The Time I Split into Two People

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Last night I dreamt that I was in college and looking for housing, so I moved into this big Victorian house that was well-kept but had several people living in it. Some of the people might have been my cousins (but not my IRL cousins). Anyway, the house was nice, but they were out of beds, so one of the nice guy roommates set me up with some couch cushions spread out on the floor with sheets and blankets in the pink-overload female wing of the house.

Then I split into two people. One got the red in my hair and the other got the brown in my hair, and redhead could do magic and was a bit of a wild-child. The brunette was very serious and immediately started flirting with a handsome rich man, but she was nervous to take it very far because of the whole just-split-into-two-people thing. The redhead started flirting with one of the male roommates, who I really hope was not one of the cousins.

The next day, I was back as one person with the memories of both halves, and I asked my female roommates, who turned out to be witches, for help. The wise one said that I had chimerism and that something-magic-something was making me split into the two sisters I was meant to be in the womb.

That was fine and then I moved into the old office of a retired professor (who was the teacher I took over for IRL). The office was really musty and gross and smelled like feces because the old professor had apparently pooped in jars in his office rather than using the public restrooms, so the dream had a boring cleaning interlude. (I dreamed about cleaning! Ugh!)

Then I split again and ordered the redhead to keep cleaning while the brunette went to class. So brunette me started walking to class when the handsome rich man appeared and asked about my major. I explained that I already had my degrees that I was back as an undergrad for mumble-mumble-reasons, and that I was heading to Book of Mormon class, which I was thoroughly uninterested in, seeing as it was a freshman class I'd taken years before. "So skip it," Handsome rich man said, taking my hand and pulled me behind a tree and started kissing me.

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The dream was just getting interesting when wise witch roommate cut in and said we needed to be more discreet with our kissing on BYU campus. (HAHAHA, IRONY!) She led us over to the outside wall of a building and pressed a secret button. Part of the wall swung back and revealed a basement bar of some sort, with cool air and low blue and purple lights. Handsome rich man disappeared, which was fine because the bartender was kind of hot in a hirsute looks-like-my-high-school-history-teacher way. He asked if I wanted a cigarette and I said yes and then I smoked it and realized that my brunette half was a seasoned occasional smoker, somehow.

However, my wise witch roommate had not closed the secret door behind us, so then a bunch of students started coming in and exclaiming, "I knew there was a secret bar somewhere on campus!" but I just wanted them to go away and leave me to my hairy bartender and then I woke up.

The Time I Watched My Friend Die during the Civil War

Last night I dreamt that I was a servant or slave or something to a family in the early 1860s. The family had some land, but their house wasn't like Tara at all. It was poky and dark, with only two bedrooms for the family, one bedroom for the housekeeper, and a few attic rooms for the servants.

My real-life friend was a seventeen-year-old daughter of the house, and kind of a tomboy. Her father wanted her married off and out of the house as soon as possible, so he dressed her up in some ill-fitting crinolined disaster and introduced her to his friend, a large, drunken, bearded lout—a classic wife-beating villain, basically.

Sort of like this guy, but meaner-looking.

She instantly convinced herself she was in love, and they married. The wedding party was planned for several days, so all her little brothers and sisters and all the servants, including the housekeeper, had to sleep on the floor up in the attic on thin quilts to accommodate the groom and his guests.

After the wedding, however, the groom barely looked at her, much less touched her or spoke to her. He was busy laughing and drinking long into the night with his friends. My friend was devastated. She tried to dress up pretty to get his attention, but she just looked pathetic in her ill-fitting patterned gown with stringy blond hair hanging limp around her rough, red face.

The next night, there was a storm, or maybe a battle, or possibly a battle and a storm. Also, one of the other slaves/servants and some of the children were ill. Everyone was huddled in the drawing room on the second floor. The groom, again, took no notice of his bride.

Something happened and then I was the bride. I went back up to the attic with my brothers, sisters, and servants, twirled in my blue-flowered dress, and collapsed in a heap, sobbing. The servant helped me get ready for bed, which was a corner of attic floor. We could hear music and drunken laughter through the floorboards.

Then I was the slave/servant again. "Look, she's getting worse," I said, dabbing a cool compress on a sick child's forehead.

"You'd better come over here," said the housekeeper, pointing to the bride. "She's dying."

I rushed over. The bride's face had purple shadows in it. She coughed, and it sounded like a rattle. "Tell my husband I'm sorry for offending him," she whispered. "Tell him I love him!" She breathed her last breath, and then I woke up.