Dreamed 1990/4/22 by Chris Wayan
I'm in the back seat of a car. The driver circles round and round in this dirt parking lot, raising a hurricane of dust. She's a good-looking cowgirl, but her eyes are tight with anger and frustration. Not me--I'm just terrified. She's barely managing to keep abreast of the air-sharks circling the car, lazy lean silver-gray darts slipping through the dust-cloud like ghosts... toothy, grinning, cold-eyed ghosts. She's facing them off so far, but this can't go on forever. I can't believe her cool. I ask "Aren't you SCARED the sharks'll eat us?"
She says "Sharks? What sharks?"
Turns out she's just spinning impatiently, waiting for another car to quit blocking the exit--though it looks to me like the other driver is so rattled by her dust storm and growling gears that he's frozen in place. Getting mad about the blockage is CAUSING the blockage!
In her world.
But she's totally unaware of this other reality where she's driving in circles for a very different reason--the world I live in, where we're being stalked, where her restless fidgeting has kept us alive--barely.
And the air-sharks are so beautiful. Yet I'd gladly give up the sight... if I was sure blindness would save me from being devoured alive. But I don't want to test it.
Do others live in as wildly different universes as the two of us?
Suddenly I'm afraid to ask what creatures SHE sees... that I don't.
I don't ask... but I wonder.
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