the dreams stuff is made of

my mom and i were out watering the flowers in front of the house one night.  the sky was dark blue and most of our light was coming from the open garage.  one of mom's neighbors came walking up the driveway.  while it's kept quiet from most people, britney spears and her mom have a small house down the street and around the block, not too far from my elementary school, for when they need to 'get away', and she and my mom have become friends.  i'd forgotten this, but sure enough, here was the pop star, looking nice that evening.

she needed help bring in some groceries, and since mom was caring for her flowers and i really wasn't of much help, i offered to lend a hand.  we hopped in my dad's new white pickup and drove down the street to her house.

i consciously decided to not lock the truck, knowing i'd only be here a few moments, and this is moorhead, after all.  i helped her and her mom unload the groceries into the house and we talked for a few minutes.  they had bought a little white house that an older couple lived in when i was younger, and we used to ride our bikes by their house on the way to the little strip mall in the summer.  i'd never been inside the house before, and britney and her mom were good people to talk with.  when it was time to go, i walked outside and was horrified: the truck was gone.

i felt dumb for not bothering to lock it as the three of us began to look around.  we looked in between the houses and soon found the truck parked by a small old green house, tucked away from the street.  dead leaves covered the dirty ground and the porch light was on as we knocked on the door.

inside, we found ourselves talking with exactly the kind of guy i'd expect to live there: skinny and shirtless, wearing a dirty baseball cap over scraggly hair that needed a wash.  a single light hung over a round table, lightly scattered with junk, a small pistol, and the truck keys.  i told him i wanted my truck back.  i forget what he said but he dove for the pistol.  

i've sometimes wondered what i would do if placed in this sort of extraordinary situation; would i do the sensible thing and take the safest route to not getting hurt, or would i try to be a fictional hero?

i guess i went with being a hero.

i countered and dove for the gun.  he reached it first and we struggled, but somehow i ended up with it as we then scattered apart on either side of the table, me pointing the gun at him.  starting to come off the adrenaline and realizing that i was pointing a loaded gun at someone who wanted to point the same gun at me, i relaxed my aim and released the magazine, letting it drop to the floor.  i tossed the gun aside, grabbed the truck keys, and walked out the door with britney and her mom.

*  *  *  *  *

i've noticed i usually dream most vividly in that interim time when i should be getting up but manage to sleep for another hour or so.  this morning i drifted through my radio alarm  and didn't get up until two and half hours after i planned.  

but i got an unusual post out of it.