By Veronika Kowalski
I dreamt I was part of a boarding school. My friends and I were going to visit the public school we went to when we were younger. Most of my friends were taking a big blue bus, one that looked like it was from the city. I wasn’t done packing by the time they all got on the bus. By packing, I mean stuffing a few knicknacks into my volunteer jacket. They kept falling out.
The bus started to leave. It drove onto the sidewalk, then it flipped to the right, then it teetered all the way to the left side and I yelped. Somehow, it got back on track and kept driving perfectly. I continued to pick up fallen items from my pocket, such as my hair tie. When I finally got my stuff together, I started walking in the direction of my public school.
There was a police officer talking to my friend. She was telling him, “There’s something on your wrists,” as she pulled out a pair of handcuffs. My friend stared at his wrists as if there was actually something there.
I went up to the policewoman. “Excuse me, Officer, but do you know the directions to the school?”
She looked at me. “It’s right there,” she explained, pointing at my boarding school.
“No, no,” I started, “I’m visiting the public school. I go to the boarding school. And as you can probably guess, my friend Timothy is going too.”
The police officer put away her handcuffs. There was quite a conundrum about from where to where we were going, but finally, she came to the conclusion that we weren’t runaways.
Gregory came. “Do you know where you live? Diamond Street? Henderson Street?”
Tears ran down my face. “I don’t know,” I admitted. I should have just blurted out one or the other and let him correct me if I was wrong.
The police officer now wore a tank top with horizontal yellow and orange-pink stripes, and jean shorts. She started telling me about her family problems, how her mom had blue lips. I turned, and saw her mom and her sister. They were riding small bikes. We were in a park. I wasn’t interested in her conversation. I kept glancing at my brother, who was trying out bikes, and my dad, who was helping my brother pick a bike. The officer said something along the lines of “Well, I better tell my supervisor;” she was off duty now.
My brother had picked out his bike and was sitting on a park bench. All the bikes were lined up from the kids who were in the park. Of course, they were all too small for me. Most of them had training wheels, or wheels on alternating sides. I liked a blue scooter that was about three feet tall, and had a large footpad. I was thinking, “This is stealing. I don’t want to steal. It’s dishonest,” but none of the bikes were locked or tied down. They were all in a row for anyone to take.