Staircases & Sorry.

Nov. 29, 2010: I dreamt last night I was back in the Army. The scene was strange… I was in an incredibly large room, like a warehouse or stage place, with big, paper mache trees curling out of the walls and navy blue fabric draped along the ceiling. It felt as if I was outdoors (though we obviously weren’t) and part of some youthful tree-house club. It was early morning and still dark. I passed a number of rooms full of people doing their PT; I could hear them through large windows, chanting in unison with un-sleepy voices. Knowing I should have been working out, too, I smiled to myself, knowing I was allowed to make a number of my own rules.

Turning left past the windowed rooms, I began walking down a wide, long staircase, carpeted dark blue and leading to a high and impressive, star-sprinkled hall. Making my way down the stairs, the scene changed. The walls became white, the atmosphere less magical and much plainer. A number of people were mulling about the bottom of the staircase- we were students waiting around for classes to begin. I started folding an extra par of jeans somebody handed me, and as I set them down on a nearby pew, I looked up to see an old friend, staring at me sheepishly. His hair, which had always been long, was shaved close, leaving his head darker and more serious than I had ever seen. Forgetting I had just folded the pants, I smiled, walked quickly over to him with the now unfolded pair still in my grasp, and gave him a hug. Although we recently had a bit of a falling out, I was glad to see him. We walked a ways away from the crowd, his arm around my waist. A dark-haired, spectacled man (who was my lover in the dream), gave me a concerned look, frowning at the friend’s hand near my hip. I smiled at him, waved him off, and plucked my friend’s hand off my waist as we made our way to a quieter spot.

He began apologizing and telling me how much he truly cared about me (I’ve already had this happen in a recent dream). I stood, listening with disinterest, and kept shaking my head. Another friend popped up, his eyes narrowed, listening to the conversation. After a minute of hearing his apologies, the new friend began berating the old friend, telling him he didn’t know how to treat me and didn’t deserve to stand next to me. They nearly began to fight, but just then, the crowd of people started making their way up the staircase for classes. We filed in, one friend behind me and one in front. The staircase was now incredibly slim, with benches on both sides, like arena seating. I remember wearing heeled boots, and the feeling of the thick carpet under my soles. When we got to a landing, which was more like a small room, the two friends took fighting stances, and everybody stopped climbing the stairs to watch. I rolled my eyes, yelling at them both for being so ridiculous.