Dream #1

Today is a good day to start—a good day to summon the magicians, enchanters, sorcerers and astrologers (if not to shew for me, at least interpret). For some time now, I have been thinking that I would write down the various dreams and nightmares that keep me entertained and/or mortified at night. Many of the dreams from the past have passed along never to be recollected or summoned up again. Take last night for example. As I sit here attempting to cleverly punch every key, I can neither conjure up any images nor tap into the general vibe of what danced through my subconscious. Typically speaking, I believe that I can keep the majority of the scenes of dreams in my head for a couple days. Nevertheless, forget the forgotten dreams and let’s focus on two eerie recollections from about two months ago that have been festering in the secluded nooks of my noggin.  

#1

The evening was dark and the city lights of Minneapolis were illuminated in a brilliant array of colors. A small group of friends, each face now a blur in my memory (except for my wife), found ourselves settled down on a dusty outlook that showcased the view of Minneapolis’ skyline from its southern face as if one were driving north toward the city on I-35. This outlook point, which doesn’t actually exist, positioned us high up and far out from the city, yet at a perfect distance to absorb its energy and beauty. The weather was fine and warm. The sky lay open—clarity of vision was pristine! As a certain calm accompanied our easygoing laughter, we surveyed the skyline. Despite definite differences, the changes didn’t have any effect on people. The IDS Tower had either been hidden or removed. While the Wells Fargo Center tower seemed significantly smaller in comparison to the juggernaut Capella Tower, which stood roughly 150 floors high.

Without any forewarning of any kind, two suddenly loud and enormous explosions shattered the silence of our peaceful evening. Each blast originated from the base of Capella Tower; their glow burning deep into my mind. From our vantage point, it was impossible to tell what had caused this. Nothing had occurred out of the ordinary before this event. Whether or not we had been listening to music prior to all of this, I am not exactly sure. Even still, I recall the faint humming of Muse’s “Uprising” playing in the background as if nature itself had begun to move to its rhythm.

Then, alas, before my eyes, Capella Tower started leaning more and more on its newly weakened side. Seeing the inevitable outcome transpiring before my unprepared soul, my eyes opened wide as they tried to close. My heart sped up as my breathing stopped. The Capella Tower came crashing down onto the earth engulfed in a barrage of secondary blasts (all of which were caused by colliding with other buildings, cars, power lines, etc.). Its final resting place lay along the west bank of the Mississippi River; its corpse pointing southeast. At this time, I let out a scream that I didn’t think I was even capable of producing—a scream that shook my whole body until I had quaked down to my knees gawking at the dust and smoke fluttering into the starry night. My wife ran to me and grabbed me as I gazed horrifyingly at the wreckage. All the while, the music played.  

About that time, I awoke.

#2

After teaching my first of four YAPPI classes on Saturday, I met with my wife outside in order to take a walk. This decision was strange, because I have only ten minutes between lessons.  Even still, we walked together through the warm, yet soft sunshine. The sky held a rich and unspoiled azure hue. We smiled and laughed as the city seemed to speed on around us. If not for playing hooky from work, this walk would have been a completely wonderful time.

Before we knew it, we had already reached Besarabsky Market down Tarasa Shevchenka Boulevard. I noticed that the landscape was a series of large, cascading plateaus, as opposed to its actual hilly descent. We were rounding the corner near Madarin Plaza en route to ELC when about this time my YAPPI manager called me. As I saw her name appear on the screen of my cell phone, the reality of my blowing off work had finally set in. Feeling overly guilt-ridden and anxious, I answered the phone. Trying all the while to play dumb about what I had done, I took hold of my wife’s hand and started back the way that we had come.

As we turned around, we discovered a different scene. Standing on Ivana Franka Square, across from the theatre, looking up at Bankova Street, we ran toward the ascending steps. We were neither in the right place nor running in the right direction. Still, that fact didn't prompt any hesitation. One thing was definitely certain: Bankova Street had changed. Although the Ukrainian president’s residence was still there, several modern, glass buildings glamorously stood to the left surrounded by brilliantly lush landscaping.

Just as some tranquility began overriding my stress, thunderously loud noise came streaming through the air. As we turned southwest to see the cause of this noise, we saw a fleet of white Delta airplanes with red tail-fins branded by a white Delta symbol and lettering soaring over the Ukrainian president’s residence before deliberately diving into the new glass structure. Successive explosions launched debris through the air as people ran hysterically toward an underpass in order to shelter themselves and attempt to regain a piece of normality. With our eyes frantically surveying our surroundings, we spotted airplanes of many different colors flying low overhead.               

About that time, I awoke.