c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(4-26)
Note: I haven’t actually spoken to my friend Janis in well over a year. Her life has moved in a new direction after landing at a skilled-care facility in Ashtabula. But sometimes, old memories return, with a new twist on past realities.
After a restless weekend night, tossing and turning in bed, I had reached a puzzling start-of-day, while sorting through postal mail at the Icehouse home office. Having been at my desk for long enough to drink two cups of coffee, and consume a bowl of cheesy grits, I was distracted by a dream sequence from previous hours. One that depicted an interaction with a person I had never found to be attractive, or desirable, in any way. She was the roommate of an erstwhile friend who once occupied a place of importance and affection in my life. Particularly while I worked as a business manager for a private business owner in Geneva.
While pondering this unconscious flight of imagination, my landline phone rang with a dated, synthetic chirp of 1990s technology. Despite being disconnected many years ago, it called out for attention, defiantly.
Janis, my platonic pal of some fifteen years, was on the other end. I could hear her full-bodied tone resonating in my ear.
“Hey Rodbert! You left a weird message on my machine, yesterday. But I never saw it until this morning. What’s up with that? Are you okay? I figured you must have been drunk...”
I was slightly embarrassed by her line of thinking. Yet defensive about any act that might have been committed while in a condition of inebriation.
“Message? No, I never called your number. Are you sure about that?”
She snorted with indifference at my plea of doubt.
“Of course I’m sure, dummy! You’ve got a voice like Fred Flintstone! There’s no mistaking it when you ring!”
I could not remember attempting to make a call. Though a marathon of Jerry Springer episodes via the Roku TV had kept me up later than usual. After enjoying a few chilled beverages, along with a plate of nachos including shredded cheese, taco meat, salsa, and Doritos, I had passed out on my couch. Crawling to the bedroom must have followed, while I remained unconscious. What transpired as I slept was a memory still clear in mind, and troubling. But I hesitated to confess this odd happening in real time.
“I had a Mexican feast here, and nodded off watching television. That was it. Nothing special really, it’s a fairly regular occurrence.”
Janis whistled at this denial of culpability. Then offered more details.
“You were slurring your words, dude! Something about my Quennielane hiding in a closet. And then catching you in the bedroom, around midnight! I thought you hated that crabby bitch!”
Her accusation hit the target. I had been uneasy about a fictional rendezvous, apparently inspired by spicy foods, alcohol, and a face-down collapse on the sofa.
“Umm, okay, here’s the scoop. I had a ridiculous dream overnight, it left me feeling violated and guilty to be honest. I haven’t been able to shake the sense that some kind of mental fault has crept into my brain. Quennie was in a foul mood as always, you were showing off tattoos from a parlor in Ashtabula, and we were all sitting in your living room. Then, that skinny wench leaned forward, dabbed her lips with a glossy glaze of red, and we started making out. I was so revolted that it woke me up immediately. I sat on the edge of my mattress for several minutes, before finding the strength to stand...”
My hippie companion began to gasp until her breath returned. Then, a loud guffaw echoed over the line. She was uninhibited in boldly expressing her amusement.
“HAHAHAHAHAHA RODBERT! I NEVER KNEW THAT OLD HAG TURNED YOU ON! WOOOOO! YOU CAN MOVE IN WITH US, AND SAVE BIG BUCKS ON YOUR LOT RENT!”
I was rattled by being exposed. But tried to defend myself effectively.
“No, no, you had it right the first time. I can’t stand her attitude! She doesn’t have a single friend, at work or in your neighborhood by the lake. I swear, she’s a soulless demon. And way too petite and boney for my tastes anyway, I prefer women with curves. And a bit more charming to date, you know? Some personality on tap. She’s cold and hard. I can’t image what her childhood must have been like...”
Janis giggled and snorted again.
“So, was this the first time you dreamed about Quennie? It had to be one hell of a shock, right?”
My face turned pale. I had a personal penchant for honesty. But wanted to tell a lie in response.
“Well, no not exactly. There have been a few times when something similar flickered in my head. It always happens after snacking on salty treats, and washing down the grub with a pitcher of cold brew...”
My unconventional cohort howled derisively.
“MORE TIMES? IT HAS HAPPENED BEFORE, YOU MEAN?”
I was drowning in shame. But managed to admit what had preceded the recent event.
“Yes, a few times maybe. Once we went down a hallway in your house, to get some privacy. Then started making out, with lots of non-verbal interaction. On another occasion, she called to me from a different part of your residence, and when I chose to seek her out, she was naked, in her own room. Upon throwing back the covers, I realized that she had brushed out her long, white hair to the point of looking like a Heavy Metal star. And her feminine assets were bountiful and perky...”
My soulmate cackled with abandon.
“OH GAWD, THAT IS COMPLETELY NUTS! RODBERT, YOU SOUND LIKE A PERV! HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN IN LOVE WITH QUENNIE? I THINK I’M GOING TO HURL!”
I wanted to disappear forever. The dream hung around my neck like an albatross.
“I can’t stand the sight of her! This just makes no sense. Don’t judge me on it, because I have no rational explanation. Maybe I should do some searching on the internet. There must be a reason that I would have such screwy thoughts floating around in my skull...”
Janis huffed and cradled the receiver in her hands. I could tell that she was unconvinced.
“You are a dumbass, Rodbert! All this time, I thought you had a crush on me, secretly. But no, it’s my roomie you wanted. Yuck! Yuck, yuck, yuck!”
She slammed her phone down on its cradle. Following that, I heard a dial tone in my ear. Apparently, the conversation we had shared was too weird to fathom. Though because our connection had been made over an inactive device, the yield was more unsettling than truly indicative of any real opinion. Like my dream in bed, the episode smacked of fantasy and fiction, more than a real happening.
Later in the evening, I searched online for further information. One website dedicated to such curious imaginations speculated that having physical intercourse with a disliked individual represented taking charge on a practical level. A domination of sorts. Conquering a foe in real terms.
I just wanted to clear my head. And never revisit that realm of troubling imagery, again.
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