Last night, I had a wonderful dream.
In the dream, I was a young man who was about to play the piano at the opening of an awards ceremony. My mind told me it was the Oscars, but I saw no indication of this, no celebrities where I was. The ceremony wasn’t in L.A., either. It took place in this huge vaulted room with tall windows at the end of the wing of a large stone mansion atop a small hill, kind of like the one I imagined in
“Becoming Beautiful.”
I was with my mother, who didn’t mind that I was wearing a beautiful dress for the occasion. The dress is what I remember best. It was made of this really thick, but extremely soft material. It tickled and soothed every inch of me and really relaxed me as I walked out onto the stage. And, in the light, I saw the dress was white down the front with medium blue around it, and that the whole thing extended down my legs. I felt comfortable in it, even safe. I had long blonde hair as well, so it resembled something like Alice from Disney’s “Alice in Wonderland.” I couldn’t tell if it was my real hair or a wig, but it felt just as natural.
The fact of the matter is, I haven’t played the piano in years. Nor have I really watched any Disney stuff, though I used to when I was a kid. I even played Disney music during some of my lessons. But I certainly didn’t play anywhere other than local recitals. Yet there I was, about my own age, sitting at a piano, as a man in a Disney dress, ready to kick off some awards show. The lights turned down, and the last of the evening’s sunlight filtered through the windows. The crowd was silent. I was ready to go.
But then, something happened. The whole dream shifted forward a few minutes, skipping my performance like a CD that’s been smudged. I was now sprinting around the mansion grounds, heading toward the estate’s garden. I was looking for something, or someone. I soon gave up and sat on a stone bench in the middle of the estate’s garden. The early evening light still set everything aglow, which told me not much time had passed since I’d sat down at the piano inside. So I knew something was wrong. I was nervous, frantic, sad. Apparently, I had realized I couldn’t remember how to play, and had rushed out of the auditorium.
But as I sat there, consoled by my mother, a woman sat next to me, wearing the same dress I was - only she was really a woman, not a cross-dresser as I was in the dream. She was a little older than me, and even though I didn’t personally recognize who she was, the me in the dream knew her by name.
“You’re the real—” I said, then mentioning a name that's unfortunately slipped my mind.
The woman stroked my hair and said she would help me. She said she would help me remember the music, and that I would have another chance to perform in front of the crowd wearing my dress. She calmed me, and I started to relax. Started to focus on how good the dress felt on me again.
And, within seconds, I heard it. A piano rendition of “Colors of the Wind” from “Pocahontas.” One of the last songs my piano teacher taught me. The song I’d been trying to play.
As the music played, I woke up slowly, gradually, easing back into consciousness. Lying in my bed, I felt calm, at peace. Relaxed in a way I hadn’t felt in quite some time. The clock read 12:22 A.M., a strange time to be awakened by anything. So I made note of it in my Twitter account, then held fast to the dream for as long as I could, trying to figure it out.
Oftentimes, dreams like these flitter away from my mind, and I can’t remember them after. But now, writing this nearly a full day later, it’s still stayed with me, and I’m so glad it has. I don’t know what it meant, or why it played out how it did, but the mystery intrigues me. It was an unexpected and beautiful experience, and it left me eager to try and capture that kind of magic in my writing, and in my life.
I just hope I never forget the music again, whatever tune it may be.
