Alpha to Omega

We were in a desolate land of muddy hills and gravel paths. There were large unfinished houses in the distance, but no sign of the people building them. I don’t remember what we were looking for—a house or a person or something we’d lost on our drive—and I don’t remember where we were going, but we drove an orange hatch-back that was full to the brim with junk that I had wanted to pull over and go through and organize but Kelly said we didn’t have time. Papers and boxes and pieces of clothing, mixed together like oatmeal cookie dough, and I remember being very worried about the papers being wrinkled or torn and crushed, which they probably were. We started walking, while looking for whatever it was we were looking for, but the car always seemed to be parked off to the side of the path no matter where we went. It was very convenient. We came over a mud hill and upon a round concrete picnic table where there was a group of people talking. I focused on one of the people in the group as he focused on me, some aroused form of consciousness creeping into his face as our eyes mingled in an erotic dance. And I knew who he was because I’d seen him before. Beck. Incubus.

As is common in dreams, nothing was said and everyone who was present understood what we were to each other. I gladly took his hand and walked with him through the mud town and the people around stopped and said things like, “Look! There they are” and we had really hot and wild sex in public places where there was a high chance of us getting caught. And we became partners in crime and went everywhere together. And he adored me; I could tell by the way he looked at me and always held me close to him with such tenderness.

And then one day I was out with Kelly. And we came upon the orange hatchback, which was full of papers that had photocopies of Beck’s album covers on them—ripped albums. I had to hide the evidence before he found out, and I had to jet over to the nearest record store and buy all of his albums so that he would know that I had them all, because sooner or later he was going to check. We were pulling the paper out of the car and tearing the sheets into tiny fragments, but it was no use. No matter how much paper we destroyed, there was always more. The car just kept coming up with more places to hide it and more ways of reproducing it. That’s when one of Beck’s friends came along. He picked up one of the sheets of paper and looked at me with disdain. And, as is also common in dreams, by virtue of his friend having knowledge of the situation, Beck did as well.
“Where is he?” I asked, desperately wanting to see him, to explain to him my circumstances.
“He doesn’t want to see you. He’s very hurt.”
Oh, no. Poor Beck, I broke his heart. I was very upset and I felt like my world was crashing in on top of me. And I woke up yearning for him and wondering where he was.

And if I learned anything from that dream I had about my High School English teacher, it’s that my relationship with Beck is never going to be the same. I tried to listen to him and I just sat there all hot and bothered and giggling. Every time I heard his voice, it sent shivers up my spine as I remembered his subtle touch and his adoring yet erotic grin. And I’ve developed a significant crush on him, despite the fact that it had never occurred to me to do so before he tricked me into it. Damn you Beck, you sexy beast.