Socialite

I'm laying in a big, wide bed with a thick comforter and fat pillows. It definitely isn't my bed at home.


I'm by myself, but with all of the pillows and the thick comforter, this is really cozy. I curl up and start to doze. I hear the door of the room I'm in open, then click shut. I'm so sleepy, it's hard to open my eyes. I try to turn toward the sound of the footsteps coming toward me, but it takes too much effort. The blanket feels heavy on top of me, and my limbs feel heavy with fatigue. I am anxious about the situation, but I can't move any better than this. I feel someone large climb onto the bed, sliding in behind me. One arm snakes under my neck, so that my head rests against a shoulder. The other arm slides around my waist, and I'm locked in someone's embrace. I feel the pillow dip above my head as someone shares it with me, and a pair of knees curl up behind mine, and a pair of feet tuck in beneath mine. Now, I'm spooning with a completely unknown, very tall person. I am simultaneously drawn to and repelled by this woman. Being snuggled up to by her feels warm and cozy, creepy, and somehow terribly threatening. I'm completely spooked by this.

She starts speaking quietly to me. "Are you warm enough? I can turn up the heat, if you'd like." There is an unmistakeable lilt of intent in her voice that makes the statement more innuendo than an offer to warm the room. She punctuates the statement with a soft kiss on my temple. Goosebumps erupt all along my arms, on the back of my neck, and down my legs. My nerves jangle, and my stomach lurches. I'm really an affectionate person. I really am. But this makes me want to bolt and jump out the nearest window.

She says, "Don't worry, I'm not here to hurt you this time. I won't, if you don't struggle." 

Somehow this does not make me feel better at all. The only impression I get from her statement is that if I do struggle, she will hurt me. How is that supposed to be comforting? I find myself stiffening up, holding myself in position, waiting for whatever comes next. She tightens her embrace, pressing me against her like I'm going to disappear. I realize that I can disappear. I'm asleep. All I have to do is wake myself up.

I hear her speaking again as I focus really hard on not being there. She says, "You should just relax. You're not going anywhere until you tell me..."

I sink my own teeth into the side of my wrist, hard.

At this point, the dream didn't end, but the scene kind of changed abruptly. At the time, it didn't feel weird for that to happen. It went just like a scene change in a movie, except that the viewer (me) forgot the previous scene while experiencing the next one.

I'm in a big dining room with a long, dark wooden table and lots of chairs. No one else is in here but me.

The table is set with an amazing spread of food. Pretty much everything I've ever tried and liked is there, with generous servings of my favorite things.It's as if this has all been set out for me.

In the distance, I can hear music playing quietly. It's loud enough that I can catch bits of it, and it sounds pleasant enough, but it's too quiet for me to identify what's playing. Finding out doesn't feel important, though. I have noticed that although there is a great banquet on this table, there are no place settings at all, not even one.

A woman about my age comes into the room. She's dressed in a long, dark skirt and a high-necked white shirt with long sleeves. Her dark hair is put up in a little bun in the back of her head. On her head is a little cap that is kind of like a tiara made of eyelet lace. She's shorter than me, and very fine-boned, with small wrists and hands, and a pointy little chin. Her eyes seem a bit large for her face. The effect reminds me of something between an anime character and a precious moments doll.

In her hand is a string. There's a knot where the ends were tied together, but another part of it has broken, so instead of a circle, it's just hanging limply from her fingers. She looks very worried and upset.

I ask if she's ok, and she tells me she's in big trouble. She's supposed to set the table for supper, but she can't get into the china cabinet, because she's lost the key. She holds up the string. She's got this wide-eyed look of sadness and fear that tugs at my sympathy strings and makes me want to help. I ask if it's shiny, or if the metal is oxidized. She says I'd know it if I saw it. I ask if she's retraced her steps looking for it, and she nods. Thinking about how I am when I've lost something, and how I miss important details when I'm searching frantically for something, I ask her to show me. Maybe I will spot something that her nerves made her overlook. She nods again, and motions for me to follow her out of the room.

I walk behind her, glancing around the dark hardwood floor to see if I spot anything shiny, but there's nothing. Out in the hallway, the lighting is not so good, because there are no windows. I'm watching along the floor to see if there's anything, but the hallway is spotless. Whoever cleans this place is meticulous and diligent. There isn't even dust in the corners. We walk nearly to the end of the hallway, where there is a stairway. It goes up to a landing, then turns back and goes the rest of the way up over our heads. Under the first half of the stairs is a door to what I assume is a closet.

As I wait for her to open the door, I recognize this place. I have been here recently, at a party. I can't quite remember it. When I try, I run into kind of a fog, instead. But it's not important right now. Right now we need to find that key. She turns the handle and pulls, and I find myself looking into a very short hallway. Off to the right is a small storage alcove under the stairs, but three feet from the door is another doorway leading into what looks like a pantry.

The maid I'm helping steps inside, motioning me to follow. When I enter, she shuts the door, then reaches across and slides another door shut across the other doorway, and suddenly it's pitch black in here. I feel myself shoved into the little alcove. I trip backward and fall to a sitting position on top of a large box. I smell cinnamon and sugar, but it's more like a put-on scent than like real food, and then I realize I can hear her breathing in my ear. Her face is right next to mine.

She whispers frantically. "There isn't any time. Just believe that I know you. Don't eat, and don't let her find that key."

I feel something brush against my hand. Before I can pull away, she has put the string around my wrist.

"Don't forget."

I ask, "What should I do? Who are you? How do you know me?" but the door opens. In the dim light, I can see that I'm alone in here. I step out into the hall and close the door, then make my way back to the dining room. The table is set with plastic plates and picnic utensils instead of china and silver. There are red plastic cups instead of glasses, and paper napkins. There's an incredibly tall woman with really long, silvery gray hair, standing on the other side of the room, looking out of the window. She tells me to sit anywhere, and apologizes for the poor service, which I take to mean the table setting. I feel bad for not helping the maid find her key. The gray lady sounds almost really pissed, but not quite - it sounds more put-on than genuine. It's like she wants me to think she's pissed, but really, she's not.

Several other people come into the room, and sit around the table. There are a few empty spots left. One is next to a guy I kind of recognize from the last time I was here, so that is the spot I choose. The maid I was helping before comes in, along with four other ladies dressed just like her. She is the shortest and smallest of the bunch. She looks around the table, her eyes passing over me with no hint of recognition. The tall woman turns and sits at the head of the table. Her face really does not match her hair at all. She looks like she can't be more than 40 years old, maybe even as young as 30. I wonder what made her go gray so young. She smiles at all of us, and then tells the maids to serve the guests

In the back of my mind is a nagging sense of wrongness. I should not be here at this table with these people. None of this is what it is made to appear to be. This isn't a dinner party. These people aren't guests. I don't think any of them can leave.

The maids begin offering servings of all of the various items on the table. The petite maid fills my plate with several items, then surreptitiously moves some of it so that it looks like I've been eating. One of the bigger maids, a tall, younger girl who outweighs me, is blocking my view of the hostess at that moment, so I can't tell if she notices, but I suspect that she can't see me either. The man in the seat next to me sees, though. He gives me a nod and a wink, and hands me my empty spoon. He puts his empty spoon in his mouth, then remarks how delicious the soup is. I follow suit, and agree with him. The taller maid stands up straight, and I can see a triumphant look on the face of the hostess.

The dinner is painfully awkward, with stilted conversation, and frequent questions about how much I like this or that item on the table. I profess to have tasted and enjoyed everything on my plate, and after an appropriate amount of time, I state that I've been served too enthusiastically, and I just can't eat any more. I'm stuffed. The hostess mentions dessert, and I decline, faking a hiccup and managing to even make myself burp a little.

She looks impatient, and the charade seems to be over. Everyone pushes their seats back. My partner in crime gives me a sympathetic, but conspiratorial and approving look, but follows suit. I also push my seat back. As the guests all stand up, the maids begin clearing the plastic ware. The hostess glares at them, then looks right at me and says, "It's too bad you couldn't find the key."

Startled, I look down at my hands, still folded in my lap. I didn't realize she knew I was looking.

That's when I see it. On the inside of the my wrist, the one the maid tied the string around, is a small tattoo of a fancy looking old-fashioned key. My heart jumps into my throat. I know that I can't open the china cabinet with my wrist, but somehow I'm sure that the tattoo is a real key. I have the key this woman is looking for. She knows I have it. She knows I've forgotten what it is, and she's trying to make me remember so she can take it from me.

I compose my face with a look of disappointment, allowing enough nervousness to show to let her think I'm feeling like I screwed up by not getting it for her. I tell her that maybe it's missing because of how clean the house is. Maybe after it fell, it was swept up, and ended up in the trash. This is rewarded with a look of annoyance that's downright scary. She stands up, and everyone scatters. The maids all run out of the room. She leans down and puts her hands on the table, looking right at me, and says, "Do you think I'm STUPID?"

I look back at her, not knowing what I'm going to do until I hear myself speak. "Well, do you think I am?"

Inside, I'm thinking, Oh, God, I've just pissed her off... she's going to kill me right now! Why did I say that to her? On the outside, though, I seem to be completely calm and composed. My hands are folded in my lap, with the key tattoo down. My gaze is steady, and I'm not shaking. I'm the only one in the room who hasn't gotten up. Most of the other guests are leaving. The man from beside me is standing in the doorway. His hands are in his pockets, but he doesn't look relaxed. The maids are hovering in another doorway, all looking terrified, except the petite lady who gave me the string. She's got a very serious, measured look on her face.

It feels like something is about to happen, and the two of them are ready for it, but I really am not. I want out of this.

My hostess stops what she's doing, turns away from me, and goes back to the window. She seems to be composing herself.

"It's a shame," she says. "I really like using the items in that cabinet."
Then, "You should get some rest, after such a big meal. You must be getting sleepy."

I turn and look at the maid. She nods, and I agree that it's time for me "to retire." I say, "It's been a long day."

My hostess glances backward at me and gives me a cocky smile. She says, "Better get used to it, if you're going to be so stubborn. You can get out of this any time you want, you know."

When I leave the room with the maid, we go up those stairs, back into the bedroom from the beginning of the dream. As soon as I lay down in the bed, I found myself awake in my home. 


This is the second dream I've had where the setting was that house, and I'm repeatedly dreaming about this tall woman with the gray hair. I'm curious to see what is behind this, but at the same time, it's scary. I feel like there's something really not up-front about her, and I'm not going to like her when I find out what it is.


About the key, I'm intensely curious and confused. I don't have any tattoos at all. None. I also don't have any kind of physical key like the one in the tattoo. I have my car keys, my apartment keys, and that's it. I woke with the feeling that the key on my wrist was an indication of something that I all ready know, and should be able to remember, but for some reason, I don't. Whatever it is, I feel protective of it, like it's important that the gray haired lady doesn't get it.


I dozed again after that, and I don't remember dreaming about anything, but when my husband woke me to say goodbye in the morning, I did something totally uncharacteristic of our relationship before I was totally awake. I took a swing at him like he was there to hurt me. I've never, ever done that. Not to him. 


When I was younger, only a very limited few people could get near me when I was sleeping. There wasn't a reason - there's nothing in my childhood I could point to and say, "This probably caused me to hit people in my sleep." It just happened, that's all, and it was bad. If anyone but immediate family or my best friend tried put a hand on me, even just to nudge me awake, I'd jump up and attack, knocking the person down, pinning him or her to the floor, and start beating on him or her until I actually did wake up. The only safe way for friends to wake me was to stand near where I was sleeping and stare for a few seconds. I'd wake with a start, but at least I didn't hit anyone.

It was my husband who got me over that. Unlike other people, he could approach and wake me, even before we were dating, with no problem. I guess I just always felt a connection to him. Since we've been married, I've gotten to the point where I don't have that reaction any more.


Except this morning. I had it this morning. That, over and above everything else in the dream, totally freaks me out.