Gold Lamé
(that’s le-mayy)
C. Pic Michel
Gold Lamé (that’s le-mayy)
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2008, C. Pic Michel, all rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or by information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. For information address The HeartStudio, LLC, e-mail: [email protected]
ISBN-13: 978-0578001074
HeartStudio Books is a registered trade name of The HeartStudio, LLC. in the state of Ohio, USA.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
With gratitude for JAH who dreams with me.
Contents
Explanation of Font Usage
1 Shoes, Snails, and Elephants
2 Guides, Gurus, and Guessing Games
3 Don’t Let the Parade Pass You By
4 The Other Side and the Other Other Side
5 Clowning Around
6 Am I Dreaming?
7 Dreaming Duets
8 Objects in Mirror are Closer Than They Appear
9 A Brain, a Heart…the Nerve!
Explanation of Font Usage
“Text in quotes”
Spoken aloud
Text in Italics
“Spoken” in thought
also spoken by Narrator
“Text in italics in quotes”
Emphasized aloud
Pause, pause, pause…
Narrator channel surfing
Double line space
Slight change, same-scene
Pronunciation
Hrim — Hreem
Jahni — Johnny
Shima — Sheema
lamé — that’s le-mayy
1 Shoes, Snails, and Elephants
Amelia Bradford peered over her round knees covered in shimmering taupe colored stockings, and ogled her gold lamé strapped shoes. Now when did I get those? She quietly contemplated as the waiter approached the table.
“Have you come to a decision?” The waiter reminded her of Zeke. It must be something about the eyes, she thought, and then smiled.
“May I have a few more minutes?” she asked as she glanced down at the menu on the table.
“Ma’am.” How she hated hearing the word. “There are people waiting,” the waiter smiled, “and you’ve been sitting here for nearly three hours. Perhaps you could give me a break and do something?” He shrugged, “The manager’s getting kinda’ hot to move the table.”
Amelia followed the jerk of the waiter’s head toward the man standing in the far corner of the room. The manager was wearing a black cape and had small horns protruding through the short dark hair on his head. He smirked at Amelia as she noticed he was dangling one blue and one red stiletto heeled shoe by the ankle straps from the fingertips of either hand.
What the hell is this place? Amelia thought. “I’m leaving,” she told her waiter and started to rise.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” The waiter put his hands on Amelia’s shoulders and pressed her back into the booth seat. “You’re not in any state to leave.” He bent low and looked deeply into her eyes. “The choice is simple ma’am,” he continued. “Are you a blue state or a red state?”
“I’m not a state at all!” Amelia’s head began to swirl with confusion as she tried to reconcile the manager and his horns, the gold lamé shoes and the political overtones of her dining experience. She heard music, Rumba music. Amelia turned to look over her shoulder as a string of dancers headed toward her table. They wore contorted masks and long dingy blue capes. Each moved in awkward, overly dramatic ways from which Amelia surmised either she or the dancers might be drunk. As they passed her table they chanted, “You’re not a state. You’re in no state. You’re not a state! You’re in no state.” Feeling her jaw hanging slack Amelia clamped her mouth closed and turned back to the waiter.
“Your chariot awaits.” The waiter motioned gently to his side as a long table was rolled in place beside him by two bus boys. Amelia shook her soft reddish curls out of her eyes as she tried to focus.
“Chariot?” she asked.
“It’s time to take a little ride,” the waiter counted, “One, two, three.” Amelia felt herself being lifted into the air and settled again suddenly into place.
“Where am I going?” Amelia struggled to look around from her new angle on the room. Brightly shining lights were temporarily blocked as the round mustached face of Jackie Gleason loomed over her. The shape of his face stretched in and out of focus as if Amelia was viewing him through a fish-eyed lens.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Everything is going to be just fine.”
“Who are you?” Amelia asked with increased panic in her voice as he turned away, kicked up his heels and dashed away through a set of swinging doors shouting, “And away we go!”
The table on which she was laying was rolling right behind the dancing man. Amelia thought she was going to faint as she watched the walls and overhead lights slide past in a blur. Then she realized she was in fact fainting. She looked around wildly trying to focus on something that would help her maintain consciousness. She wasn’t sure where she was, what she had eaten, why the waiter was now rolling her down a long hallway, or what would happen next.
Most of all, she felt absolutely no comfort when Judy Garland appeared next to her shoulder and bent down to whisper in her ear, “People come and go so strangely around here.”
Pause, pause, pause...
Amelia opened her eyes to find herself surrounded by the brightest white she’d ever seen. Feeling the cool lick of mist on her face she realized she was trying to peer through fog. Oh thank God. I thought I was heading for the light! She couldn’t see further than a few feet in front of her. Through the silence she could hear the rush of her blood circulating through her ears. No, my heart is still beating. I’m definitely alive. A deep need for comfort flooded over her. “Zeke?” she called out as she turned around waiting for a response.
A nudge from behind her right knee pulled Amelia around quickly. The gold lamé heels caught in the ground beneath her and Amelia crumpled to the ground. A wet nose and tongue poked her in the face as she instinctively gathered a wiggling dachshund pup into her arms. “Zeke! Where the hell have you been?” She pushed his wet searching nose aside and pulled his small body closer.
Zeke pulled his head back and studied Amelia’s face. “I’ve been snoozing at Sherry and Jill’s where you left me against my will, remember?”
“Actually, no,” Amelia replied as she marveled at Zeke’s deep voice with a Brooklyn accent. Zeke hopped out of Amelia’s arms and leaned to one side as he sat on the ground in front of his fallen mistress.
“And where da’ hell have you been, missy?”
“What do you mean?” Thoughts of insanity ran through Amelia’s mind as it registered that her dog was engaging her in verbal dialogue.
“Well, you didn’t come home last night and now you call me into your dream. How long am I going to have to stay in that god forsaken hell hole?”
“Zeke, Sherry and Jill love you,” Amelia chided, and then wondered, They do? Amelia was unable to pinpoint exactly who Sherry and Jill could be.
“How ‘bout telling me where we are?”
“I have no idea.” Amelia allowed for the possibility that she could be asleep. “But it doesn’t feel like a dream.”
“Well, it’s not exactly the kinda’ dream I’m used to havin’ wit’ ya’, I’ll grant you dat.” Zeke walked around sniffi
ng into the fog. “I like the dreams where ya’ take me for a ride better.”
“Well then, aside from the fog, what makes you think I’m dreaming?” Amelia raised herself to an upright position wobbling on the heels beneath her.
“For one thing, you seem to be understanding me pretty good and for another I don’t have a Brooklyn accent in my dreams.” The dog replied matter-of-factly. “Yup, this is mostly, if not entirely your dream.”
“I did get you in New York State.” Amelia tried to rationalize Zeke’s Brooklyn accent as she placed her hands onto her hips trying to stretch away a sharp pain between her shoulders.
“Do we dream together often?” she asked as she tried to peer deeper into the fog.
“Yup.” Zeke followed Amelia as she walked around in a circle observing nothing more than white mist. “You dream of me when you’re feelin’ guilty because you’re never home. And I dream you love ta’ give me treats.” Zeke cocked his head and produced a sad little whiney sound portraying his lonely deservingness of a treat.
Amelia frowned at the chocolate brown dachshund. “You look a little heftier than usual. I must give you too many treats when we’re dreaming.”
“Never mind me.” Zeke changed the subject, “What about ‘dose shoes? When da’ hell did you get shoes like dat?” Zeke nosed the gold colored leather laces that hugged Amelia’s feet.
“I don’t know. They just showed up.” Amelia took a deep breath and winced as it caught in her shoulders. “I feel stiff.” She muttered. “Zeke, how do we get out of here?”
“Can’t,” Zeke sputtered as he chewed on a barbecued dog treat.
“Hey, I didn’t give you that,” Amelia protested.
“Yeah you did!” Zeke insisted, “I can dream too!” Amelia sighed as Zeke made more familiar happy dog sounds.
“So why can’t we leave?”
“I can. You can’t.” Zeke gave more information in-between tugging with his teeth at the treat clamped tightly between his paws. “You’re having a lucid dream. Well, actually, you’re under anesthesia, but it’s the next closest thing to lucid dreaming.”
“Anesthesia?” Amelia gasped. “Why am I under anesthesia?”
“Because it makes surgery a more comfortable experience?” Zeke sat in front of Amelia and looked up into her hazel brown eyes.
“That’s not funny.” Amelia’s head reeled at the possibility she was having surgery without knowing about it.
“I’m not trying to be funny. It’s just the way it is. Stuff happens you know.”
“What stuff Zeke? What happened? Why am I having surgery?” Amelia felt her anxiety level rise. She couldn’t remember anything being wrong with her.
“I’m not privy to that.” Zeke cocked his head. “I got here late. All I know is I was asleep in my pet suite when I heard you calling me so I came running like a good dog.” Another barbecued treat appeared on the ground in front of Zeke. “I said ‘good dog.’” Zeke repeated, and another treat appeared.
“Enough!” Amelia ordered the treat tally to stop. “You heard me in your sleep?”
“You call me a lot in your dreams, though I don’t ever remember you consciously knowing what you were doing once I come running like a good….”
“Stop! Don’t you dare!” Amelia eyed Zeke and pointed toward the ground as he flopped into a laying down position. “I’m confused Zeke.” Amelia assembled an array of evidence in hopes of finding a clue. “You told me I am under anesthesia then you say you don’t know what happened to me because you arrived late. Which is it?”
“In dreams stuff just floats around, Amelia. Info, ideas, other people’s dreams. Sometimes it lands in your mind. Other times it bypasses all attempts to get a grip on it. What I didn’t know five minutes ago I might know by now. So ask me. What do you want to know?” Zeke looked eager to help while seemingly oblivious to the conversation five minutes earlier.
What am I doing here? Amelia shouted in her mind in frustration.
“That’s easy,” Zeke replied to her thoughts. “You’re dreaming and you’re awake in your dream.”
“But what am I dreaming?” Amelia demanded, “Fog with a dog doesn’t seem like much of a dream.” Amelia looked up at the fog with renewed confusion in her eyes. Did you just answer my thoughts? She looked at the dog.
“It’s all thoughts.” Zeke replied. “Sound can be out loud or quiet here like a dog whistle. You pick up on it better in dreams. Differently too. More real.”
Amelia looked at her little dog turned seeming philosopher. “I can’t believe this is happening.” She sighed.
“Apparently you do believe it on some level.” Zeke countered. “Because it’s only about what you believe.”
“But I don’t want to believe this Zeke. Something’s wrong and I don’t know what.” The dog sat up on his hind legs. “Well, what do you want to do?” he asked playfully trying to make Amelia feel better.
“I want to find out what happened!” Amelia strained to maintain the temper her naturally red curls belied. “Tell me?” she begged her dog.
“Still can’t.” If dogs could frown Zeke did. Then acting on his hound instinct he added, “But maybe I can help you snoop it out. What’s the last thing you remember?” He crouched pushing his hind end up with his tail wagging in the air.
“Judy Garland.” Amelia mumbled and stared blankly into the fog.
Zeke’s ears went flat as he placed his chin on his paws. He rolled his eyes up at Amelia and let out a soft woof.
“Something tells me we’re not in Kansas anymore, Zeke.”
Pause, pause, pause...
Snails don’t have teeth. The mouth of a snail contains a sort of scraper that it runs along the edge of a leaf to derive the soft juicy tissue. Snails don’t have eyes but light receptors at the end of tubules that can lengthen to extend far from the head and retract to nearly disappear inside it. As snails move through their environment their eye tubules wander back and forth examining the surrounding area for food to gnaw upon and water to drink.
Resume, resume, resume…
Jojo Jenkins wasn’t surprised when the snail started to move. The snail had been hidden in its shell, attached like a suction cup under the lid of the small plastic terrarium where it lived. Jojo was surprised that he could hear the snail chewing on the leaves he had placed at the bottom of the terrarium. The slow, purposeful activity of the snail had distracted him even more than the Cartoon Network from his summer-school homework.
Jojo watched for minutes as the snail spread wide it’s soft, taupe colored body against the side of the clear plastic box. He watched almost breathless as the snail rippled its underside and glided down the side to dip its head in the shallow water dish. His teacher had told him that the snail could live for weeks without coming out of his shell to drink and he must be very patient and keep it in a safe place until he returned to school in the fall. Jojo glanced at the summer math homework in front of him. He didn’t feel like he was on vacation, but all the while he watched the snail waking and taking in its environment, he was more peaceful and relaxed than he had been in weeks.
Jojo liked his teacher and the snail that he had named Dumbo. His stepfather had laughed, making fun of the name. “Who names a snail after an elephant? You shoulda’ named him Stripe.” Jojo’s stepfather had pointed his big, rough skinned finger toward the snail. The snail looked tiny compared to the size of the fingertip.
“See that stripe on his back?” Darius Lovell asked in a tone that always made Jojo feel small and insignificant.
“That’s his shell,” Jojo corrected.
“Whatever.” Jojo’s stepfather had dismissed the boy as he often did, with a push toward his room. Jojo tended to stay in his room at night just to avoid such encounters with Darius. Once he had his nightly bowl of cereal in hand, everything he needed was in his room.
Jojo looked at the snail as it moved the way his teacher had described, “At the pace of a royal elephant.” The day she introduced the s
nail to the class they also watched the Disney movie Dumbo. At the end of every school session the kids were always too excited about summer break to sit still for very long, so the teacher showed a movie every Friday in May. Jojo identified with Dumbo though he couldn’t quite understand that he did.
The baby elephant being separated from his mother gave Jojo familiar feelings. Jojo’s mother died when he was a toddler. He had never known his father. After Jojo was born, his mother married his stepfather whom he always called Darius. Darius wasn’t very gentle with Jojo. The older he grew, the more Jojo seemed to make Darius angry. They often fought and acted more like brothers than parent and child.
As long as he could remember a caseworker had been present in his life. Every once in a while they would do more than just visit. Once or twice before, Jojo had been removed from the apartment where he lived with Darius. The fight they had at the end of the school year had resulted in their most recent separation. The caseworker gave Jojo a dark green trash bag and asked him to collect some clothes and his pillow. Usually Jojo would listen intently through the crack at his bedroom door to find out what the social worker told Darius he needed to do in order to get Jojo returned to him. This time Darius had been arrested and Jojo felt a strange loneliness for him even though he often wished Darius wouldn’t be able to get him back in the past. That night Dumbo kept him company in his new foster home and he comforted himself by remembering he would see his teacher again at the end of the summer.
Gold Lame' (That's le-mayy) (Gold Lame' Series) Page 1