dreams: 2004 Archives

Working through old issues of Genesis (my high school's quarterly magazine), I came across some shocking news: Elaine de la Cruz had died. Elaine was my year. She was editor of the school newspaper, had a weird sense of humor, and had a ridiculously long commute, since her family had moved to Danville.

I saw her name in the obituary section, and I could not believe my eyes. Her car had flipped over or something, she was driving cross-country. She is survived by her parents and her siblings, the notice says.

That night, I had a dream. Elaine and I are chatting away about the notice in Genesis. "I know, everybody thinks I died," she says. "It was all a big mistake," she tells me. "It was actually my parents who died in a car accident, and the editor got the news but somehow mixed it up. Everybody's been calling and asking about it," she says. I am sorry to hear about her parents.

I wake up, and it takes me a while to figure out it was just a dream. I feel freshly disappointed.

the woman looked like she was in her fifties. I anticipated the high-pitched beep confirming a full fare deposited as she dropped the coins into the fare machine. $1.25 total.

the beep never came.

the man behind her reached over and hit the cancel button. then he inserted his $1.25. it beeped, and he boarded.

"hey, you have to pay the full fare," the driver said to the woman.

"i did!" she said indignantly. "i put in a dollar twenty-five, like i do every time," she insisted. i thought maybe i should say something to back her up, something like, "yeah, i saw her, the guy behind her cancelled it so it didn't beep!" but i didn't.

The bus driver was annoyed now. he started taking the bus on a random detour. where were we now, moraga? back down to 43rd? for some reason, he was driving the bus backwards. oh great, i thought. now it'll take forever to get there. if only i'd said something, i thought. now we don't even know where we're going. as it turned out, after some more circuitous turns, the bus arrived (still backwards) at the marina. i got off and started walking.

in this area there's always tourists. i passed by some place that looked vaguely familiar. "look, harold," a tourist was saying. i listened in on the words directed at harold. "that cave contains an entire house!" now i remembered. i'd been to the front of the house before; now we were at the back of the cave. i ducked past some other tourists taking pictures as i made my way to the next part of town, Paris.

Here I am in Paris, i thought. maybe i should call up Hoang. no wait, he's back in California already.

the light rail rumbles past me along its tracks.