Dreams and All

December 10, 2007 at 3:38 AM

"Flittering into the evening sun,
notes disappear like vapor into the dimmed
light of the sky.

If only I could affix myself upon them,
and vanish into the peaceful depths of their secret flight."

The strangest dream haunted me last night. I say "haunted" because I usually have ten dreams in one night, the agony of being an English Major with an active mind. But this one lasted from the moment my mind drifted off into dreary slumber until I granted the real world with my presence once again at 8am.

I stepped off a plane into LAX (the Los Angeles Airport). Of course, some dreams skip the night and day part, do not pay much attention to time and all that jazz, and I materialzed into a rehearsal with my old youth orchestra. My old teacher was there along with the conductors who were present during my "early years." Suddenly, Maestro Lawson stepped upon the podium to announce the impending competition and its competitors. For me, the nightmare began when he smiled my way and said my name.

Me! Play a competition, without preparation, without somuchas a warning! Oh the horror, the humiliation! What will my mother say when she hears the cat imprisoned and screaming inside the f-holes of my beautiful violin?

And so the nigthmare continued, when upon my stand, out of nowhere, Dvorak's 1st Violin Concerto appeared. In reality, I have never seen the music for this particular concerto, but I think my mind did a good job of creating the black notes that surely must be all over the pages of the original sheet music.

Something happened.
The music was gone and I watched as a snotty little brat of a girl played her brains out on stage: Sarasate's Introduction and Tarantella. "The next contestant is..." a voiced boomed into the audienced. Thank goodness it wasn't me. At this point, in my mind, I was aware that this was a dream, but in my heart, I wanted to succeed, despite the fact that I was not prepared, oh, and yeah--this was a dream.

I glided backstage, as I usually do in all my dreams where stressful situations are at hand, and took on the impossible task of learning Dvorak's concerto in less than two hours. How did I know I had two hours? Well, I do not know; it's a dream. Keep this in mind because I will not continue to repeat myself.

The structure of my dreams are quite predictable: problem, more problems, try to fix those problems, no resolution. So, when I went to my stand in the "greenroom" only to discover my music was not there, I nearly jumped off my bed in frustration. Where could it have gone? Well, it could have walked and gone shopping at a mall since...oh, I promised not to keep reiterating that--this was a dream.... A memory popped in my head and I had a vague recollection of going home and leaving my music there. My mind in its dream-state with its inexcusable ignorance of time, failed to give fair warning.

The next, few minutes, couple of hours, I don't know, since I was sleeping, encompassed the "more problems" to hunt down the left behind music. My house seemed eons away, and I met many strange creatures on the crowded streets of Hollywood, including my full-grown Xhera (rottweiler puppy) who had two heads! After a few scares and slips-down-the-stairs or up, fitting the climb of success, I arrived at an apartment complex that I have never seen in my life. But according to my mind --in its dreamstate--, the grand building located in the heart of Hollywood only a few feet down from the Chinese Palace Theatre, was my home. My feet "glided" towards a window, which led me to see a woman, who was not my mother, but my mother, combing her long, brown hair and powdering her smooth, white cheeks. Yes, I said white! What is going on?! Do not ask...

"Mom, where is my sheet music?" I yelled.
"Oh, honey, you're here. I was just preparin' myself for your competition," My "mom" said in a Southern accent. Why does this have to be so weird? I thought, aside.

"Mom, I need to get my music and I need it now," I screamed.

"Who are you talkin' to? Who am I?" Okay, now she's starting to sound like my real mom, the nightmare deepens.

"You are the mother; I am the child," I pushed the words through jaw crackingly shut teeth and rolled my eyes.

"And do not roll your eyes. I have you know that even though you are 19, you will never be too old to punish. Now go to your room," Oh gosh, kill me now.

"Mom, I love you so much. I have the most respect for you and your 'way', but this is a dream. And it is my dream, I'll have you know. And although you dictate orders in my real life, I will not have you ruining this competition for me, because it is my, my, my, my dream!" I stomped my foot with each "my" for emphasis and I wanted somehow to stomp my brain into usin' its creative power to get me out of the impending wrath of my mother who was surely to throw a fit after how I just talked to her.

I do not know if the stomping did it, but I ended up in my bedroom with the sheet music in my hands. A faint knock sounded on my door and I jumped up to go to the competition. "Mother, I need to go, no time to talk," I said, pulling open the door. Who stood in front of me? More like, what stood in front of me? Some hunk of a guy, staring into my beautiful blue eyes. Wait-a-minute, I do not have blue eyes.

"My name is William Darcy," Yeah, the guy from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, what-of-it. "I have come to take you and your mom to tonight's competition."

"Is that all?" I whispered. "Are you sure you have not come to make a proposal, my dear?"

Hold on one second, of course he's come to make a proposal, this is my dream! Stomp, stomp, stomp. "Will you marry me, Jasmine?" he said bending on his right knee.

"Yes, my love. Now let's get a move on to that competition, I will succeed!" My British accent had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. And my eyes had turned back to brown by-the-way.

And we were no longer in Hollywood. Mr. Darcy escorted my mom and me on the streets of Brooklyn, New York. But, my mind pays no attention to location as well, so I did not have to end up booking a flight back to Los Angeles in order to make it to the competition in time. We arrived with less than 10 minutes left before I was to be called on stage. I ran back to the green room, Mr. Darcy locked in my iron grip. I practiced Dvorak's Violin concerto which I now know was not Dvorak's Concerto after watching a youtube video of Itzhak Perlman playing. "Jasmine Reese..." A voice reverberated through out the green room and I was on stage in a blue, sapphire dress. Kind of like the one Cinderella wore, now that I think of it.

But as I warned above, my dream stuck to its structure and no resolution was provided. I woke up. Quite depressed. And dissatisfied. Incomplete like a dropped class in the middle of the semester. Downtrodden like a bride left at the alter. Failure flashing before my eyes like an "F" on a transcript. Brokenhearted like a child punished without reason.

I will never know how my marriage with Mr. Darcy turned out. I will never know if I won the competition or humiliated myself. I will never even know why my mother was white and I was most fully black. With that thought, I burst into tears. Oh, the injustice and cruelty of the mind!

From Mara Gerety
Posted on December 10, 2007 at 1:39 PM

I've had soooo many dreams like that--minus the Mr. Darcy part...

From Carolyn Berger
Posted on December 10, 2007 at 6:53 PM

You've given me hope that I'm not the only one with crazy dreams. :)

From Bill Busen
Posted on December 10, 2007 at 10:35 PM

Does anyone else want to hear what her Prokofiev First Concerto would sound like, after a tale like that??

From Jasmine Reese
Posted on December 11, 2007 at 2:11 PM

Yeah, I want to know what Prokofiev would sound like in my hands! LOL :))) Maybe, that will be my repertoire goal for the summer. Thanks Bill.

Yeah, I think we all have tons of weird dreams but forget 99% of them.

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