I was in front of the house where I grew up with four other people. Two were friends that I don’t recall now and one was @redban, also a friend in my dream. It must’ve been some sort of holiday but not a fireworks holiday because I remember having a conversation about whether we should be doing what we were about to do.
Now I’ve always been a minor pyro. Fireworks, mid-autumn festival, burning stuff, candles, watching things melt just used to be fascinating for me. However, somewhere during my adult life I developed a mild avoidance of it as if I was burned or as if I destroyed something important or something traumatic resulted from it. I still really enjoy anything fire related because it excited me somehow but it also gave me a sense of unease. I is with this sense of discomfort that I watch the following scene play out.
Two of my friends were at the edge of the driveway, I was midway and redban was at the top by the garage door. Also midway down the driveway we had created some contraption that resembled a roller coaster for mice. Redban was at the top preparing to light a series of roman candles and aiming them at this contraption. I suppose we wanted to direct the fireballs through our little maze.
Everything was happening very quickly. I saw a spark then a green moving spark which I supposed meant the fuse had been lit. The glow it made allowed me to see the mischievous grin on redban’s face. I looked over to the friends waiting at the end of the driveway, looked up at the sky to see that it was dark and a perfect night for this then back at redban. Then I did a double take because something not right had entered into my field of view during that last head turn. My eyes searched the scene quickly and noticed that none of us in the darkness had noticed a string or a wire running across he driveway and directly in the path of the fireballs.
My mind raced, wondering whether it was necessary to stop everything we were doing since everything had already been set in motion. I am talking seconds here. This all happened from the time that the fuse was lit. Surely the fireballs would just blow this piece of string out of the way, I thought, but what if it wasn’t string? I tried to find justification for yelling out. I traced the string or wire upwards along the driveway. Then I saw fireballs shoot out of the roman candles. The end of the wire was touching the garage door which redban was leaning on. At that moment the fireballs hit the wire and I saw flashes and sparks. Then electrical arcs jumped and wrapped around the wire all the way up the end of the string to the garage and around redban. From where I stood I could see him convulse in the darkness, writhing in pain, his eyes seemed to roll back. I could hear my friends running up the driveway as I found my own very doing the same.
When we got up close the sparks and electrical arcs seen earlier had stopped. There was just smoke and the smell of burnt something. Redban lay in a heap beside the garage door. None of us knew what to do. We thought for a moment he might be dead. I dragged his upper body off the ground and held him tightly in my arms. I shook him to see if he would wake and tears started streaming down my face. His skin felt cold and clammy as if he sweated a lot during the shock. I think I my even have attempted CPR by pressing on his chest a few times and pressing my lips against his to blow air in the lungs. I stopped doing it because I realized I had completely forgotten the CPR training I once had. The two friends and I were silent for about 30 seconds. They stood, watching me freak out silently over redban’s body while clutching him close.
Then redban’s body twitched under me. Then he coughed. His eyes slowly opened and looked up at me, then at the other two friends then back at me. He didn’t say anything but his expression just said “Who what happened?” Relieved, I patted him on the cheek and said with my eyes, “It’s gonna be okay.” He seemed to return the gaze with gratitude.
Then I woke up and remembered this dream very vividly. So vividly that I thought I had just remembered an earlier dream. I knew that I did not know redban in real life but the memory seemed so solid that I thought I had a memory of some previous dream. Then I snoozed and the rest of this came to me.
I was at some type of port. I couldn’t tell. It felt very futuristic in a way but the crowds and how people were dressed also felt a little 1940s Grand Central Station. Also it wasn’t big like an airport but it definitely wasn’t a train station. I just know I had to pass from one side of a transparent covered “bridge” to the other. This was like a border, a sort of customs. You drop off luggage onto a conveyor belt on one side, walk across the bridge where they told you where to go and on the other side you pick up your luggage, which has passed inspection and you go on your way. There you may connect to whatever mode of transport was available there. One other detail you had to wait in a jig line, more like a pen, for them to call your name before your luggage is returned to you.
I remember that while I was waiting, one of my coworker’s name was called and she got up and I saw her walk out of the building with her rolling luggage.
Then my name was called and when I went up to the person who had called me, they said that they were just having a little trouble bringing up my suitcase. Instead they gave me “in advance” the dirty rag I always use to wipe my dog’s ass. Out of instinct I walked around looking for a utility room with a sink but had no luck. I walked around for a bit pinching this gross rag between two fingers wondering what to do with it. Then I remembered that back on the other side of the bridge there was definitely a utility room. Whether it had a sink or not didn’t even matter. I end up walking and weaving through the crowd going the opposite direction, shot rag in hand outstretched in front of me. When I found the door to the utility room, the lights were on inside. I just tossed it through the doorway without looking and turned back where I came, across the bridge to get my luggage.