Lidia Adaman-Tremblay Date, Hoodoo, Steve in Lucid Dreaming

I am living in an apartment which is reached by the outside wooden stairs. There is noise of other tenants all around me, even though I am alone. In fact, the entire dream was filled with background noise – a constant hum I could not get away from. There is a sense that I‘ve only moved into this apartment not too long ago. Along one wall, there is a beautiful mosaic picture. It is all done in white and grays, depicting a vase of flowers. I decide not to put anything else around it, since that would detract from it.

A man comes to see me. I am aware that I have met him before, but am still not very comfortable with him. He is gorgeous – broad shoulders, slim waist, strong face framed with curly dark hair, large blue eyes, beautiful mouth. His hands have long fingers that are very expressive. He overwhelms me, and in spite of my own strength, I find myself bowing to his requests in a way I promised myself never to do again.

We have made a date, and he is now over with an armload of black t-shirts. He wants me to help him choose the one that will be most appropriate. I hope there is one that has no graphic on it, but none of them were plain. He pulls on one that pleases me, something that has to do with a science fiction show (Doctor Who, perhaps?). Pulling it over his head, and already dressed in dark jeans, I feel helpless. He already picked the place we‘ll be heading to, so off we go, down the stairs, only to find that somehow things have changed. Somehow the landing, and the bottom stairs, have been reversed. We cannot get past it. I suggest we go back into the apartment while I call the superintendent about this, which I do. When I‘m done with the call, I notice that the hallway is filled with my pictures, including across the mosaic. I feel upset. Something like anger boils up in me at the thought that someone can do this without asking for my approval. But I can‘t say anything.

Now, a woman appears, sitting down at the top stair. She looks strange, as though she is still a child but in a woman‘s body. Her light brown hair is cut in a short blunt cut with bangs and she is dressed in a frilly pink dress. I sit down beside her, and she begins to talk and act in a frightful way. She says she is this man‘s wife – ‗my sixth wife,‘ he says cheerfully. I am totally alarmed now. She changes from a clingy child to a raving mad woman, striking out at me and him, screaming insults and threats. I have to get away. She must leave. I reach for the phone again to call the police, when she just disappears.

I am terribly shaken up now. He tells me that all is okay and just breaks through the wooden slats and awkwardly makes his way down the reverse steps, holding onto my hand the whole time. Once on the street, he leads me to a large outdoor café. Instead of sitting down in this pleasant atmosphere, he goes through the restaurant and into the basement. I am confused by what I see. Obviously, there are elements of Hoodoo ceremony going on. I see veves hung up, drums beating a wild beat, men and women dancing with unfettered abandon. I smell tobacco smoke and rum. All these I recognize and honour. But there is more: people on the stairs writhing not in ceremonial ways, but in torment; a circle of people around the celebrants who are also acting very strange. The women cry as though in pain and reach for my date. The men cringe and move away from him.

I need to get out and away from this. I need to get away from this man who will ruin me completely if I am to keep my independence and sanity. I go down the stairs quickly, breaking my hand-hold with him. He calls me, but I just run, run out of the room, ducking around outstretched hands which pluck at my dress and arms, running towards another door, one painted a dark red, like old blood.

Throwing the door open, I pause for an instant, recognizing that this is a dream, and I do not need to run any more. I fly down, to yet another door. I pass through it without opening it, because I am now followed by a woman, who takes a form of only a snarling face. My flight is difficult, much slower than it normally would be. I change my direction and take myself upward. Floors and ceilings melt before me, and I finally find myself outside again. Whoever was chasing me is no longer in pursuit.

I shudder at the memory of what I have just seen. It was like a twisted version of something beautiful, a circus fun-house vision rather than the truth. I shudder again, and setting my feet to the pavement, I make my way along the street. I see now that there is a line up of some sort. Ah, yes, people are lining up to buy tickets for a concert of some sort. Much to my shock, I see someone familiar taking his place in the queue (SRD). He stands there for a moment then puts down his backpack, and a small stack of papers on the sidewalk. He moves away, and I run to his spot. I see that he left a small sign which reads, ―This space taken‖. The papers begin to blow in the slight breeze, and I hurry to catch them, just as he comes back. He looks at me, and smiles. I hand him the papers; with a nod he thanks me and sinks down to the ground, even as I do. Placing my head on his shoulder, I say, ―Hello, Steve. It‘s been a long time since I‘ve seen you.‖ I notice that he looks older, worried and weary, and feel deep concern for him.

In a flash, we are back in the basement in that horrid, grotesque parody of a Hoodoo ceremony. Steve now is completely broken within himself. I‘m still leaning on his shoulder, and am now holding him to support him from collapsing onto the floor. He pats my hand. ―Do you remember me?‖ I ask, and he nods. ―You‘re Lidia,‖ he responds in a hoarse whisper. I nod and smile sadly, ―Yeah, your number one stalker,‖ I say. He laughs and starts coughing.

I wake up saying ―NO! NO!‖ out loud, gasping, and almost weeping…