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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link="#0563C1" vlink="#954F72"><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal>Living the Dream<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Marcia J. Wick<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>June 2021<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Word Count: 697<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>My nine-year-old grandson is visiting. He watches back to the Future Part II. Marty in the movie is transported to 2015. It’s now 2021. Falling asleep, time and space warp. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I wake frantic. I’m late for a cocktail party and banquet, but first I must change into appropriate attire. Others in my group are departing, heading out while I swim upstream against the crowd, fighting my way into a cavernous warehouse, shopping mall, or converted mansion – wherever it is I am – packed with endless racks and closets stuffed with women’s clothes. Some dresses I recognize as my mom’s, most in sizes too small for me. Searching for an outfit, I think casual one moment, dressy the next. I spot a cute top, a dusty rose eyelet blouse cropped to the waist. But that won’t work with the green and red plaid skirt I’m holding. Perhaps I could find a red cardigan to match the pleated skirt, or high-waisted black slacks to go with the crop top? I plow through a frustrating assortment of garments that don’t match. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>In this recurring dream, I admire the bold patterns and vivid colors of the fabrics I fondle. I’m drawn by bright lights advertising sale prices. I navigate endless hallways, stairways, elevators, entrances and exits. I wind my way through a maze of rooms and doors, reading signs along the way.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I’m running out of time, although I’m still not appropriately dressed. Everyone else is leaving for the restaurant. Droves of people clog the exit. I hurry after someone I recognize because I don’t know where we’re going and I need a ride. Although I seem to see well enough to shop and walk around, I’m apparently aware I can’t drive because, in real life, I’m legally blind. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>On the way out, on a dime, I turn and retrace my steps. I realize with regret that I’ve left behind my cell phone, my back pack, my guide dog, and my elderly cat who hasn’t been fed for more than 24 hours. How could I have forgotten my animals? I’m sure that I must have left them in the care of someone, yet who? And where? At last, on the third floor, I discover a kennel that my cat has been sharing with a small dog. It looks like the dog must have helped itself to the cat food. My scrawny cat appears lethargic and dehydrated. I freshen her water bowl and set about hunting for dry food, wet food, any kind of food for my emaciated feline.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>While tending to my cat, I see my father pass by and I call out, “Can I get a ride with you to dinner?” He smiles but continues walking. Reluctant, I’m forced to abandon the cat; at least she has fresh food and water. Fortunately, my phone and back pack are within reach. I run after my dad. Without him, I’m lost. I don’t know the location of the restaurant. I can’t drive myself. It no longer seems to matter what I’m wearing.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Outside the building, a mammoth hotel I now realize, my quest for my father leads me past an Olympic-size swimming pool. The clear water looks crisp and inviting. I join family and friends occupying bleachers and long for an opportunity to swim endless laps. Of course, looking at water, I desperately need a restroom. I duck into the Women’s locker Room and peer into stall after stall of unflushed toilets, many which have over-flowed onto the floor. Feet clad in a variety of footwear peek under closed doors. When I arrive at a semi-clean stall, I discover it lacks toilet tissue. Perhaps there’s another women’s room I can find on my way to the restaurant.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I realize that I’m dreaming and wake from the tiresome ordeal. I open my eyes to a world of mud. Light and dark shades of grey are punctuated by reflections and shadows. I navigate in a dark world. I can’t match my clothes because I can’t see the bold patterns and vivid colors. It appears I see more in my dreams than during my waking hours. Am I living the dream, or dreaming my life away?<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal># # #<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div></body></html>