PAST DREAM: 4/15/08
I am 6 feet tall and super-model-skinny (and consequently no more than an A-cup) and a fan of black spike heels and super-dark-wash denim. I have perfect eye sight and a different nose. I am Jewish and a year older and working at a salad place on the Main Line. I have dropped out of college. I have a co-worker named Dovid who is a senior in high school who is exactly my height when I wear the heels. One night after making salads for snobby yoga moms we go to a pub and I use my fake ID to get us both really drunk and I tell him I adore him and his green eyes and curly brown hair. He isn’t particularly smart or talented or anything really, we just click. We start dating even though both of our mothers think I am a cradle-robber for doing so. It isn’t so much that we become attached at the hip as much as he is my best friend, and it feels weird to say that in the dream when I finally tell my friends, who give me looks and start avoiding me for fear I have become that girl, the kind who gets too invested in coupledom and abandons everyone else—but he is my best friend. We get odd looks, but we are dating, and I am in love with him even if I am not sure he loves me. And I am, in my dream, fine with this. We go to a concert in a venue like the Troc but not, and lean up against the stage the whole night while dancing wildly, all unbridled enthusiasm and unrestrained limbs. The next night we go to the opera—he is wearing a black tux and no tie of any kind; my gown is off-shoulder and crimson. Dovid applies to college and gets into a bunch of alright schools and schools I’m sure I made up with bad names. It is the summer time, and I am crying while we lie in the grass at Valley Forge, because I do not want us to part, because I am going back to school in Canada, and he is going to a made-up place. “I don’t want you to feel tied down, because you are so amazing, and we are really young,” I say. “You should look around.” “Did you look around when you were a freshman?” he asks me. “No,” I reply, “but that was different.” “I don’t see how,” he says. I kiss him and then I roll down the hill to hide that I still crying a bit. We stay together anyway and he visits one weekend when my roommate is away and we spent the whole weekend in my bed with the windows open, listening to iTunes, not actually doing anything but watching the stars when they come and the sun when that’s around, and reading, and just talking about stupid shit. He has to go the next morning, and I say “I wish I had tits, you know, something for you to hold,” and he says “I don’t mind.”
