David’s band was playing somewhere. I decided to go to the show. David was kind and attentive, warm as always, sincere in his interests in how I was doing and how he could help me. My need for help is written across my forehead, I think.
We go to the show in a large van. Vic and Rocky with arms around each other, Lauren looking bored and 15, some other folks who didn’t stick out to me, but were familiar nonetheless. I’m sitting in the passenger seat looking back at them. No one says anything.
We arrive at the concert and Vic et al. sit together. I sit on the floor further back, barely moving to the music. The others are turning in unison like sufi’s. I feel left out and discouraged by this. Like I’ve lost my way, my spirituality, my self.
Someone sitting on the floor near me asks, “Is this your stuff?” I turn and realize that I’m surrounded by junk. Pens, paperclips, books and things you would find in the bottom of a purse (used wrappers, gunk and general what nots). I’m embarrassed and try to pick everything up, apologizing all the while for making everyone so uncomfortable. Then I’m hit with an overwhelming sense of stupidity. I get up (feeling incredibly empowered), leave the items, and the concert.
I’m back where we started, and David is in front of me. He is with three young woman dressed in white. They appear to be healers. I look at them, and they avert their eyes. David asks me what’s wrong. I feel the words rising in my chest, and then my boss walks by. Seeing her in this context is so startling to me that I stop myself before I’m able to tell David what I’m feeling and why. He seems disappointed but doesn’t press further.
I wake up.
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