The most aggravating song of all time has to be Melanie's "I've Got a Brand-New Pair of Roller Skates" (you've got a brand-new key). It isn't just because it is silly. I like silly songs, like "Ahab the Arab" and "Purple People Eater". Of course, I know all the words to that durn tune and some days it runs through my brain like a loop-de-loop.
Does that happen to you, too? A thought, a song, a chant--especially one that you aren't crazy about--sticks in your mind and nothing will turn it loose.
It's the same with recurring dreams. I have one that comes back so often that I know what will happen as soon as it begins. The story varies a little depending on if I had burritos or chicken salad before my nap. This dream never occurs at night that I can remember, only during one of those satisfying afternoon snoozes. I wake up annoyed, reaching for someone--I don't know who.
"Sometimes I think that you're avoiding me. I'm OK alone, but you've got something I need..."
Like the Melanie song, the dream is always there, burbling about in the recesses of my mind. I try to finish it, thinking that by bringing some kind of closure to the story and finding out who that being could be will mean the end of it. But no, it's always the same. I'm thinking it may be someone I love who can't be with me. Or someone who loves me but can't be near for whatever reason. Or somebody who likes to tease like an irritating child.
Melanie sings, "for somebody who don't drive, I've been all around the world". Grammar aside, I understand. This dream has taken place in Kansas (after watching "Wizard of Oz"), in Hollywood (don't ask), in Casablanca (self-explanatory), in Paris and at home. I am always reaching for the being, and he, she, it is always out of reach. We have seen the world, but I never see the face.
"Some people say I've done all right for a girl". Oh, please.
In the dream I am beautiful. I sing like an angel, wear long lace and satin gowns and have hair that flows. I am drenched in jewelry. There are flowers of every color. There is a big window; no matter where in the world we are, the view is always the same--I am looking out over the city, over the lake.
I dance and others stand by and watch my partner and I as we float across the floor. The room has an orchestra and chandeliers, one of which is made of tiny silver keys. My partner is neither male nor female, it has no face. I am smiling; I am obviously happy. I am always aware of where we are, be it Paris or Rome, the desert or Siberia. The dress changes, the music changes, the dancing does not. Sometimes it is Santana, other times is is Glenn Miller, occasionally Jackson Browne pops in.
Suddenly the music stops. Everyone is clapping and laughing. At me? I don't know. I turn to find out why, and my partner is gone--SNAP! I wake up then, calling a name, but no one hears me. I don't know what name I am calling. Only once did I hear myself and that was something nonsensical.
So what does that all have to do with Melanie and her blasted roller skates? Well, in the dream I am wearing roller skates, the old-fashioned kind that used the key you hung around your neck. A voice sings ever so softly, not enough to drown out "For a Dancer" or "Europa".
"I think we should get together and try them out, you see....".
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