Dream

It is nighttime, and I dream of dancers.
Not the kind of dancers I usually see, not rave dancers. These people are not clad in neon clothing torn to bare midriffs and thighs, nor are they dancing in abandon, madly gyrating and jumping to the beat of the music. No, these people are calm, collected. Their attire lacks the color of raves and is instead largely black and white; occasionally a splotch of color—a rose pinned to a lapel, a brilliant necklace or ornament—will show as the dancers go about their movements. The atmosphere is odd. There’s a feeling of great joy, but no animal desires beneath it. There isn’t an undertone of sex or lust or violence at this dance; no, the people—with a jolt, I see that the dancers are both human and poleepkwa alike—are here to have fun and nothing more. It’s so clean, so innocent…I’ve never seen anything like this. I smile as I see Sherry, her wounds healed and unscarred, awkwardly stepping through a waltz with Ryan, who grins. Nearby Viktor waves to me, standing next to Jake and Christian—everyone is here, and they look like they’ve been here for a while. I wonder where I was so that I missed the invitation.
A voice is at my ear.
“You know, you won’t get a dance partner looking like that.”
Startled, I look to the source of the voice and look at myself. I am wearing what looks like a tuxedo jacket… where I got it is anyone’s guess. A cockeyed smile is on my face as I stare at myself. “What’s the matter? Afraid of your own shadow?” I don’t know who’s talking or where I am—if I’m here and there, where am I? In both places or neither of them? As if to be sure that I am there I look down at my body; unlike my doppelganger, I am clad in ratty raver pants and am streaked with what smells and looks like ash. The attire is so out of place that I feel as if I should sink into the ground so as to not disturb the dance. Everyone is so happy and peaceful here…why would anyone want to interrupt this, for any reason? I’m quite beside myself.
“It’s okay,” I hear myself say. “Just go home and change, that’s all. It won’t take long.” With that, I’m guiding myself out of the door and down a small dirt road. I turn as if to leave myself behind; quickly I grab onto my arm. “Wait—where am I going?”
The reply is immediate. “Home. You need to change, Olo.”
With a jolt I wake up.