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Cottage Day 7: Veranda/ Killers

August 6, 2010

At bedtime the sky clouded over and blocked out the stars. Next came rain and thunder and wind through the leaves, which until now had hung there quietly. I dreamed there were killers surrounding the cottage, pacing the veranda in orbit around our temporary home. A motorboat putted down at the lake, waiting to carry those killers to safety after they’d taken care of me and M., who was sleeping in the loft, out too deeply to put up a fight.

In my dream, they’d done their homework. Noted the luxury car in the driveway, while pretending to hike. Observed me rotating three swimsuits, none of which were cheap or shabbily made. Watching me pour wine all afternoon and grill good cuts of meat and fish at dinnertime. The killers knew the fridge was well-stocked with good cheese. They’d mistaken us for wealthy weekenders, and when they realised their error, they huddled by the veranda door, deciding what to do. Kill us, as planned, then try and hit a second cottage that night? Or, cut their losses and make their get-away, and pay more attention when casing the next joint?

I woke up lying in a wet spot the exact shape of my body. Dream-sweat had poured from my skin, vestigial city stress flooding out like a detox and leaving me to make a clean start the next day. Awake in the dark and nearly panting, I couldn’t forge the dream but really needed to get a drink of water. It seemed silly to wake M. so he could escort me to the kitchen, but the kitchen was close to the doorway, and the doorway was the source of the killers. What to do?

I decided holidays are perfect for napping, and that if I got a crappy sleep that night, I could always catch up the next afternoon. And so, I lay there, sheets drying slowly in the humid night air, and listened to the bugs and the crack of sticks beneath the paws of the local bear, whom it seems was responsible for all the prowling my dream tried to pin on a pack of killers.

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