Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Dream: There Won't Be Clean Panties in Hell

We knew we were dead. You and I had been standing in line for a hundred and fifty-seven years at the checkpoint where the dead are admitted to the non-living world .  You busied yourself smoking cigarettes, and I busied myself wondering about the children- yours and mine, both.

Some stowaways from the living world were always trying to sneak in, so everybody had to be looked over and checked off the list before they could enjoy one moment of the afterlife. I complained that it seemed to be taking forever, and somebody up ahead warned me against advertising those types of opinions. If the souls in charge heard me, they'd bump me to the back of the line, and I'd have to take you with me, since you were my "afterlife buddy," whatever that meant.

Once we were approved, we began to understand the differences we were facing. We had our bodies and our personalities, but little else. The living would fade in and out. We might see a glimpse of them at the strangest moments, but for the most part, they remained obscure.

I have an eccentricity about clean underwear. I must have them at all times. Even in the living days, I spent far too much money maintaining a certain level of newness in my panty drawer. The problem with the non-living world is that you have to scavenge for the items you want to hold on to. New panties...not easily found.

You followed me around, teasing me about my craziness, but I located a chest of drawers, and the top drawer was chock full of  pressed, white bikinis. I thought I had hit the motherload, but as I pulled them out, I noticed a stain on each and every pair. I tossed each to the side, and when I reached the bottom of the drawer I turned to you and declared that we must be in Hell.

"We're not in Hell," you insisted, your Green Eyes twinkling. "Not if we're together."

My heart started beating in my chest, and I had to look away from you to hide my face and the realization that nobody had ever said anything so sweet to me until just that moment. I collected myself and thanked God that he had stuck me with you for the duration of Eternity, but even in Eternity, I couldn't openly commit to an attachment to you.

"Well then... I must be in Hell," I told you matter-of-factly, pointing to myself. For a half a second, I wanted to retract those words, but you being you, they slid right off. No worries.

"You're so full of shit," you told me as you spun me into your arms. "You know you're loving this."


9 comments:

  1. This has a lot of great ideas in it for something so short.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I must admit, if I tried to record the entire dream, I'd be writing for weeks.

      Delete
  2. :-) This made me smile.

    It should be a little longer, though, don't you think?!

    Pearl

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Well, of course there's more to it, but I'd have to put a parental advisory on my blog for that kind of post. >;)

      Delete
  3. There may not be panties in hell (and I won't even comment on what the guys might think of that--but do you know the joke of the guy who thought he must be in heaven as he found out that Madonna-the singer, not the other one-was his partner in the afterlife... He found out differently when he heard that he was there to be her hell). I bet there are speed bumps there, big ones, high ones, muffler crushing ones.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I don't think I've heard that joke, but it does relate, doesn't it? It's all in the perspective.

      Delete
  4. My hell would be a bottomless laundry pile. Although, my heaven is that I have so many people to do laundry for that I love.

    Maybe it's my in between.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. My great-grandma always came up with these quirky poems to get me over my "mom issues." She shed light on the fact that dirty laundry and dirty dishes are blessings in disguise.
      (She was an awesome lady.)

      Delete
  5. Well, at least you have dreams about stuff that makes for good writing. I have dreams where I'm either looking for a bathroom or having sexual encounters interrupted by my dead mother.

    ReplyDelete