“I’m Sorry About Your Car, Mr. Hanks”

My Philosophy teacher at Merced College claimed he never dreamed at night. Ever. I’m on the opposite end of the spectrum. I dream all night, every night. Maybe he was better adjusted or more at peace than I am. Let me sleep for five minutes, wake me up, and I’ll tell you what I was dreaming about.

Clearly, I’m not alone. There are myriad references to dreams in song. I bet you could name at least 5 songs with Dream in the title. I love the movie Inception with Leo and his band of rogues burrowing into a dream in a dream in a dream in a dream. It’s artsy and fun and suspenseful.

Or how about Spellbound, the Hitchcock classic with the beautiful Ingrid Bergman and tortured Gregory Peck? There’s some fantastic dream imagery and Freudian interpretation, plus a murder mystery. I mean, c’mon, it’s Ingrid!

Willy Shakes has some profound words comparing sleep to death, the uncertainty over our dreams. From Hamlet, Act 3:

To die, to sleep—
To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub!
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come…

Good stuff, right? Snuggled under a pile of blankets, we fade to sleep after a long day. But what dreams may come?

My dream world is far more common. The characters may change, but the settings recur virtually every night. There’s Atwater HS, my growing up house, my old house in Chicago (and the mall next door), Wheeling HS (outside and in). I frequent all these places and others. Of course, the images are like fun-house reflections, recognizable but bent and exaggerated shadows of the real thing.

Here’s a sample of my dream life. I await your psycho-analysis in the comments below.

I’m standing behind the 10th green at Twin Creeks Golf Course. (Ever notice in a dream, you’re just somewhere, no memory of how you got there or why you’re there?) I’m trying to hit a flop shot and I miss badly. When I finally putt out, I realize it’s very dark, and I should probably quit. It’s just me; I hop in my cart and chug back to the clubhouse.

I’m greeted by one of my AP Lit students from 2018. Tyler tells me my clubs must have fallen off the cart, and he’ll go find them. Good deal, I say, except my wallet and keys are in the bag. He also gives me a wheelchair to get to the parking lot. I think nothing nothing of it, until some young woman speaks kindly to me, and I realize it’s only because I’m in a wheelchair. I don’t tell her the truth.

I finally arrive at Tom Hanks house. I find him in the kitchen with a baby in the oven. (Where’s Rita?? No idea.) Don’t leap to judgment here. For crying out loud, it’s TOM. He’s not some psychopath. The oven isn’t on, the door is open, and he’s just warming the baby. Hmm, not a bad idea, I think. Anyway, Tom let’s me borrow his wheels so I can ditch the wheelchair, because, well, he’s Tom Hanks. I did expect a better ride than a Camry but beggars can’t be choosers, as my mom used to say. No license, but I have a car, not that I can recall where I was going.

I am stuck in freeway traffic (highway 99 near the Grapevine) and nearly rear-end the vehicle in front of me. Before I can take a breath, I get rear-ended (this part is far too much like real-life). It’s a family in a large SUV, maybe an Escalade. I should trade names and numbers, but I can’t. I have no license and no phone for insurance. More importantly, I’m worried Tom will be mad.

Before I can talk to the woman, she and her family have covered the car with a tarp, so I can’t glean any info. Then they disappear. It’s cool though. I don’t need the po-po citing me for my lack of license and insurance. I’ll reimburse Tom out of pocket.

Once again, though, I need a ride. Fortunately, Jeff and his whole crew show up. Now a principal in Buffalo Grove, Jeff was in the church youth group when I volunteered. Great fam, two brothers and fantastic parents, I’m glad to see him. We eat a bit at the buffet set up by the side of the freeway and then we’re off to the mall. Makes total sense, right?

Jeff and his wife feel strongly that I need an outfit for the party tonight. My penurious side (sounds so much better than calling myself cheap) doesn’t want to buy anything. But I’m pretty sure Melanie would agree with Jeff. I set off in search of new duds (yeah, I know, I have no wallet or cash, but my subconscious apparently forgot that part).

I’m wandering around Kohl’s, joined by the young woman from the golf course. She doesn’t remember me being in the wheelchair earlier, and we both agree we should find food first. After several minutes, we finally stumble on the Kohl’s food court, which, of course, does not exist. No matter.

We’re about to order when we’re accosted by two young woman who accuse us of shoplifting. The shorter one wants to search us. The taller one, thin and stately, tries to stop us. I brush her aside. She immediately calls security, and they charge me with assault, in addition to arresting both of us for shoplifting. What we stole is never made clear. And we’re both still hungry.

Escorted into the bowels of Kohl’s, we’re seated at a desk surrounded by other desks, with numerous security monitors overhead. The head guard will be right back. I’m intrigued by all the cameras, the eyes in the sky safeguarding Kohl’s from scofflaws like us.

My alarm jolts me back to reality. I’m exhausted from another night of “rest.” But I’m grateful to Tyler for taking care of my clubs, a chance to chat with Jeff, and a cool view of the underbelly of a major department store.

If I ever meet Mr. Hanks, I’ll ask him about the kid in the oven. I will also offer my apologies for the damage to his Camry and leaving it beside Highway 99. My bad. More likely, I’ll just wait for him to pop up in one of my future nocturnal adventures and tell him then.

Thanks for reading!

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