I was standing at the top of a short and sharply winding staircase. The staircase was concrete and it wound to the right.
The noise around me was that of a subway station. Iron grinding upon iron. Hundreds of feet shuffling. Mindless chatter. Muffled intercom announcements.
I was wearing white pants with a white shirt and held a pen in my hand. I seemed very tired. At the top of the stairs, I was alone. I had no bag. No coat. No wallet. Nothing.
I began walking down the stairs. As I descended, someone shouted from the base of the stairs, giving me a stern yet strange warning.
“Don’t step on the third step!” said the voice.
So I didn’t.
I skipped it and continued down the stairs.
As I reached the bottom, two men dressed in pristine three-piece grey suits stood on either side of the staircase. One was a White man, the other was a Black man. They were young looking, with smooth healthy faces and freshly groomed appearances.
They smiled at me and gestured for me to walk forward.
So I did.
I came across what looked like a subway terminal exit onto a main street. The street was circular. Perfectly circular.
Waiting at this platform was a woman. She was an olive-skinned woman with extremely long flowing brown hair that fluttered behind her and all around her body. As I looked at her, I noticed that she wore a dress that fluttered in the same way.
Yet the woman had no legs. She seemed to be floating right before me.
“Follow me,” she said rather flatly.
So I did.
She took me on a tour of this circle city. This circle city seemed to be in a perfect geometrical circle. She showed me the library. The hospital. The school. The office buildings. The grocery stores. The mechanic. The cleaners. The post office.
Around we went. She did not speak much but merely pointed. I saw people, many people in this circle city. They were Hispanic, Black, Asian, White, and everything in between. They were young and old and all ages in between. Some were in wheelchairs. Some able-bodied. Some skipped. Others walked.
The circle city was busy. Some would get on a bus, ride it for a few stops and get off at some errand-like destination. There were cars on the street, stopping at stop lights. Switching lanes. Parking. Pulling out of parking.
The sun was warm and bright. The air felt clean. The scene appeared to be a normal urban city scene except it was devoid of filth, dirt, anger, theft and darkness.
There was a strange serenity in this circle city. A quiet chaos. A peaceful busyness.
No one seemed to be surprised or shocked at my guide’s leglessness, either. She moved around with confidence, with assured normality.
Then we came to this park. A medium-sized park. Green spaces. Tall shady trees. Bird fountains. Concrete walkways. Stone sculptures. Stone benches.
And she guided me to one of those stone benches and told me to sit down.
So I did.
And as I sat there and looked around, she floated in front me. She placed her arms akimbo on her legless torso. Her olive face, pretty in a plain way, looked intently at me.
“Now,” she said. “What kind of husband do you want?”
The me in the dream was not perplexed at this question. As if the me in this dream understood that this circle city was where I would be living. Where I would be working. Where I would thrive. Where I would marry and live out my days.
I paused for a moment. That is, the me in my dream paused for a moment.
Then I said, “I don’t care. I can love anyone. Just as long as he doesn’t come before Him.”
The women smiled and nodded her head in agreement. Her brown eyes twinkled at me as if I said the correct answer. As if I passed the test.
And as I gazed out again at the park, she pressed something into my hand. I looked down to see what it was. It was a subway ticket. Actually, a subway pass.
When I looked up to thank her. She was gone. And gradually the circle city vanished. Evaporating into nothingness. Morphing back into the still blackness of sleep.
Copyright 2016 Michelle St. Claire All Rights Reserved.