swept away

I lived in a home with a small back deck, backing onto a river. The deck had no railing and it was perched only a few feet above the water. A friend visited us and she was wearing amazing clothing: a black and red pin-striped three-piece suit, long black high-heeled boots under her pants, and a black suede coat with an intricate cut-out pattern. For some reason, she changed her outfit and left her incredible clothes on the deck. The next day, I was on the phone with another friend, pacing about the house. As I walked past the glass doors leading to the deck, I realised that during the night the tide had risen and water had washed over the deck, sweeping away the clothing. I hung up the phone and, wearing all my clothes, dived off the back deck into the water. Under the water, I could see her pants here, a boot there, but also some eels - fat eels with pronounced eyes and each with pinkish frill along its body. At first I was afraid but soon I realised they were simply curious; they meant no harm. I even saw one swim through the glass doors into the living room and out again. I only vaguely thought about whether this meant there was water in the house. Surfacing to deposit clothing on the back deck or to breathe, I slowly retrieved all of my friend's beautiful clothing. The next day my friend returned. We walked onto the back deck and, again, no clothes. The tide had risen a second time and swept her clothes into the river. Fully clothed, I dived into the river, this time with my friend. Peering around under the water, we could see her clothing here and there; most pieces had travelled further down the river this time. I felt something bite my arm and, looking down, I saw a worm burrowing into my skin. I grabbed its tail between my fingers and pulled. Its body broke in two, but both pieces wriggled away through the water. It looked remarkably like the eel with a pink frill around its body, but with no eyes to speak of. Another worm bit then burrowed into my skin. For a moment I was horrified, but it reappeared in one piece, seemingly no harm done. Again, we retrieved my friend's clothing. I noticed the feel of the quality fabric and the cut of the garments as I fished them out of the water. Suddenly, there was no water; just a dry river bed. We walked along, away from the house, following the trail of clothing. I looked back to the house and could see a wall of water rushing toward us. 'Jump up', I called to my friend, and we jumped and found ourselves swept along by the water, but safe on its surface. Later, back on the deck, I worried about the remaining items of clothing we'd not been able to retrieve. 'Don't worry about it', said my friend. 'It's only clothes.'

spots, fever, layers, song and shower

In the late afternoon, in the family home of my teenage years, I noticed a ring of raised red skin on my forehead, and another on my chest below my collar bone. I went to my father, who was sitting in his chair in the lounge room, to show him. We found a few more and I was a little perplexed. I needed to be somewhere in about half an hour (a class?) and I noticed I was wearing a green tailored suit, not at all suitable for where I was going. I thought I'd race upstairs and leave the jacket on but swap the pants for jeans; however, in the process of dressing, I realised I was thoroughly saturated with perspiration. I needed to have a shower and quickly. In the bathroom, with the door locked, I began to undress and, while I did, I sang. The acoustics of the bathroom were wonderful and I played with pitch, high and low, devising the song as I went. My clothes, soaked through, were difficult to peel away, and I seemed to remove layer upon layer. Jumpers, tops and more tops. Pants under pants under pants. Even when I finally made it down to my underwear, I found I was wearing several bras and layers of underpants. People - not family - began to queue at the door, waiting to use the bathroom, and I knew I was running late. After discovering yet another layer of underwear, I decided that I would shower regardless. I closed the glass door behind me and washed away the sweat, all the while singing a lilting, lovely song. Upon finishing, the door opened and two old women wandered in. I tried, kindly, to usher them out, encouraging them to wait just a few more minutes while I dressed.

layers

I was walking, at night, alone. I ventured into a small, dark cabin and, finding nothing there, I opened the door, intending to leave. A tall man stood in the doorway, blocking my path. He said nothing, but closed the door again, locking it. I was trapped inside and wondered what would happen. After a time, he opened the door and ushered me out into a yard where several other people were waiting. I was instructed to climb up a ladder, onto a diving platform above the pool, where I was to undress and then dive into the pool. The people sat around, awaiting my performance. I climbed up and began to undress, but beneath each layer of clothing was another layer. There was nothing provocative about the routine; each item of clothing was sensible rather than attractive. I removed a pair of black socks to find sports socks; under my jacket, I wore several layers; under my pants, were other pairs of pants; and so on. Concerned about appearing naked in front of the audience, I seemed to conjure layer upon layer of clothing.

The following night, a similar dream:

I was in the bathroom of my grandmother's house, undressing so as to get ready to go somewhere. In the bathroom with me was someone I trust implicitly. I removed my shoes, my dress and found I was wearing rather old-fashioned undergarments: a camisole and a half-slip petticoat. I attempted to remove the camisole, but, upon pulling it up toward my head, I found myself stuck. My friend helped me; he did his best to gently tug the top up and over my head, and then helped me with the next item of clothing. Again, there seemed to be several layers of clothing, appearing as I removed each previous item.

missing out

I was inappropriately dressed, wearing only underwear and boots, and aware of it. Although I was in my house, I was in the presence of strangers and I was extremely uncomfortable, although they seemed not to notice. I did my best to conceal my body while searching for something more appropriate, more covering. Even when dressed, I felt uneasy, and I realised that I was home alone with four strange men. I pretended to see someone I knew outside the window and rushed out, running away.
Now, it was Christmas Eve, at about five or six in the early evening. Everyone seemed to be preparing for great festivities. I opened a suitcase and found a few items of clothing that I added to my attire, but, before I could leave, I was asked to help clean up, even though it was not my home. I carefully washed and dried the dishes in the sink, and cleaned the cupboards, finishing the job, long after other people had left. I wondered how best to celebrate and thought I would wander up the hill to a cluster of huge buildings where people seemed to be flocking - perhaps there I would find B. I saw a dear friend at the entrance of one of the auditoriums and, embracing him, he asked me if I could help him in the next auditorium, to open and close the curtains for a show. I hesitated as I wanted to be on my way, but I followed him through the crowd, into the building and backstage, where I helped him for a while. When I was no longer needed, I left and continued on my way, but I could not now find B anywhere.
Next, it was Christmas Day and I was walking up a busy road, on my way to visit a friend. I thought we would go out to celebrate. I was again aware of what I was wearing - this time a black short dress with heavy black boots. I felt quite strong and determined as I walked. Upon arriving at my friend's house, he said he needed to shower and asked me to make him an omelette. I did so, but all the while I felt amiss, as though I was continually waylaid by other people's needs, and distracted from my purpose. Other people were celebrating while I was otherwise occupied.

the way things should be

I was at the home of my closest friend, taking a shower in her old bathroom at the back of the house. While showering, I looked out the window, watching the goings on of various people in the backyard. I felt the line of my body, aware that time was passing. After, I walked through the house and saw two small pictures, cut out of magazines and stuck up on the corner of an old sideboard in the kitchen. One picture was of her husband and the other was of a man I admired, twenty years ago, in the years that my friend and I lived together. I realised that she had kept the pictures all these years.
Later, we had been to a formal event for which we had all dressed in our best clothes. The women had all donned beautiful dresses and elaborate jewels. I was now putting my clothes and necklaces away, smoothing the folds of fabric and untangling strings of beads. I came across a necklace and one matching earring that had been made from some of my most treasured jewellery; two necklaces, one consisting of several strands of black crystals, the other several strings of pink crystals, had been unthreaded then rethreaded so that it was now one necklace with both black and pink crystals. In the same way, two earrings, one adorned with black crystals, the other with pink, had been dismantled and restructured to make one earring, heavy with both black and pink crystals. I was dismayed as I didn't like the new jewellery. Where before the pieces were elegant and spare, they were now garish and overstated. My mother was in the same room, putting away her formal attire. I asked her who had done this. She suggested that it may have been one of my friends who had also gone to the ball, but I couldn't think of who. Then we realised that it had been my mother's dear friend, who, we recollected, had worn the jewellery and a matching pink dress. I was offended that she would take something beautiful and precious of mine and, without my permission, rework it to suit her needs, to fit her idea of how things should be. I determined to ask her to undo her work, to restore the pieces to their original form.

things not as they should be

I was visiting my parents. They lived in a home unfamiliar to me, a one-storey brick house with a level back yard. I was attempting to do my washing, but the washing machine appeared to be full. I investigated further and could see that under the layer of clothing on top of the load were a lot of things that simply should not have been in the washing machine, particularly grass clippings and sticks. I skimmed the clothes off the surface, piling them into a basket, and then fished handfuls of the grass and foliage out of the tub. Once all the grass was removed, I could see more clothes stuffed underneath, floating in muddy, grimy water. I looked around to find some rubber gloves, unwilling to dip my bare hands into the water.
Next, I was in the kitchen with my parents. The window looked directly into the neighbours' kitchen window next door and I could see our prime minister inside, visiting with them. He was happy and laughing, and soon the walls between the two homes melded and he was in our kitchen. He asked me if I could edit an essay for him later this week. I told him that I was booked up with other work and would not be able to fit it in. He said he would reward me handsomely and so I said that I would look into rearranging my schedule. He told me that he would have been an editor in another life and I answered that I imagine we all have other lives we could have lived, that I could have pursued dancing or singing and that I had studied them at university twenty years earlier. We talked for a while and I fell asleep.
Later I woke, opening my eyes very slowly, doing my best to orientate myself. I appeared to be in one of the bedrooms of the family home, although, again, it was unfamiliar to me. The contents of my bag were scattered around the bed, some items littering the sheet around my head. I could not recall what I had done to arrive here and wondered if I had been drunk. I looked under the bed and could see a bottle of perfume that I had obviously brought with me, but I noticed that it was much larger than I recalled it to be. I wondered if I was really awake or if I was still dreaming. As I looked around - at the room, at my belongings, and at my own body - I became increasingly convinced that none of this was real, that I was, in fact, still asleep and that this was part of a dream. I tried to wake up, but still I sat on the bed in a strange bedroom, surrounded by my things.

festival

I was at a festival, camping with others. I sorted through my bag, finding the most suitable items of clothing to wear for an all-night concert and a chance of a swim. I put on layers of clothes, ready for anything. We lay on the grass, listening to music and later, in an arena with raked audience seating stretching right around the performance space, watched an amazing theatre piece. Toward the end of the show, two characters transformed into intricate wooden puppets - a boy and a girl - and the set turned to wood. The girl puppet - with no strings or obvious means of movement - ran up the wooden staircase, her wooden dress fanning behind her, away from the boy who stood below looking up at her. The stairs became the entrance to her palatial home and she continued running, the sound of wooden shoes tapping on wooden streets filling the space. As she passed through the rooms of the home, the set continued to change so that she ran through the house, out into the street, under street lamps, past towers and into the city, all the while running around the arena stage. I was mystified as to how the puppets moved and the set changed, seemingly without human interference. It was magic. The show over, the huge audience prepared to leave. I realised that I was utterly exhausted and found it difficult to keep my eyes open. I sorted through my bag, looking for something, but fell asleep, tumbling out of my chair and down the aisle. Though I was aware that I was lying on the stairs, I wanted to stay there and sleep, but because of the crowd, I stood and we left the arena. Next we went into a building where a security guard was checking ID on the way in. I noticed that everyone was wearing a festival badge with their name and photograph displayed. I found my badge in my bag, but the photograph was missing. I was worried about not being able to get in so sifted through my bag to find another photo or form of identification. The security guard reassured me that we would find matching ID and I would be able to enter.