The Date

 Dreams are weird. For a few hours each night your mind takes a vacation from reality and sends you to a different universe where your pants can suddenly disappear in the middle of a speech, to being able to fly across the world faster than the speed of light. Yet when you're dreaming you have no idea that you are, even if something feels off you take it for what it is, live in that weird world for however long it takes your alarm to awake you then wake up and promptly forget everything about your dream.

My prompt today is to try my hardest to remember a dream I had recently and write about it. Well I had a dream and that morning I immediately text a friend of mine about it just so I can write the basics of it. (I think she was very confused until I told her why I told her about my dream). I don't remember much other than it delt with me, a mysterious girl, my roommate and some guy I never met, oh and there was this weird feeling the entire scene was scripted. The scene I remember the most from this dream is described below:

            “Hey you,” she said, no recited.

            “Hey,” I recite back, “have we met?” I try to remember where I’ve seen her before, I knew I am supposed to do something with her, or she is going to do something with me? But my memory betrays me. All I know are our lines, our lines from a script we’ve never read nor scene.

            “Don’t be stupid, of course we haven’t or you would have recognized my face.”

            I look up from the table and see her standing right before me. Her hair was short and dark, only falling slightly below her jaw line, her skin was white with a slight tan (or is that just the dull lighting of the room?), and her face… Well I can’t remember her face but I think it was attractive, I’m just not sure how or why.

            “I don’t recognize your face,” I recite. Who would have written such a stupid line?

            “Good,” she says sitting down at the table. The candle light between us dances across her forgotten face.

            “What do you want?” I ask.

            “You,” she says. “I want you.”

            I know what’s going to happen next, I’m going say 'What do you want?' then my roommate is going to cut me off, entry stage left. Before I say anything I look around the room for signs of him. The room was empty except for identical tables to the one that this mysterious girl and I sat at. I look her in the eyes, those long forgotten eyes. Her expression is blank like a robot, it unnerves me. I give the room one final skim without turning my head; it would appear a table transformed itself into a grand piano when I wasn’t looking, nothing strange about that.

            “Why do you want –.”

            “Hey Kyle,” I hear the voice of my roommate say. She doesn’t seem to notice.

            I look to my left, and there he is, just as the script said. Yet he’s with someone else, someone that, like this girl, I don’t recognize nor remember his face.

            “Hey Daniel,” I recite.

            They walk closer. “Have you met Charles?” Daniel asks.

            “No,” the girl and I recite together. I turn to look at her, she gives me a scowling look, like it was I who took her line, but I clearly knew it was her that took mine. Plus Charles was never on the original script, how could she, or I for that matter, know what to say?

            “Oh alright,” Daniel says and begins walking towards the piano, Charles following right behind him.

            “Let’s keep talking about you,” the girl says.

            “Umm,” I scratch behind my ear as I’m supposed to, the script said nervous tick after all, “alright. What do you want to know about me?”

            “I want to know why you don’t want me.”

            “I never said that.”

            “You didn’t have to. I can tell how you didn’t recognize me.”
             "Because you said we never met" I say. She gives me the same blank stare. “Well,” I say looking into her eyes; piano music fills the air, “what’s your name?”

            “You don’t even know my name?”

            I search my memory, maybe it was on the script somewhere but I forgot it, or maybe we were friends outside of the two characters we were playing.

            “Is it Sara?” I ask, clearly knowing that like Charles that line was never on the script.

            "No, it's Sarah, with an 'h.'" She leans over and whispers to me: “Don’t you forget your lines.”

            On cue, my mind went blank, like words on a white board being cleaned away. With my mind now blank you would expect me to be even more confused, but in fact I was the opposite: I was free of the script.

            “Don’t worry,” I say leaning back in my chair, “I already have.”