Decoding A Dream (Part 2)

Kaola reached east waters at Lonu-ziyaraii-kol, rather known as Varunula Waves to the surfers and the only surfing spot on the island. His friends were down there, a bunch of guys with goatee beards but they were all crack like him. They focused on a cluster of school-girls doing some fire-fighting drills. There were joggers and morning strollers, sports guys and mid-age women working to lose weight. Half of them wore head covering effecting a rapidly growing radicalisation in the society since 9/11.

“How does it look?” he asked.

“Look for yourself,” one of them replied, “We’re out of cool. What about you?”

“Nothing,” Kaola observed the swells that never tire crushing on the rocks. The sun rose in their eyes. In the breezy sweet November weather looked perfect. As for the waves turned small and medium still consistent for a ride. “Nice…” he said.

“I had a dream last night,” cracked Jokey.

“You did?”

“Yeah, a bad dream, Judgement Day turned up and all hell broke loose. It’s the second time...”

“It’s your doom,” uttered Murey, “we are living the dream.”

“I haven’t had a dream for ages,” voiced Half-Turn, “dreams are for fools.”

“You start to dream as soon you fall asleep. We only remember a portion or nothing. Drop asleep in an airy place, let your windows open, or on a beach, you’ll dream,” said the expert Nasr.

“I forget what I dream. I wake up quickly,” said Murey, “I can’t even catch a good night sleep.”

“Turn to the other side and you’ll continue with your dream where you left.”

“Describe your dream,” demanded Kaola.

“It was kind of bleak,” Jokey told them, “on top of flat earth but a rocky terrain, seeing death in the face. I walked on the edge. We were gathered in a mass scale exodus, in a stampede, in torn clothes and wounds no man could bleed. I tried to grab ground to save my soul from this herd of rotten crowd. People hang to the cliff but whose hands could pull them. Some drop down to pitch dark emptiness. Loose stones drop to the pit every time I miss a step...”

“Wow!”

“We were in shrouds and I was told people only in the middle could reach the destiny…”

“Get down to the water and tell what you saw in your dream,” said Nasr, “that will help to release any evil or spell particularly from bad dreams. You have to get rid of them.”

“So how do you interpret this dream?”

“A dream can be best understood by the person who saw it. Dreams dig files stored in various anatomies and mix up in the subconscious mind. You sit back and try to associate things you saw in your dream to things you know in the physical environment. It’s called dream association.”

“Some say dreams are interpreted inversely, the opposite of what you see is true.”

“Well, not precisely but there are matters and elements that hold some universal meaning. The mix up is rather more complex in decoding a dream. It’s like seeing a button on your shirt on him.”

“I saw a dream like that last night,” said Kaola, “but what worries me is that I dream of going back to school all the time.”

“Dreams try to tell you what’s missing. There’s some unfinished business in your case,” replied Nasr. “You don’t jump up from bed as soon as you wake up. If you do you forget the dream. Instead lie back and try to remember the whole scenario….catch every detail.”

“I had a dream,” interrupted Imme, youngest in the crowd, “making love to my big sister…”

“That’s a nightmare,” snorted Half-Turn, “I wish your dream comes true.”

“Dreams do not have to come true. Dreams try to tell what to do,” Nasr said, “work out the impossible, trying to do what you failed, pick where you left.”

“I never heard that before,” uttered Jokey.

“Look! Recognise that girl? She is Amila in the crowd,” Murey pointed to a group of girls running up in two rows, another class out to do exercises.

“Damn! She’s stripped to her briefs,” cried Half-Turn. “When did she?”

“A month ago,” returned Nasr who knew every-thing about schoolgirls, “she decided not to wear the headscarf and turn immoral…”

“Look at those legs!” deliberated Half-Turn, “A neat white pair! Damn! She’s so skinny! I can’t believe this!”

The joggers reached them and Murey pointed to the girl in question, “You can still define the tone of skin around her face she pulled off covering…”

“Yeah, yeah…” Half-Turn echoed.

Amila wore shorts and a sweater. Her skin lit in the morning sun and Kaola couldn’t define any such toning. She was just a good-looking girl.

“Upper legs are more bleached…”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Kaola cried, “Crazy! You’re doomed…”

He was shocked to notice a tall building under construction standing in the rays of the sun few blocks away. That place belonged to Miss Sophie and he knew so well because he grew up by the corner. She was one wealthy and educated woman currently holding a post of deputy minister at the Ministry of Education. There were so many high rising towers on this small island so crowded of people and congested of houses.

“I’m going to get your cool,” said Kaola.

“Damn! You’ve got them!” Murey grabbed him. “Check his pants!”

Kaola cried, “No. I don’t have any…”

Jokey pulled down his shorts, “You never wear an underwear…here it is!” Jockey found a tiny packet hidden in the hem of his shorts, “Got you!”

“It’s not mine…” cried Kaola.

“Check his shirt…” Murey said, “Liar!”

In a momentary fight Kaola was stripped bare. Jokey dashed with his shorts and Murey threw his shirt to Nasr who discretely tossed to Half-Turn. Kaola ran after Jokey who headed towards the batch of jogging girls. By then this batch was turning around the nook of Lonu-ziyaraii-kol. Jokey circled the group and climbed the promenade again lined up with morning strollers.

Kaola scrambled behind squawking in a terrible voice, “Give it back, my pants, you scoundrel…” His mind narrowed to focus on one little thing to chase and grab his shorts. He was then oblivious to any form of indecency knocking out strollers on the promenade. For a moment it was fun for the pedestrians to watch a boy teased by his friends.

Half-Turn couldn’t help laughing to watch him run naked. “You know what he reminds me of?” he beat himself on the ground laughing, “A pair of pliers with a pluck of few hairs...”

For a while Jokey made him run up and down the shore. All the girls and their squad leaders climbed the promenade and watched.

Jokey entered the water and threw his shorts further away. Kaola protested, “Damn! I’m not getting in there…”

Half-Turn tossed his T-shirt and Kaola had no option but to get into water to fetch his shorts. He dived naked into the waves and grabbed his clothes.

He lost his cool. That little pack of brown sugar now belonged to his friends. Kaola felt a shiver but not a pinch on his scratch marks. “You’ll pay for this…”

Kaola turned by the corner beside the building construction and slowed a bit passing several gates now standing on the face wall of the place where he grew up. Many shops and garage gates align the façade and this area was unrecognisable. Formerly, his house was built on coral rocks and crude walls, partially roofed and the yard filled with white sand. Less people around and kids chased bondi on unpaved roads. He could not tell how many plots were allotted in the new divisions and who dwelt there.