Dream State

Dream State

“New York, here I come.” I said out loud to myself as I stepped out the front door of my little mid-western cottage and onto the porch to wait for the limousine that would be picking me up to take me to the airport. I was too excited to wait patiently inside, besides I had drank so much coffee this morning I almost felt like I could fly without the plane.

Soon the limo pulled up in front and the driver politely put my two small bags in the enormous trunk. He opened the back door and I literally felt like I was stepping into another world. The air inside the limousine was cool and crisp. As the we headed out of town, and I watched my familiar surroundings begin to disappear. My attentions turned to the strikingly beautiful, but unfamiliar interior of this very long, and obviously expensive automobile. Everything sparkled. There was a gorgeous mahogany mini-bar with cut crystal glasses. I lifted the lid on what turned out to be an ice bucket, and it was filled to the brim with the clearest chunks of ice I had ever seen. There was a larger flat panel television screen, which is actually larger than the TV that I have at home, and it was attached to a DVD player mounted above the mini-bar. The seats are plush, tuffed leather. As my eyes wandered upward, I noticed that the headliner was unlike any headliner I had ever seen, or would probably ever see again.

I suddenly realized that I was way out of my element. A strange sort of panic was beginning to build up inside of me. Without knowing what else I could possibly do, I frantically banged on the dark tinted glass that I could only hope separated the driver and me, as I had never been in a limo before. The glass lower, and the driver’s deep voice provided little comfort as he spoke, “May I be of service, madam?” he asked, never looking back.

“Please…Stop.” My words were barely audible between my gasps. I could feel the car coming to a stop. The car door opened and I stumbled out, gasping for air.

As I was leaning against the car, my eyes were scanning the familiar skies, and I was using both hands to fan my face feverishly in hopes of squashing the surging panicky feeling. I could hear the driver asking, “Are you alright, madam? Are you sick? Do you need me to call someone?”

“No…No…just my first time in a limo, that’s all.” I instantly regreted my words, sure that I just confirmed I was a complete and total country bumpkin.

For the first time, I noticed the driver had on a suit that was as close to being a tuxedo as I could imagine, except he had a hat that was tucked dutifully under his arm. He must have had a lot of practice at carrying his hat that way because he never once crushed it. Then the driver said, “Excuse me, madam.” And he disappeared inside the limo for a moment and returned. He had one of those fancy cut crystal glasses filled with ice, and just about an inch of a light brown liquid inside the glass in his right hand.

“Sip this, madam.” He said softly, as he handed me the glass.

Two sips and the wonderful smooth tasting liquid quenched my thirst and was on it’s way to settling my nerves. I held the cold glass to my forehead for a few moments, and then asked, “You don’t have to tell anyone about this do you?”

“Oh, no madam.”

I handed him the glass and asked him if he would not mind fixing another drink for me, just one more time and I promised that I would not be anymore trouble. He politely and unceremoniously prepared an identical concoction, which slid even more comfortably down my throat than the first one.

“Mmmmmm! That is so good. I am so sorry if I worried you. How much longer until we arrive at the municipal airport?”

“You’re leaving from a private airport, madam. There is a private chartered jet waiting to take you to New York any time today that you are ready to leave.” His manner of speaking was so proper and more polite than I had ever experienced. Certainly, I could really become accustom to this in a lot less than just four weeks. The driver politely and quietly closed the door to the limo after I once again stepped in and settled down to enjoy the ride.

It has been over seven years since I have been able to take any kind of vacation. If I had not specifically gone to great lengths to feed my need to take some kind of vacation, well let’s just say, my brain cells probably would be going, Snap, Crackle, Pop, right about now.

For the last twelve months, I have entered every contest I could locate anywhere, on the Internet, in the local newspaper, and even on cereal boxes. I don’t even remember which contest it was that I entered which would have won this prize, but surely that doesn’t matter. The award letter didn’t actually mention a particular sponsor, but I don’t guess that really matters. For nearly a year, I have either been filling out secure forms on the Web, or mailing four by five inch white cards with my name, address, and phone numbers. The cost of postage to enter these contests was beginning to worry me, but certainly this proves that my efforts have been rewarded.

We arrived at the airport, my limousine pulled up next to a shinny jet plane. I really am only assuming that the plane is a jet because I didn’t see any propellers. Two men came down the steps of the plane, just as my driver walks up to open the door for me. The driver gets my two bags and I climb the steps to board a private jet to New York City.

There must be at least ten or twelve seats and I realize that I am the only passenger. Suddenly, a tall, young, attractive woman steps from behind a curtain were the pilots had previously disappeared after following me onto the plane.

“We are about to take off. Fasten your seat belt, and as soon as possible after take off I will be back to see if there is anything I can do to make your flight more comfortable.” She said and then ducked behind the curtain.

I could hear the engines noise growing louder, and louder, till almost a deep constant roaring sound slightly vibrated through the cushions of my seat. I suddenly had the urgent feeling of wanting to request a bigger plane, a much bigger plane, with more people. I don’t know why I still believe in the old safety in numbers ideology; in this day and time it is surely a myth. I quickly distracted myself with thoughts of the stewardess’s bright white teeth, just like those young women’s teeth in the advertisements in all the magazines that I often read at the library. God knows that it is too late for me to just simply step outside now for a breath of fresh air to settle my nerves.

I could feel the plane starting to taxi down the runway, and as I gazed out the small airtight window I watched the ground seem to sink as the plane lifted off the ground. I leaned back in my seat, and tried to clear my mind. I desperately tried to concentrate seeing what the inside of my eyelids looked like. As a child frantically afraid of the dark, I had often focused on the inside of my eyelids. Now, I realized just how scared I really was because I hadn’t done that since I was eight years old. Twenty-one years later, and I find myself desperately resorting to old childhood techniques to deal with fear, real fear.

“What is wrong with me?” The sound of my own voice startled me back to reality.

The plane finally leveled off. I realized just a split second too late that I should not even glance out of the window. My breath stopped painfully in my chest mid gasp. The young stewardess appeared suddenly with a glass identical to the one in the limo, and I hoped that the liquid was the same as I poured it down my throat in one gulp. I was lucky not to have chocked to death on an ice cube. She had barely handed me the glass, before it was empty. I handed her back the empty glass, and my fingers just seemed to instinctively wrap around and grasp the armrest for dear life.

The concern on the stewardess’s face showed obvious concern as she asked, “First flight?”

“Oh, yea, and how long before we land?” I asked with closed eyes and clenched teeth.

“Actually, we will be landing in about 20 minutes. Would you like another drink?”

“No. Have you ever been to New York? I am beginning to think that maybe I made a mistake. Maybe, I should not be going on this vacation. Maybe, I just need to go home.” I could not believe the words that were coming out of my mouth.

“Just a moment.” The stewardess disappeared behind the curtain and then returned with a big pink envelope, and the most beautiful bunch of long stem red roses I had ever seen.

“What is this?” I asked surprised and totally distracted from my immediate surroundings somewhere in the sky.

“This is from the contest promoters. It is for you. I would have brought these things out to you first, but you seemed a little distressed.” She said sweetly.

I could not help myself; I had to laugh. “Oh, I would say that I was more than a little distressed. Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“May I get you something else?”

“How about a Coke?” I asked as I fumbled with the pink envelope.

Within seconds I had a lovely ice-filled glass of Coke. I gingerly peeled the wax seal from the big, pink envelope flap. The envelope was about the size of a ten by twelve portrait, and heavier and thicker than I expected. I pulled a neatly typed note out of the envelope. The paper was a lighter shade of pink and seemed to be scented,

With our most sincere congratulations please accept your first five thousand dollar weekly cash allowance. Yours to spend as you wish during your four-week stay in New York City, New York. Enclosed also please find your first weeks Hotel registration, your theater engagements, and your dinner reservations at six of New York premier restaurants.

We have taken the liberty to schedule several appointments that we thought would make your stay in New York more comfortable. Tomorrow around 10:00 am your limousine will arrive to take you to the top hairstylist and makeup salon to the movie stars in New York. We are advised that your makeover will take approximately three hours. Lunch reservations have been made at Above, where you will enjoy a dramatic view of Times Square. The view compliments the delicious New American cuisine of chef Robert Galuzzi at this restaurant inside the Times Square Hilton, which is where your first week’s hotel reservations have been made for you. Again, our congratulations. Enjoy your stay in New York, New York.

The sound of the stewardess voice startled me when she leaned forward to ask me to fasten my seat belt. Then she realized that I had never unbuckled it, but I could not fault her. It was well hidden underneath the roses, and the big, pink envelope.

“We are about to land. I was going to ask you to fasten your seat belt but I now see that that is not necessary. I hope you have enjoyed your flight.” And with that she disappeared again.

I was relieved, amazed, and most definitely in shock. Although, I had been notified four months earlier I guess the enormity of winning this contest hadn’t sunk in. There is no doubt in my mind that not knowing anything about how I even got here is a most definite indicator that I was long overdue for a vacation. I had been running my Bread and Breakfast nearly alone for the last twelve years. First I was helping my grandparents, and then they got sick so I was running it for them, and then they died and I inherited it. It is an absolutely lovely piece of property. Over the years, I have been approached by several different Realtors' representing several large Hotel chains wanting to buy me out. I know it is just the land they want more than the two large family houses, and my cottage. My Banker and Accountant have been pressuring me to make some long-term financial decisions. I guess I have been putting things off far too long. Work has certainly become an all-consuming obsession with me, especially over the last few years. Well, this is now my opportunity to reboot my life, in a manner of speaking, a brand new start. How lucky can one young woman be?

I now have a four-week, all expenses paid glorious vacation in New York, New York. One week each in four of the finest Hotels in New York, including all expenses for full dining and room service, and including expenses for full week at each Hotels spa. Then there is the all expense paid limousine service at my beck and call. This is turning out to be better than how Julia Roberts had it in that movie Pretty Woman.

I had been so consumed in my own thoughts that I had not even noticed that the plane had landed. As I started to disembark, I glanced up at the sky, and whispered out loud, “Thank you, Lord.”

I stepped into another almost identical limousine moments after stepping on to the tarmac, and then was whisked away to the beautiful Times Square Hilton. I felt like I was being greeted like I was royalty or a movie star. I did not have to go to the front desk, or go through any typical hotel check in procedures. I was escorted by a bellman to a lobby, which is on the 22nd floor. I was embarrassed by the bellman’s large, shinny, brass cart that he used to wheel my two small pieces of luggage through the lobby, into the express elevator, and down the hall to the door of the suite. The bellman thanked me as I handed him a folded twenty-dollar bill. I knew that by the way the bill was folded that there was no way that he could have seen the actual denomination, so I felt that his thank you remark was at least sincere, professional and polite.

The suite was filled with the fragrance of roses. I was easy to understand why when I discovered that there were ten dozen bunches of fresh, long stem roses placed on nearly every flat surface available. The place almost looked like a swank flower shop. Although, if I ran short on cash, which certainly was not likely, remembering the thick wad of cash in the pink envelope that I received on the plane; I could make a few quick bucks on any street with such a large collection of fresh cut long stem roses. There was a large sitting area with two oversized love seats. A large, white marble fireplace, marble top occasional tables, and every over-the-top type table accents that I surely hoped were only reproductions of famous French art graced the entryway and living area of the huge suite. I did a slow, and full three hundred and sixty degree turn on a single axis from where I was standing. The whole days events left me feeling almost intoxicated, and the warping fragrance from all the fresh cut roses only added to my light-headedness.

I walked into the bedroom, kicked off my sandals, and threw myself across the biggest, softest, most plush, and many would say where I come from, gaudily decorated king size bed in the world.

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I heard was simultaneous knocking and ringing. Somewhat disoriented, I rolled off the bed, stumbled several times on my way out of the bedroom and to the Suite’s only entrance. After slipping and sliding on the almost six foot length of Italian marble floors, I did a vertical body slam, full-frontal, straight into the door of the suite...wham…ouch…that hurt.

Immediately upon opening the door, in marches a man talking on a cell phone with a very Italian accent. He was leading a short procession of those same three brass carts, and each was pulled by a hotel bellman. The carts were filled to capacity with a collection of clothing, shoes, and matching bags that would allow me to be properly dressed regardless of the occasion. The Italian gentleman informed me that everything had been selected just for me during my stay in New York. Feeling totally overwhelmed, I asked that they just leave everything until I had time to sift through it all. The Italian man nodded rather dramatically, and waved his free arm over his head in a wide circular motion, which made me think he was herding cattle, and then they all dutifully left. No sooner had they closed the Suite’s door behind them, I saw my reflection in a mirrored wall.

Rushing to drown my hideous looking self in the Suite’s shower, I was delighted to find every modern convenience that I could possibly need. There were two solid white, all Egyptian cotton, full-length bathrobes, a blow dryer, a curling iron, and a collection of organic soaps, body washes, shampoos and conditioners. As I opened the elaborately etched glass shower doors to turn on the shower, it was unavoidable to notice that the shower was big enough to accommodate at least two other people besides me, and that there were two separate six-headed showerheads, one on each opposite wall. Now I just had to laugh out loud to myself, because for the first time I was going to be able to take a shower front and back at the same time. What a wonderful unexpected treat.

I had no sooner stepped out of the shower that I realized that I was starving. I walked over to the desk in the living room, and found the room service menu. I know I ordered enough food for two people, but I was planning to spend most of the night watching television. I found a thirty-six inch flat panel television hidden behind a sliding panel that looked like a painting above the fireplace. Finding a television remote on the fireplace mantle provided the only clue that I really needed to alert me to the fact that a television of some kind was close by.

Within minutes of finishing blow-drying my hair, and slipping into a pair of silk boxer shorts with my comfortable matching tee shirt, I heard a rapid succession of knocks and a deep male voice announcing, “Room Service.” I know for a grown woman that I bounced and bounded a little too enthusiastically to the door, shouting, “Food. Food.” There was not a single solitary soul with me to criticize my child-like exuberance. I felt like Cinderella.

Just as I had requested, room service delivered an assortment of breakfast items promptly at 7:30 am. Knowing that I was scheduled to be delivered by a limousine to a make over salon somewhere on Madison Avenue, I just wanted to have time to drink some coffee, and be fully awake before the festivities started.

Promptly at ten o’clock, I stepped gracefully into a limousine, and was whooshed away. I was very comfortable in a pair of the contest promoter’s rhinestone studded, designer blue jeans, a crisp, cotton, bright white tank top of my own, and a pair of very comfortable leather sandals with a rather large leather clutch purse that matched the sandals. A pair of oversized sunglasses rounded out this day’s wardrobe choice.

Lunch in the Times Square Hilton was grand and delicious, and never in my life had anyone ever asked for my autograph, but after my make over today, people did. Some restaurant lunch patrons acted as if they knew me, and I did not want to disappoint anyone, so I just scribbled an illegible signature on the various napkins that they shoved at me. Some of the napkins were actually fine linen.

The limousine that picked me up after lunch was not the same limousine, nor was it the same driver that had chauffered me this morning. After lunch, just as the driver opened the limousine door for me, I requested that he just drive me around New York City. The driver politely nodded, and we were off.

I leaned back against the cool leather seats, pulled a new, large, lighted mirror out of my purse, and studied the details of my new hair and face. I still felt like me, but I certainly did not look like me. My hair was now cut just at shoulder length; my make-up was impeccable. Starring in the mirror I could not help but notice even my complexion looked younger, tighter, and smoother. I had been in New York City barely twenty-four hours and all I had spent money on was tips. I was handing out twenty-dollar bills like they were one-dollar bills.

I had theater tickets for the evening, and that was still enough hours away to just relax. I did not even care what show I would be seeing. I was in New York City, and about the only thing that I was sure of was that anything that I saw would only be something that I could see in New York. At six o’clock the limousine driver let me out at one of the secure guarded entrances to the hotel. I spent the next one and a half hours preparing to attend the first of many theater events I was scheduled to attend over the next four weeks.

The long line of limousines created a massive traffic jam that appeared to stretch for miles between towering buildings. The traffic that accompanies the opening night of a new and long awaited play in New York City must be considered standard operating procedure for New Yorkers and tourists alike, as not one single solitary soul appeared disturbed or put out by the wait. While each limo pulled up in front of the theater and deposited its occupants, crowds of people strained to see who was getting out of each limousine. The camera flashes were blinding. Just as I was about to step out and take my walk down the red-carpeted isle to the entrance of the theater, I realized that I hadn’t given a moments thought as to which play I was about to see. Standing quietly in a corner of the lobby of the Ford Center theater gave me my first chance to take stock of the other attendees. The first star that I noticed was Cher. Who wouldn’t notice her? Merly Streep was there talking with a small group of other famous people. The theater capacity was 1,839, and I must have been the only real commoner in attendance. I barely had time to even begin my star inventory before we were being ushered to our seats. A few, including myself, were asked by a very polite older gentleman to show our tickets. You can imagine my delight when I realized for the first time that I was actually attending the opening night performance of 42nd Street. I quickly made a mental note to be sure to look at all future theater tickets. All I have to say is that the play was perfect.

Suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder shaking me. I could hear a voice, but I could not make out the words. Then the words started to crawl slowly across my mind, one behind the other, “M a w, w a k e u p. M a w. M a w.” Startled, I felt my body jerk, and found myself on my very familiar sofa in my own living room. I felt disoriented, disillusioned, disappointed, and angry. It was my son, Ray Daniel, and it was his hand on my shoulder, shaking me, and it was his voice that provided the noise that disrupted my wonderful New York state of mind. .

“Oh, no.” I moaned. “NOT AGAIN! I could smell the expensive perfume. I felt the excitement. NO. NO, I wish y’all would just let me stay asleep.” I said in despair as I twisted and thrashed about on the sofa in a childish fit. “Don’t tell me it was just another dream.”

My family was laughing, and my son said all too calmly, “Just write it down, Maw. Your dream vacations are better than any real life trips than our family will ever be able to afford, anyway.”

I growled angrily back at him with clenched teeth, “How would you know about my DREAM VACATIONS, and what do you know about what our family can afford, anyway?”

My husband, my daughter and two other sons were all in the living room. My husband immediately came to Ray’s defense, “We have been reading your dream journal for years, and besides you have always talked in your sleep."

Rae Lynn added, “You’re better than what’s on television most of the time.”

“So why have none of you ever said anything before now?” I asked as I was choking back tears.

Looking accusingly at my husband, Richard, I asked, “Why have you never taken me anywhere that I have ever dreamed of going if you have been reading my journal?”

“I cannot compete with that imagination of yours, Honey.” He said with a touch of sadness in his voice, as he sat on the sofa next to me, holding me, trying to lovingly console me, and then he added, “And besides, you never take any of us with you when you take these dream vacations.”

~~~

August's Prompt:

Waking up from a dream to find something startling...