Dreaming on

For reasons I did not know and did not care to know, I sat slouched on a stool in one corner of this room so tall and so dark that no ceiling could be seen beyond the darkness above the two or three studio lights providing the people down below with the privilege of sight, no matter how limited. My elbows on my knees, my fingers locked together in a grip, I wanted so much for the night to end, or at least, for something interesting to happen before it does. I looked around and saw the staff all busy; some of them bringing the drinks in and out of the room, some panicking about the flow of the program, and some sighing in relief that their jobs were over and that they were about to take their well-deserved breaks - perhaps with people they think special. I could hear the applause from the hall adjacent to the room where I was. The program was almost over.

It was an event that I helped organize, but couldn't remember where it occurred, or why, or how, how the heck I managed to convince myself to abide by the formal dress code and wear a formal suit. All I knew was that the event was held on that day that comes every year, when the immortal universe imposes upon mortal humans the obligation of breathing cold night air that's thick with the nauseating stench of flirtation, infatuation, and everyone's favorite four-letter word. It made me sick that the people around me fell prey so easily to that invisible boss pressuring you to spend the night with someone you fool yourself into thinking special. But it didn't matter. I didn't care. I had taken off my necktie and had left it hanging there on my neck. The night was almost over. I couldn't wait.

Somebody called my name in a demanding tone that wasn't the least bit pleasant to my ears.

I turned and saw her enter the field of visibility that the studio lights provided in the middle of the darkness, wearing a black sleeveless gown, her long blonde hair tied in pigtails, her light complexion against the background of the darkness she just emerged from. She crossed her arms and looked at me with a raised eyebrow. I hated it. I hated her. I hated the way she had been bossing me around all night. I hated the way she was doing it again. And I wanted to show her how much I wasn't enjoying my job, though I knew that she already knew.

I stood up and looked her in the eye with defiance. She held her ground and I locked stares with her for about four seconds, after which I looked away and kicked the stool at my feet, sending it flying into the darkness of the room. The staff took no notice. I did it partly because I didn't want to submit, and partly because I knew I would have to.

I knew what she wanted me to do and I proceeded to do it, albeit grudgingly. As I passed her on my way out of the room, she froze me in place with one word:

"Necktie," she said, without looking at me.

I realized that my necktie was still dangling from where it hung around my neck. Instead of wearing it again, however, I grabbed it, dropped it on the floor right in front of her in display of utter rebellion, and left.

I left the dark room and found myself in the hallway leading to the hall where the program was being held. On my way, I picked up from one of the staff members the last certificate to be handed out that night. I found the door to the hall, pushed it open, and felt all eyes turn to me. The entire hall fell silent, except for some rather loud whisperings. I saw the recipients - a man and a woman - already on stage, and by the looks of it, they had been waiting for me. I walked my conceited walk through the hall without looking at anybody. I made my way up the stage and approached the couple, whom, by the way, I personally knew. I handed over the certificate with a sincere smile. The man, knowing it was just typical me, returned the smile and we shook hands. The audience hesitantly applauded.

I was on my way out of the hall when I saw her again, standing at the door from where I came in, still with her arms crossed, and still looking at me with a stern expression, albeit one that didn't demand as much as before. My last job for the night was over and we both knew it. She couldn't order me around anymore.

I wanted to walk all the way right back into the dark room, but when I was about to pass her, she turned and started walking beside me. After ten steps or so, she extended her hand, still without looking at me.

I turned to see my necktie, all neatly rolled, on her hand. I took it without looking at her, and all the while keeping my pace.

Five more steps and she started slowing down. I also slowed down to match her pace.

It wasn't long before I felt her fingers making contact with mine, sending signals, making it clear she wasn't touching me by accident, asking for a reply.

At that moment, I felt something that I haven't felt for a long time. It was that concept that I used to hold in nearly divine reverence. But now it was nothing more to me than a series of chemical reactions in my body, facilitated by the hypothalamus, which was still clinging on to the failing residual traditions left by evolution.

I still hated the way she had treated me all night.

And I still refused to let anybody in.

But I held her hand.

She locked her fingers with mine, put her free arm around my own, and leaned her head on my shoulder.

I planted a kiss on her blonde hair and then leaned my head against hers.

We walked the rest of the way like that, side-by-side, hands locked together, leaning on each other, not saying a word.

And then I woke up, the image of her and that hallway completely gone, but the feeling just disappearing.

Notes:
This is really a dream that I had on the night of Feb. 6, 2008. That girl in my dream, I do not know her, or anybody that resembles her appearance and attitude, in real life. But for those of you who know the anime serial "School Rumble", I guess the best way to describe the girl in my dream is that she looked a lot like Sawachika Eri. And our interactions were much like the interactions between Sawachika and Harima Kenzy, except that my hostility towards her wasn't comical at all.