In bed, in my room at home. I sleep on a single bed with a wall to my left side. The details of my room are not relevant. I am awakened by the entry of two fellow law students. I do not know them, nor are their faces familiar, but in my dream I believe they are team mates in a project with which we are deeply involved, probably on behalf of a client whom we represent under the state student practice rule, for our law school's legal clinic. They are both male, white, taller than myself, lean in build. They each draw chairs close to my bed and take seats, as I slowly 'awaken'. I sit up as they begin to babble about our clients' case. What they say does not matter. I am conscious of a deadline approaching suddenly, and that there is no time to sleep. The voices of my clinic teammates are urgent, hurried.
Shift to a new setting: a boat, perhaps a yacht, with three floors. I am still in bed, in the same room but now on the boat. I am aware that morning has come and breakfast is served in the dining room downstairs. I am also aware that the deadline for . . . something, perhaps the project from the first part of the dream . . . is also sometime that morning, and if I were to make it I would have to rush.
I am now in the hallway, dressed for breakfast . . . I see three close male friends, who are real-life friends from the law school. I recognize them from their hulking forms, for each of the three happens to tower over me in height and is proportionately larger in girth. They are dressed for the evening; in fact, they are dressed to go dancing at a nightclub. [In real life, these friends and I, and others, went dancing at a Manhattan nightclub that previous weekend.] There was some kind of dance party downstairs, the dining room. I notice other background figures as familiar people from the law school, also dressed for dancing. I accept this inexpicable time-shift and follow my friends downstairs toward the party.
At the party, which takes place in a small room, I notice that a particular female friend of mine is absent. Let us call her Jenny. My friends do not follow as I retrace my steps upstairs, hoping to find her. I recognize more familiar law school faces as I climb the stairs. At the top of the staircase I find Jenny. [Note: in real life, she and I have been platonic friends for about a year. Although I have always been fond of her sanguinity and warmth, as well as her fetching, almost flirtateously affectionate manner, I have always considered her only a friend, and have avoided thoughts beyond that limit.] She is engaged in conversation and is unable to attend the party.
I become increasingly aware of the deadline approaching, and the feeling that breakfast is awaiting downstairs. My impression is that my fellow law students expect to attend class later that morning, and will be departing the premises to find their classes in a nearby locale. Whether they would reach the other locale by boat or some other means is unimportant. I turn back and head downstairs toward the dining room, where there is no party and breakfast is served. There are tables with white tableclothes and restaurant-style settings. Many seats are not taken, and those students who are eating are mostly non-acquaintances. I do see one friend, who is female, but is seated with two other females whom I do not know. I am about to find a seat at an empty table, prepared to eat quickly. My eyes scan the room a second time, and I see Jenny, with her bookbag, looking serious and in haste, as though she were off to class.
I am happy to see her. I approach her with a pleasant, conversational smile, but her face is grave. She tells me there is a matter of concern, which she and I must discuss. She beckons me to follow her upstairs, to find a private area to talk. I experience anxiety; throughout the year we have been friends, I have never had a need for a serious, private discussion with her. I follow. The hall upstairs is dark. There is a sink fixed upon a hallway wall, with a bathroom mirror. She stops by the sink to quickly splash water on her face and to rinse her mouth. She then opens the door to a room... it appears to be a bathroom, perhaps a womens' restroom. I follow her inside. She turns on a light, and faces me squarely, with an earnest look. She tells me, mysteriously, that if I am to act, I must act now. It must be now. Her voice was emphatic, her face sternly imploring.
I sense myself leaning toward her, and I see my hands reach for her face, gently. This all happens before my intellect can protest; I am kissing her on the mouth. And she is returning the kiss. I am unable to physically sense the kiss; I only know that it is happening, and that I feel a tremendous release as the kiss continues. I allow myself to melt in her embrace. Eventually, the moment ends, and our lips separate. I sense that she is also experiencing a release; she sighs, with a barely visible, fragile smile. We are still embracing each other. At this point, my intellect suspects that the scenario is a dream, for the first time during the span of the dream. In a moment, I am awake, and in a state of wonder.
