Long ones, both of ’em. And also both dreams of the variety with a story line instead of bits and pieces.
I was in the United States, staying with a friend. In the house were also two men who had borrowed a video from someone. They asked me if I wanted to return the video to the man they had borrowed it from. I did so and when I came to the lender’s place, it appeared the man made copies of videos and lent these out. Something was wrong with the tape however and the man gave it back to me to take home again.
Back at my friends place, she and I watched the tape and were shocked as it showed something unexpected, some kind of criminal act. I took a bicycle and went to take the video back to the lender again. I showed him the tape and he was just as shocked as we had been. He took the tape and kept it.
Back home, the two men had found out they’d given me the wrong tape. Somehow, they knew I’d seen it and they came looking for me. I had returned from the lender by now and wanted to check something in the hallway and saw the men there. They were standing in the hallway, holding baseball bats. As they saw me, they came running at me so I fled the house, barefoot, without a coat. I grabbed the bicycle, rode to the lender’s house as fast as I could, and told him my story after which he said he’d help me.
I cycled back for a short while to tell my friend I was leaving and to get my things. After that, I got back to the lender who took me to the airport and bought me a ticket back to the Netherlands. Once I got back to Schiphol, I called my friend and asked her what I should tell my parents. She said I should tell them there had been a death in her family and that they had dropped me off at the airport on their way to the death.
I was in a university library, one of those older buildings, with the interior dark and more classic, yet shabby through years of student use. The woodwork, shelves and round tables and such were dark. The chairs at the tables were reasonably comfortable with fabric on the seats, even though that too was old and faded. Some of the chairs had armrests.
I was lying on two of the chairs, covered with a coat, watching one of the tables. Close to me sat a journalist, watching another table. He was writing an article and was following me around for that. At the table I was watching sat two girls. One was crying because of some sort of social drama and fell into the others’ arms for comfort.
After, the journalist and I went looking through the library for more stories for his article. At the same time I was doing this with him, I was also still lying on the chairs. Yay for astral projection?
We saw a boy and a girl in the library, they were close friends.
The journalist and I returned to the library a number of times and we kept running into these two groups. With the two girls there was always major social drama for the one that was crying. The boy and the girl were always just studying and talking.
Suddenly I was walking through the hallways of the university itself, without the journalist. I was also older now, in my forties, and it turned out I was a professor at the university. Then there was a cut scene and I was walking in one of the dorms. I passed an open door and as I looked in, I saw the girl from the boy/girl group.
She was packing her things and was quite obviously devastated. The boy was helping her. All of a sudden I knew exactly what was going on: Her parents were coming to take her home. I didn’t know the exact reason, but it was either because her brother had died, or because there was no more money to let her go to school. (Or possibly it was both reasons)
The two were just packing books in a box when I passed. They were talking about her having to leave. I felt sorry for her, and thought it a shame that she had to go. I’d seen her in the library so many times I felt I knew here, even though she was no student of mine. I went into the room, knelt down with them and started helping. I told her a story about my son when he was in his freshman year, which had been a few years ago. I don’t know what the story was, but it was apparently relevant to her situation.
THEN, major change, I was suddenly bicycling in France…
We were with a group, going through little villages and lovely countryside. Sometimes, there would be traffic lights. Then Conductor Jan (from the orchestra where Nienke used to play) said –and I just heard him, I couldn’t see him– that there were some traffic lights that would blink red and that it meant you could cross. Because, apparently, you often saw people waiting for them to turn green, which it never would. And they would only realise that when someone native to the area came along and crossed.
Jan continued that the same thing applied to a concert. Sometimes there would be breaks, but then you just had to play low tones, that was what the people around here expected. So tomorrow at the concert that was exactly what they should do, keep playing the low tones.
So apparently the orchestra had a concert there, but then what the hell I was doing there… 0.o