My dreams need maintenance

Tofino, Vancouver Island, April 1987.
Camera: Canon AE-1




It was the kind of epic adventure dream that used to fill my unhappy adolescent nights with wonder and intrigue. They were colourful and often eerie, like a good thriller. Perhaps I'm still having them after all. I rarely remember my dreams anymore.

We were cruising along the eastern seaboard. Of what, I do not know. It looked nothing like my memories of the Bay of Fundy, Connecticutt or the dunes of Chincoteague. It was a vibrant city with balmy winds and a calm sea. The stunning skyline might have been that of Vancouver or Sydney.

Who were we? Who was I? I must ask this question. Often in dreams I am not myself. We were the crew. Somehow our sexual and emotional dynamics were vital to the voyage, driving our progress along the coast.

Upon docking, we reached a critical passage where I had to choose the ending by pressing a button. This, too, is unusual: I must have known I was dreaming. Surely even the dimmest recesses of my psyche realize (don't they?) that life doesn't work like a menu bar.

Each button showed a purplish-pink crystal and a small matted tangle of the two of us whose characters were crucial to the ending, our tiny, dark limbs and faces like ants in amber. I chose the best outcome and pressed the button, but the story would not download. I tried my second and third choice, but nothing happened. Finally I tried them all, to no avail, down to the worst ending possible, and kept pushing buttons in frustration.

At last, one of the less preferable files downloaded, but when I tried to play the conclusion, my dream froze and I woke up.

How things have changed in twenty years. Computers have added a note of torment, even to my adventure dreams.