reply, I kind of reply for her, “Well she’s quite tired what with this second baby.”
Her friend asks, “Are you pregnant again?”
She gives me this look, sad smiley look, and then shrugs and says she’s not sure.
A while later she goes into her room, I excuse myself and follow her.
I ask her if she’s pregnant, and she nods yes then asks me, “How did you know? I didn’t tell you.”
I realise that she is scared, like this second baby is frightening her. Knowing what I know now, I know it’s her second pregnancy and delivery that hastens the leukemia in her body, wearing it out enough for the disease to get a complete foothold.
I decide to say nothing, but I take her in my arms as I start to cry, realising then that I know she’ll be dead in two years, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
I whisper to her, “It’s a girl, and she will be beautiful, absolutely beautiful.”
I kiss her cheek, and when she pulls back from me, we are both crying, but we smile at each other. Her smile is beautiful, but now I can see death is hovering around her.
I realise this is my chance to say goodbye to her; to interact with her, my chance to make my long peace with her death. Except to tell her all this would frighten her even more, so instead I become bear-like in my heart and become her protector.
This is the first time I’ve dreamt of Keffi in more than three years. All my dreams of her were in the first six months after she died.
Incidentally, she and I were in a bookstore in Bridgetown, Barbados when she told me about her second pregnancy. At the time she WAS scared, and she was very unsure about it all. She told me she hadn’t told UT yet. I remember asking her if she was happy, and she said yes, but it wasn’t a convincing thing. She actually asked me to keep it to myself.
I am in England. Walking across this same square going to an audition.
When I get to the auditorium where it’s being held, I stand in line with people who have jewellry to sell, are in tap shoes practicing, people practising arias, guitarists, acapella groups.
The schitck of the show is that you show your talent, and if the host likes it on air, you get £5000 on the spot, and a chance to go on to the main show.
I watch through the cracked door as a couple of people win the money.
All I have come with is a poem; a poem about Keffi.
When it comes to my turn, I go in. I am nervous.
When the producer asks me what I have, I tell her a poem. She asks me why I want to get on the show, I tell her because years and years before, before when Keffi was living in England, she was on a similar show and she won it.
The producer is heartless. She tells me that’s bollocks and dismisses me. I never get to read my poem.
Disappointed I go outside, but I am not defeated. I wander among the remain contestants, offering them encouragement, and then eventually I leave.
As I leave, I call and ask my African friend with the weed to sell, if he can meet me in the square. He hesitates but he agrees.
When I get there I have to wait a bit, and I notice a couple of white guys about, just lingering.
The square is bordered on one side by a kind of apartment block, with these fat gray stairwells and long, long connecting corridors.
I see my friend come, and we talk for a bit, then all of a sudden he apologises and sets off at a dead run. One of the white guys I noticed before, is running after him, the other on one of those connecting corridors racing towards the stairwell my friend is now retreating up.
I see him race across the corridor, with the two other guys in hot pursuit.
I stand there a little shaken, and then make my way out of the square and to the train station. I catch a train and go home.