Dream Theater: My Pet Elephant

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In the beginning he was cute, the way all baby things are. Stumbling uncertainly on his little feet. Exploring everything with the tip of his trunk. Naturally I fell in love.

I brought him home to a one-bedroom apartment and did my best to make him comfortable. I put a bed in one corner of the living room, with hay on the floor, and peanuts in the shell, and a water bowl big as a bathroom sink.

Nothing he did was small. There was no such thing as a minor puddle or pile in the house. Things were often knocked over and broken. The neighbors complained about the noise and smell. But he was mine and I was his, and I wanted to make this work. 

Of course he grew. As he did, so did the problems. For a while I tried to hide them, and hide from them. I said things like "It's not that bad" and "Eventually he'll learn." I promised that we'd both be better. 

But then I realized that he'd become too big. Too big to move from room to room, or down the hall and out of the front door. He was stuck. We both were.

Dream Theater: An Understandable Choice

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Greta Thunberg had started smoking. 

Everywhere she went. Each time she appeared. It didn't matter if it was allowed or not.

This was her new protest against continued inaction on climate change.

And a way of saying she no longer had a future.

Dream Theater: Let's Play Soap Opera

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I moved to St. Louis with nothing but my bicycle. Because I'd been in Chicago far too long. Because I wanted an adventure. Because I thought I could handle it.

I found a room in a house with a bunch of other people. A single mother in her twenties. A bored gay couple close to my age. An older woman. And two mean cats.

They liked to drink and play a game called Soap Opera, which consisted of them saying the most cruel and hateful things to each other. Some were true, others weren't. Sometimes their angry fights were genuine, sometimes they were just pretending. I was never quite sure when they were playing the game.

St. Louis was lonely, even for a staunch introvert like me. These were the only people I knew in the entire city, so I did my best to fit in.

One evening, just a few weeks after I moved in, the outrage and shouting drove me out of the house. Everyone thought this was hilarious. I got on my bike and left.

But of course I didn't know my way around. I passed a grocery store, a series of small office buildings, and a shopping center with fast-food restaurants I didn't recognize. Eventually I found myself at the riverfront, wondering what I was going to do.

I could go back to the house and stay in my room as much as possible. I could find some sort of a job and save my money. I could find a new place to live and start over yet again.

Or I could go back to Chicago.

So I started to pedal, knowing only that I needed to head north. I'd been in St. Louis long enough. It would be an adventure. I thought I could handle it.

Dream Theater: Visiting the S____ Family

 

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I rode my bike to to the S____'s. They'd moved since the last time I'd seen them, and were living in a big bungalow-style home on a corner lot with a big tree in the front yard.

Their daughter J____ was there, looking down onto the street from a treehouse high above. She was so much older than the last time I'd seen her.

G____ was sitting on the porch, reading a book and drinking coffee. She saw me as I rolled into view, and greeted me with a look that said there was no point in walking up the stairs and saying hello.

M____ was nearby, sitting with a group of their new neighbors, so engaged in conversation with them that he didn't even notice me.

I wondered why I'd made the trip, and what I'd hoped to accomplish with such a sudden appearance. 

Dream Theater: Temporary Exterminator

 

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I went back to my hometown of Knoxville, Iowa for a short while, to work as an exterminator. I had a list of homes to inspect and, if necessary, place poison and traps.

The first was on the far east side of town, an apartment in one of several run-down buildings. The tenants were home and turned out to be a surprisingly young and attractive man and woman. They didn't seem like the type to be living in that kind of an apartment in a town like Knoxville. I was tempted to ask if they were happy there and if they had plans to eventually leave.

They lead me around a warren of small rooms, each with a different color and kind of linoleum on the floor that gave the place a jumbled, disorganized feel. What little furniture I saw was worn and obviously second-hand. The walls were bare and in need of fresh paint. There was no TV or other electronics. It occurred to me they were probably just starting out, and this was their first place together.

We ended up in the living room. A mattress occupied the middle of the floor, and on it a second couple was having vigorous sex, oblivious to our presence.

The first couple acted as though this sort of thing happened all the time, and stood there waiting to explain who I was and why I was there. I waited, too, watching the action before me and feeling a bit perverted, but also admiring the energy with which young people--particularly young men--can fuck.

And then I was examining the perimeter of the room, looking for the telltale signs of insect and rodent infestations.

But there was nothing. No holes or gaps in the walls or floorboards, no mouse droppings scattered like black grains of rice.

There was nothing I could do for them. I thanked them for their time, apologized for the interruption, and went on to my second stop.

Dream Theater: Library Makeup

 

Photo from More.com

 You could check out makeup from the public library.

This is something I discovered purely by accident, when I wandered into the back.

There were shelves and shelves of it in baskets and bins, organized by type. Concealers in one group, eye shadows in another, lipsticks of every possible shade, endless tubes of mascara. Foundations and powders, brow pencils and contour sticks.

The majority of it was in pretty bad shape.

Dream Theater: A Body in the Tub

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I was back in the house where I grew up, in the middle of the night.

I woke up in my bedroom and had to go to the bathroom, so I walked down the hall in the dark, knowing exactly where the door was.

When I turned on the light, there was a body floating in several inches of water. Not a complete body, but one that appeared to be in the midst of being formed.

Where the head should have been there was only a fleshy stem, much longer and thinner than a neck. Similar half-formed growths took the place of the arms and legs. The torso itself was smooth, and a raw-looking pink as though several layers of skin still needed to be added.

As in so many other dreams, I tried to shout, to wake up everyone else in the house so they could see what I'd found.

But my mouth wouldn't open, and no sound came out. And as I continued trying to make some kind of noise, the body began to stir, sloshing around, trying to pull itself out of the tub.

Dream Theater: A Night at the Trumps'

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How I was invited to dinner and a sleepover at one of the Trump estates is a mystery. 

But there I was, greeting them at the front door of a '70s-era split-level, decorated in blue and green and gold filigree, badly in need of an update and some TLC.

It would just be Donald and Melania and me that night.  Ivanka and Jared couldn't join us. Donald, Jr. and Kimberly Guilfoyle were busy with work of their own. As were Eric and Lara. Barron was in his room. 

That modest split-level turned out to be a deception. It actually stood guard in front of a surprisingly large estate, with a number of cabins tucked into thick woods, connected by a winding path. 

The accommodations were fine. Far from luxurious (the decor here smacked of the eighties' worst) but comfortable enough for one night. I did notice that the Trumps had used all available storage for their own purposes. The bedroom closet was crammed with Donald's and the kids' old winter coats and vests; their cast-off shirts and sweaters filled the chest of drawers nearby. Naturally, they were only the best brands.

It occurred to me that if I found something I liked and it fit, I could take it with no one being the wiser.

A knock at the door interrupted me. It was Donald, stopping by to ask if everything was okay. Without being asked, he came right in and sat down, and I sat across from him. This was the first time I'd actually seen him up close. I couldn't help but notice a line around his face, one that might have indicated the presence of a mask, and behind that a thick clear fluid, like some kind of adhesive, quickly and sloppily applied.

I told Donald Trump everything was fine and that I looked forward to dinner with him and Melania. I complimented him on the estate, its size and style. I had the distinct impression he somehow knew I was not a Trump supporter and did not wish him well.

He started talking, about what I can't even remember. Because his mouth was leaking more of that clear liquid. It was spilling out, drops of it hanging from strings and ropes, pooling on the table in front of him. If he noticed, he didn't give any indication.

That's when I knew I wouldn't be staying the night, or for dinner, or any longer at all. I grabbed my phone, excused myself, and left the cabin. 

The cell phone reception was terrible. Sometimes I could get a bar, sometimes not.

And somehow I had to get out of there without anyone noticing.

Dream Theater: Out of My League

 

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I was dating someone younger, better-looking and richer than me. He was even friends with Taylor Swift.

We'd been an item for many months. Long enough for me to meet all of his friends and feel like I'd become part of the group. And long enough for something in the relationship to change.

The change was simple: the ardor between us had cooled. Put more simply: the sex wasn't as good or as frequent as it had been at the beginning.

Thanksgiving and the holidays were fast approaching, a time when we would be meeting each others' families and exchanging gifts with deeper meanings than mere material possessions. 

We planned a party, and all his friends were there. Even Taylor Swift. I mingled and spoke with everyone, drinking and laughing, fully aware that I had an ulterior motive. I wanted to secure my place with these people, in the hope that it would also secure my relationship with this young, good-looking and wealthy man.

At one point he found me in the crowd, and led me to a quiet room somewhere inside an enormous house. He said that from here on out we were going to be "just friends." Our love affair was over. It had been over for some time. It would not return.

I wandered back out into the party, dazed and a little drunk. All his friends looked at me with somber and pitying looks. One of them said that everyone had entered their contact information on a Google spreadsheet, so that I could keep in touch with them.

"You mean, everyone knew this was going to happen?" I asked.

Yes, they said. And this was my going-away party.

Dream Theater: The Costume Party

Covid-19 was finally over. The world was in the mood to celebrate. So my college friend, Mark M_____, threw a summer costume party. 

I hadn't seen Mark in over 20 years, and felt lucky to be invited. He lived in a large apartment, in a house on top of a hill. I arrived early, to help him get things ready.

It was obvious he'd lived there for a long time. Every room was filled with antiques and vintage objects--Pyrex bowls and serving ware, old cans and boxes of soup and cereal, framed posters and prints, DVDs and CDs, LPs and 45s. 

But instead of helping I was making a terrible mess. Every time I reached for something in a cabinet or on a shelf I'd knock something else over. 

Guests began arriving. Bridget K_____ wore something truly remarkable. She was dressed as Cindy Sherman, the photographer who takes self-portraits as a variety of characters. It was such a clever, fascinating idea. Her makeup and clothes were so well done. What amazed me most is that her costume changed, morphing from one iconic look to another every time I looked away. 

More guests showed up. I saw people I hadn't even thought of in a long time. The music grew louder. We danced until Mark's apartment began swaying like a boat riding waves. Walls cracked. Windows broke. And understandably, Mark was upset about the damage. 

I ran out the back and into the alley, where police were waiting. Someone had been shot, they said, somewhere nearby. They asked if I knew of any clubs or gangs in the area, and didn't believe me when I told them no. I barely got away from them.

By that point the sun was rising. It was going to be one of those brilliant Chicago summer days. And I had to be at work.