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My heinous deeds were horrible. Incomprehensible. Indefensible.
Except that I hadn't really committed them. My wife dreamed them all up. Literally.
She shook me awake and glared. "How could you?"
"Oh, just a bit of talent and finesse," I yawned. "Wanna see me do it again?"
Never toss out a wisecrack when you haven't a clue what brought on the question.
After watching the frost harden for a bit, I asked, "So, uh, what are we talking about?"
"I told you the GPS was wrong. But you kept driving. Right into the ocean. In my car! You wouldn't even stop to ask the starfish for directions like I asked you to."
"Well, see, it was… wait. What?"
"The starfish. In my dream."
I sat up. "You're angry about something you dreamed I did?"
"You shouldn't drive into the ocean. Not in my car, anyway."
Another wisecrack welled up. I tied my tongue in a knot, grabbed the wisecrack and choked the life out of it. "Mmmphhhobbblerrrghmmph," I said.
She looked over her iceberg shoulder at me. "What?"
I untangled my tongue. "I said, 'I'm sorry, dear. You're so right. I'll never do it again.'"
"Thank you," Terry said. She kissed me and went back to sleep.
I shivered. Secondhand nightmares are the worst. You're in trouble for something you didn't do.
The thing is, I think Terry and I must have switched pillows. It sounded like one of my dreams -- sweeping, if not bizarre, plot-packed action, suspense and drama. I'm a writer. My mind dreams up stories all night long.
Terry's analytical. She rarely remembers dreams. She's amazed when I tell her mine.
And giddy. She's rarely met a story that she doesn't consider as symbolism layered with deeper meanings, fears and yearnings.
"Let's analyze this," Terry said after I told her about my latest night's escapades. "The elephant symbolizes power. The Corvette you're driving up the stairwell at school on your way to the final for the class you never went to all year means you feel out of control and about to be exposed as a fraud even as you reach your goals."
"By why was the elephant wearing a top hat? And driving a lawn mower? And singing 'Tiptoe Through the Tulips'? I've never heard an elephant butcher a melody so badly."
She analyzed onward for another five minutes while my mind wandered off to songs the elephant should have crooned. I was considering "You Light Up My Life" when Terry interrupted: "That's what I think your dream means. What are you thinking?"
I yawned. "I was thinking it means I should lay off the pepperoni pizza and Coca-Cola before bed. And that while elephants make decent backup singers, they're lousy singing lead on 'Ave Maria.'"
Nobody should have to squirm under the horror of secondhand nightmares. I dream of a day when Terry's nights will be filled with goofy dreams just like mine. I'll even stop to ask the starfish for directions. No icebergs will form and days will start with grins.
Except when the elephant sings "Tiptoe Through the Tulips." That's just painful.
— Dream with Cole at burtseyeview@tribtoday.com or at the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook. His latest novel, "Bash and the Chocolate Milk Cows," is available at bookstores.