[Origianlly written 12.4.03]
Usually I don’t remember the dreams I have, for one reason or another. Of course I know that I have them, but most of the time when I wake up and they’re gone.
This one is still fresh in my mind because I just woke up from it about an hour ago.
The dream featured Shane, a guy I met while in cosmetology school. Some mean bitch was trying to get me to sing but I was unable to. On the nite of my concert, Shane arrived with his band, and they were all dressed in their rockabilly best – huge ass pompadours, blue jeans with the cuffs rolled up, leather jackets, etc.
Somehow, he winds up on a motorcycle with a girl who I know as his girlfriend [tho I have never met her in real life] and I was riding some weird ass contraption that I can’t even explain because it was so strange.
We’re just riding along in Brooklyn, until I get lost trying to get back over the bridge. For some reason, my mind kept registering that we were near the amusement area on the Island, but there was no evidence of that. Shane suggests a way to go, and so I followed him.
We came to these worn-out docks that were half falling into the water. There was an entire abandoned civilization there. The buildings were decrepit, and then suddenly painted with vivid colored murals of devils and whatnot. Sort of like Dante’s Inferno on Coney Island. Was looking around and suddenly it hit me that we were at Indian Larry’s motorcycle shop. We thought it would be cool to go pay the legend a visit and show some respect. We decided to take a short cut across the wooden walkways, which wasn’t very smart, because they sank under our weight. Out of nowhere, these kids come and pull the walkways out from under us, and we’re left in the middle of the water, trying to swim back.
The dream then skipped to the inside of Indian Larry’s garage, where Shane is fixing up his motorcycle. My means of transportation was trashed, so Larry took it upon himself to build me something new.
There’s a sheet over the hot rod; I don’t even have to lift it up to know what’s under there, and thanked Larry immensely for the gift. A polished chrome grill in front that could break a man’s leg should he step in front of it was peeking out from the sheet. There’s a bottle of whiskey resting on the fender, for decorative purposes. Bright yellow and orange flames on the front are also slightly in my view, and curiosity drives me to pull the sheet away. Shane shielded his eyes and backed away as he uttered: “What the fuck?”
The car was painted the brightest fucking neon pink; florescent enough to make you go blind. The interior was a deep royal purple right down to the dashboard and steering whell, and the driver’s seat was covered in furry purple leopard print. There was only room for one person in the car. The front was longer than the back, kind of narrow and slightly pointed.
The dream skipped again to a race where dozens of these cars drove at top speed around a dirt covered figure-8 track, whizzing by each other mere inches apart, and even crashing into one another every now and then. Suddenly there’s a death rumble in the distance, louder than any motorcycle, dragster or diesel powered engine. There I was, in my psycho neon pink car, speeding towards the tack with Shane behind me.
Of course that’s when I woke up. That’s the way it usually happens. Just when things are starting to get good, I always wake up.
The dream itself was pretty bizzare, but it was the appearance of Shane that got the gears turning. The last time I spoke to him was when I graduated back in April. No…I saw him [or at least I thought I did] when I was out on 22 once. Was driving in the opposite direction, and he was making a U-turn; I never forget a face, so I know it was him.
Still can’t help but wonder what happened to him; I really miss that fucker. He was a good guy, and I would have liked to gotten to know him better. While I have his digits in my cell, I’m not sure if the stupid thing even works any more.
Nothing irks me more than losing touch with awesome people. A small part of me hopes that I’ll run into him some day.
Where are you, Shane…where are you?