I dreamed of a boat. A small vessel. Simply a sail and enough space for two friends to venture out into the bay. We were surrounded by vacationers, and there was some sort of tour guide within earshot but never within my line of sight. Maybe you saw him, but I wouldn’t know. Or would I? They say we are every character in our dreams. I suppose then that you were just a projection of me. Some part of my being. What I can say, and what I know for sure, is that we have been friends a long time. And sailing with you atop such a tiny hull through crowded waters would be fine by me.
What did we see out there? I remember there was a barrier that came down from the sky, blocking us from entering the greater ocean landscape. There were other boats, rowboats and sailing ships alike.
I guess we found what we were looking for, because eventually we turned back to the docks.
Stepping off our deck and toward the mainland, which was scattered with rental homes, we came across a dog. He lounged comfortably, and his skin folded onto itself. His eyes were lazy. And we complimented his owner (the tour guide) on owning such an impressive beast.
But our journey didn’t end there. As we made our way back to the small, wooden structure we had apparently been calling home for the week, you asked for my expertise on a matter. “I’m going to make a trade with a man. You are the only person I know and trust to advise me in this way. How should I fold these dollar bills? And where should I store my goods?”
I must have sighed heavily. Part of me felt ashamed that I was keeper of such knowledge. But I offered this technique out of love for my friend. “Fold your bills this way. Hand them to the man discretely. And bring me your package. I’ll put it somewhere safe for you.”
Perhaps we should have stayed at sea where our two souls were innocent, because suddenly you were gone into the sunny streets to do shady deals.