It’s a beautiful spring morning, mid morning really. The air has that fresh- pleasantly muggy, comfortably warm and slightly giddy feel of late spring. In a few days summer in all its oppressive heat will be upon the world, but today the bright sun filters down through the perfectly leaved trees that line the street. A pleasant breeze blows in light gusts, making the sunlight and shadows seem to dance on the perfectly smooth sidewalk.
It feels like San Francisco. Looking up, about a block further on, I see an heart-poundingly steep hill. Yes, this must be San Francisco. And a very nice neighborhood at that.
As I find myself at the foot of that terribly steep hill, my attention is suddenly drawn to the scene unfolding above me. In the middle of the partially car lined street, I can see a old woman fighting fiercely with her care-taker.
Moments earlier, from the imposing house to the left, an almost ancient woman had run into the street. Her white nightdress- and it was definitely a nightdress not a nightgown, she was firm on that point- had billowed out behind her. The ruffled and sky blue beribboned hem of her nightdress was ever so slightly dirty in the back; but the front was clean, because the old lady held it up and out of the way of her pounding bare feet. She was most certainly a lady.
I noticed, as our aged heroine grappled with her care-taker, that her wispy, pure white hair- kept short for easy maintenance, and not by her choice- was today, yet unkempt and very flat in the back. “Leave me alone!”, she screamed at the woman trying to aid her. “Go away!” And so, the caretaker- with her white scrubs, white shoes, black stethoscope, and with her short brown feathered 70’s hair- was gone. Vanishing into thin air, just as the old woman fell, in a graceful swoon, onto the hard black pavement.
In a scene eerily similar to the one above, there is a tall and poised young woman. The sleek lines of her long, off-white dress, and its high waist, suggest that the year is somewhere near 1918. The fabric buttons that run the length of her right side, the lace at her throat, and her magnificently wide, off-white hat, also suggest a date of around that time. Curiously, a sky blue ribbon winds its way through the hat’s heavy decorations, it seems she had always favored that shade of blue. Sky blue always brought out the color of her deep blue eyes and somehow accentuated the gleam of her bright, yellow hair.
Here, again, she has fallen in an oddly graceful swoon, but this time she misses the brick paved street because she is caught, and helped to her feet by an appropriately tall young man. His short army green- for indeed he was an recently enlisted army man- jacket and tall army green trousers accentuate his lithe strength. You’d almost call him jaunty, except his garrison cap is situated very evenly on the exact center of his sleek, dark-brown hair, and his trousers are tucked succinctly into his tall, gleaming black, army boots. He is a no-nonsense sort of young man.
Lying on the grass between a nondescript car and the sidewalk, age twisted hands lift the hem of a now heavily soiled nightdress. “Take me young man,” she whispers as she pulls down her elegant, high-waisted, silken panties, “take me right now.”
Lying on the grass that sits between a black, Dodge touring car, and the sidewalk, is a woman, who, in a lady like fashion, uses her elegant, manicured fingers to raise an equally elegant, off-white dress. “Take me young man,” whispers the genteel young lady as she lifts her petticoat of bright yellow lace, “take me right now!”
Startled- by an unimportant woman, in a white dress and a chunky, burgundy, button-up sweater- our leading lady takes off for the foot of the hill. A lady still, though, (and the viewer will please blur this part out, because she will always be a lady) with her private bits fully exposed in her mad dash.
Startled once again, actually for the first time in the time-stream of our story, our young, high-bred, lady is tearing down the hill. Her well cut, off-white dress pulled up still, along with her frilly, bright yellow petticoat, exposing her womanhood to the wind. The viewer’s mind will once again blur her private area, for no matter what, she is still a lady.
An elegant old lady has been hit by a blocky blue sedan (with black interior), driven by a very confused, old army man who seems to think that he was in a rush to meet an elegant young lady for a love affair.
I’m sorry if this story leaves most questions unanswered. If I have to live with the disappointment, then so do you, for it was, after all, ought but a dream. Also, in case you’re wondering, that was my exact dream. No details were embellished or harmed in the writing of this story.