Dreamt this night before last, but Blogger was down yesterday when I tried to post it…
I was driving my father and sister out of downtown Harrisburg after the three of us attended an event of some sort. We were trying to get back to the highway – I wanted 83 North to get home – but as I approached Locust on Third, intending to turn right and head down Front St toward the highway, I saw a sign that said I-83 N/I-81 N closed, with a detour for I-80 posted. I-80 is over an hour north of Harrisburg, and not where I wanted to be, so I decided to take the city streets home instead, and started heading up Chestnut. Huge hills appeared in front of me, and after barely making it over several, I finally came to one that was nearly entirely vertical. I had enough momentum to make it most of the way up, but as I approached the top, the car just fell off the hill, hitting the top of the hill below and then bouncing and rolling back into the city. We were fine, but the car was ruined, and it was clear we would have to find another way home.
Jancey then must have disappeared, as it was just my father and me on a street corner. It was late and the only people around were drug dealers and beggars – and there a lot of them. One of them approached my father, offering drugs, and although he declined, he started to morph away from actually being my father to becoming just another street person. After not very long, I felt like I needed to get away from all of them, including the man who had been my father. I started walking as quickly as I can, and I was soon completely alone. The city was not geographically identical to the real Harrisburg, but at this point I believe I was near Stallions.
I remembered that I had left my own car in a downtown garage, but I wasn’t sure which one, or where it was. It must have been after hours because there was literally no one around, and I was scared to walk around the city searching for my car, but didn’t see that I had any other option. I was very conscious that if someone attacked me, there would be no one there to see it happen. I had a vague image of where the parking garage was, and so I started walking as quickly as I could, staying in street lights where I could, keeping a sharp eye out for anyone else. There was no one else, and eventually I approached the street I thought the garage was on. I started to turn the corner, then realized that there was nothing on this street, just a long dark alley. I walked on, figuring it must be the next street. Over and over I’d think I’d found it, then peer down the corner only to see darkness and no sign of the garage. Finally, I was sure I had to have found it, but when I looked I could see I was wrong again, but I could see the back entrance to a restaurant I frequented and felt comfortable in.
I walked the 30 feet or so to the door, and went in, only to find that the interior had been completely remodeled and the staff replaced. I had been expecting familiarity and comfort and found none. I thought about staying there anyway, because it felt much safer than being alone on the street, but knew that I was underdressed for what the establishment had become. I was hyperaware of my worn jeans and sneakers, and felt nearly as alone in the midst of the crowd as I had while searching for the parking garage. After ascertaining that I did not know anyone in the building, I left through the front door, which put me out on 2nd St, somewhere near Forester. I looked up to see a man and two women getting into a cab – and realized that the man was a young JFK (JFK, that is, not JFK Jr.).
I got really excited but tried my best to appear calm and collected as I walked over and introduced myself. We shook hands, and the next thing I knew, I was in the cab – which from the inside bore more resemblance to a limo. I wasn’t sure how I came to be in the cab as the women clearly didn’t want me there and JFK didn’t seem to care either way, but I was more than happy to be there.
After driving a little ways we arrived at a very upscale bar and went in. We sat at the bar, JFK farthest from the entrance, then the woman I’d determined he was dating, then the other woman who appeared to be trying to pick him up as well, then me. Two men approached us, and while the three women vied for JFK’s attention, the two men vied for three of us. One of the men was enormously rich and to demonstrate this he kept asking me to hold his change for him every time he bought a drink. This seemed to me to amount to wads and wads of cash, which I glanced at, then stuffed into my pockets, unimpressed. He was rude to begin with, but then became belligerent, and management, with the help of the other man talking to us, escorted him out. My party decided that we needed to split up the money he’d left behind, so they took me outside and shook me by the ankles while change rained from my pockets and littered the sidewalk. We dove for the money, finding mostly half dollars, but it was all coins and far less than we’d thought, and we were disappointed.
Change gathered, we went back into to the bar, and JFK’s attention seemed solidly on his date. I was ready to accept defeat, and reached into my pockets to pay for my drinks. Although I’d thought they’d gotten everything when they shook me upside down, I found a huge wad of cash, which I’d barely glanced at when JFK noticed that I was getting ready to go and pulled me over to him, holding my empty hand. We started talking and were moving closer and closer to each other when one of the women shrieked, “C-Note!” My other hand was full of c-notes and many other denominations, both higher and lower. There were ones, fives, hundreds, five hundreds and twelve hundreds. I questioned the authenticity of the latter, both for its strange amount and the portrait, which appeared to be of a cartoonist whose name I vaguely recognized, but was quickly assured that this was all valid currency. We then had to divide this cash, which we did with a minor amount of discomfort on my part because I was not sure why the others were entitled to any of it, but was also very aware that they didn’t think I was entitled to any of it.
Once the money issues were settled, the other man left while JFK, the other women, and I all made our way to a table. He and I were on opposite sides of a square table, while the two women were both on the other side. He took my hand and we talked and talked, while the women became increasingly agitated. We were just discussing whether he would walk me to my car, or if we would get a cab together when I was awoken by the sound of a lawnmower outside my window…Anticlimactic, but maybe I have the rest of the happy ending waiting for me when I go to sleep tonight…