Sentimental

Date: 5/13/2019

It starts off (as far back as I can remember) with Thor (the old Thor, with short hair and a ripped body) standing behind his father’s chair. His father is dead, but he can’t stand it. He has some sort of machine meant to bring people back to life, it’s a black box with a long black old-fashioned looking cord, that has a simple outlet plug. Instead of plugging it into an outlet, though, you plug it into the air next to the dead person you wish to wake. So Thor did so. It gets kind of hazy here, because Thor is switching on and off with Amanda who’s one of my classmates (like occasionally it’s him, occasionally her, but like not like they’re actually switching, my Dream is just switching) and in the same way, Thor’s dad is switching with an elderly (dead) Mrs. Gorman. Eventually it turns to Amanda and Mrs. Gorman fully. They’re in a blank, fading gray room. Mrs. Gorman is in a chair, a simple wooden chair, with her back to both my view and Amanda. Some pretty old sounding music is playing. Mrs. Gorman says something along the lines of, “isn’t this the most beautiful music?” and Amanda replies with something like, “I don’t really care for it. Now come on, I’m getting you out.” Instead of coming back, Mrs. Gorman turns and stands (with difficulty.) She’s very wrinkled and hunched over. She has a cane. The room changes, along with her. Her face smoothes just slightly and her back unhunches. She’s in a classroom, the classroom where she taught. It’s filled with kids, but it’s only memory, because Amanda is still there. She starts talking a small (SMALL) about her life- just something like about how she loved teaching. The room changes again, and she grows younger, to about the age when I saw her. She says something like “When I was younger, many things that you knew about me were different. I had a much cleaner room, for example *chuckle*” and then we see the classroom change and Mrs. Gorman looks way younger, peppier, her hair brighter and skin smooth. Amanda / my view watches her go over to the board, as a younger teacher, and write her name on a chalkboard in bubble letters. She outlines some of the round bubbles with flowery designs, and I think in the back of my head about how she had more time and less worry then. The dream ends like that, pretty bittersweetly.