April 4, 2002

• One of the things I managed to get at Ikea was some windowshades. They’re cotton cloth blinds. Yellow-orange. When the sun is from the west, the room seems to be filled with amber, and I’m a bug caught in it. And today, I napped for a few hours when the amber light started shining, so I suppose I can understand the bug’s motivation.
  
  I had a co-operative dream. I have those sometimes. I get the sense that I’m dreaming with other people, and that our mutual dream is like a jazz piece. Dream Jazz.
  
  This one was quiet, and the part I remember was in a hobby store. The oldest sepia-toned hobby store in the universe. Imagine that my dream was a made-for-TV movie, and that someone had written on the script ‘[Dream Sequence FX].’ A little vaseline on the lens, a nice orange filter, streaky side lighting…
  
  And there’s the owner now. He’s in his 50s. He’s spry, and has a kind face. He’s wearing an apron. He probably fought in Viet Nam. He probably voted for Reagan the first time, but not the second. He’s not tall, but don’t ever tell him he’s short. He asks me what it is that I need.
  
  I forget what I told him. Whatever it was, it was right there on the shelf next to me. And then he asks me, “Anything else?” And I say, “Yeah, sodium stearate.” I have no idea what sodium stearate is, or if it’s even a real compound. In the dream I needed it, though. He knits his brow, brings his index finger to his lips, looks down at that spot people look down to when they’re concentrating.
  
  “Right over here,” he says. “I only have a little left. I have another shipment coming in tomorrow.” We reach the place where the sodium stearate is. It’s a little blue plastic jar that’s mostly empty and has a faded and peeling label on it. I hold it and shake the jar and hear a clumped-up powdery substance inside. It’s good enough for me. “Usually people need more than that,” he says. “That’s why I’m low.”
  
  We walk over to the cashier counter. He tells me when the next shipment is due. I reassure him that this is all I’ll need, really. Thanks. I feel more than a little uncomfortable with the way this is going. For some reason he’s put a t-shirt on the counter, as if it goes with the sodium stearate. Then he says this:
  
  “Yeah, it’s really hard providing water these days.” In my mind, I think, ‘Is sodium stearate somehow related to… uh… coral? Coral, in salt water? Water hard to provide?’ This is where the jazz happens. He’s throwing me out of my boundaries, whoever he is. I say, “Water?”
  
  He sees the look of confusion. “Yeah, you know. Sewers and municipal water supplies and even rainwater. Uh, that’ll be…” and he names a total for the sale. I flubbed on the riff. Back to the melody.
  
  I open my wallet and there’s more money than I thought would be there. “Hey. They gave me fives instead of ones at that last place.” I take the money out and start unwrapping it. It’s rolled and taped up with masking tape. Pulling the tape tears it until all I have is shreds of money.
  
  He says, “Ralph’s having problems.” I think he might be talking about me. I also think he’s saying I’m Ralph Wiggins, from The Simpsons. I think about the Ralph line that has always struck me as funny: ‘My button tastes funny.’ I feel a little insulted. “Ralph’s your son?” I ask.
  
  He doesn’t answer the question, but looks incredibly sad. My money issues aren’t interesting to him. He’s heard that riff before. There in the orange glow with the shredded money and the t-shirt, he looks at me with a certain look, like you might see a teacher give a gifted student who’s struggling. I know that look because I’ve been a struggling gifted student. He sees so much down the line for me, but how will it all happen?
  
  After I woke, I thought to myself, ‘God owns a hobby store. He sells you your little kit and you put it together and then go back and get another one.’ But then I realized that Store Owner Man isn’t god; he’s just better at dream jazz than I am, at least inside his store. The store is his domain. Even though it’s old and yellowed, it’s clean and orderly. He’s courteous and friendly and willing to jam. The store is the premise only, and I mistook it for the conclusion.
  

  • 10:00 pm
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