Utterly Random Nightmare

Had a mega disturbing dream last night about a woman I used to know. Stephanie and I were friends way, way back in my 20s – our 20s. We were the same age. She’d just moved up here, on her own, from suburban New Jersey. Why here? Why on her own? I knew how I'd ended up in Boston – how did she? Did she need a change and threw a dart at a map too? Was she escaping a nasty past?

Ya know, I remember almost nothing of her beyond this: she was a real looker but in a hard sort of way. Her hair was bleached and tightly permed. Her make-up…well, I imagine she bought it by the case. Steph would've made a great gun moll.

What did she and I have in common? Eh, we both loved music. Mind you, not the same kinds – she wasn’t inclined to join me at a Human Sexual Response or Mission of Burma show or, for that matter, a night of Rossini or Mozart.

I was pretty omnivorous re: the tune-age so we had occasional overlap. She could truly appreciate the stone, overwhelming transcendence of Miles and Yusef Lateef though her tastes ran more to Kenny G and Yanni.

She also liked to read but was more likely to crack a Ludlum or Crichton versus Lethem or Stephenson.

What did we have in common? We were both single and fancy-free, worked at the same print shop and grokked the beauty of a fine ale. Yes, not too much BUT she was upbeat, independently minded and could be very funny. I enjoyed her company.

This was a time in my life when most of my buds were dudes. The horrors of the high school mean girls had scarred me somethin’ fierce. I didn't want to have a phobia about female friends so I was, rather blindly, babystepping my way into pal-hood with the female of the species. I totally knew that I was a very different sort of babe. I was a ragged artist type, had recently survived my first brain fry-up and was MOST DEF not into the whole married-with-children shtick.

Why would a 20 something, prime chickhood, boy magnet like her want with me? Steph was new in town and needed friends. She also had crushes on a couple of my very handsome chums. Hanging with me meant she’d get to hang with them. Simple.

She did end up dating those guys but nothing romance novel-y came of it. Warum? Steph was maybe too mainstream/top 40 for them. That and her idea of sex was sitting on the couch, necking all night. MAYBE, on a big sexy night, she could see going a yard or three past second base.

This confused us all. Sex is awesome! She said that she just didn’t want to go any further. OK. Cool.

I said I understand and you totes shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to BUT you should make sure your petting partner’s on the same page.

She defensively pointed out that Chip and Tom are NICE and would never take advantage. 

Yes, yez, very true Steph but not all guys are gonna be so decent AND doesn’t it make sense to fill a boy in? He thinks he’s getting lucky but you know, well in advance, that you just want to neck and engage in light canoodlement all night. Being on the same page is a wonderful thing.

We never saw eye to eye on this. She went on to find a nice, more her speed kind of guy. We lost touch which was just as well. I heard through some odd grapevine that she’d divorced Jim (turns out he was an alky), had taken up the tenor sax and was now gigging regularly. Interesting! I wonder where she is now and who she evolved into.

That dream? It was grisly. We were in our 20s again. After a night of drink, she’d gone off with some heartthrob-y handsome type who wouldn’t take no for an answer. She didn’t survive the date. I was part of some team of amateur detectives tasked with finding her killer.

WHY did I have this ghastly nightmare about someone I've not seen (or known) in almost 20 years?