Flying Without Wings

I awoke this morning with a start, the way I do nearly every Thursday morning, to the sound of a nearby diesel engine. This is the sound of the garbage truck, which means that I’m about to lose my chance to rid myself of my refuse for an additional week. I sprang out of bed and did the deed. Today the task was accompanied by the memory of a strange dream.

I don’t usually remember entire dreams — just pieces of them, or just the end. In this case, it was the latter. I was on a flat rooftop, observing a second flat rooftop about 10 feet below me and to the right. There were about 3 people on that roof, including a man standing alone: Gretchen’s friend Adam, whom I’ve never met. The other two people, who were standing further to my right and near the edge of their roof, seemed to be assistants of some sort. Adam was passionately singing, with full orchestral accompaniment:

so, impossible as they may seem / you’ve got to fight for every dream / ’cause who’s to know which one you let go / would have made you complete

It was being delivered with all the panache of a Broadway show, naturally; Adam’s a stage professional. As he reached the climax of the ending, he dropped to his knees, closed his fists, leaned his torso back, and delivered the final lyric with its dramatic rallentando…

and that’s the joy you bring / I’m fly-y-y-y-ing with-out wi-ings

…as his assistants hoisted a gleaming, moist, plucked, ready-to-cook whole chicken and tossed it high into the air over of the side of the roof.

It was beautiful. My guess is that the material for this dream came at least in part from overhearing an episode of American Idol in the background as I worked on Lance’s computer last night.