“What are you doing here?” She snapped.
He smiled at the little beauty, she felt him as soon as he showed up this time. She was getting better and better at it. He loved her dress. It looked like it was patched together like a quilt. All those lovely loud and soft colors that did wonders for her dark skin. It fit her like a glove. She was shorter than him by five or six inches. She wasn’t a very slender woman. Not fat by any means but she wasn’t one of those super slender super model skinny numbers he had gotten used to in Hollywood. She had full breasts a slim waist, ample hips and thighs. He was willing to bet the backside was as well thought out as the front. Her blue black hair fell in soft wavy curls to her shoulders thick and full. Those amazing gray eyes were on him. She was furious.
“Mad at me for the stolen kiss?” he teased her.
“No I was mad at you for interrupting me with my father.”
“Your father, so you were talking to somebody. Here I thought you were nuts.”
“You’re in my dream, I’m not the one that’s nuts.”
He laughed at the matter of fact way she said it. “How is that possible huh? I can be in your dream but you can’t be in mine? I think you have that wrong.”
She just stared at him confused. He tried to imagine her near him again. It worked all of two seconds and then she stopped and stared at him.
“Stop that. If you want me to come over there, ask don’t demand.”
It was something about the way she said it made him ask instead. “Would you, if I asked?”
“Why don’t you find out?”
Seemed simple enough. “Will you stand closer to me?”
“How much closer, be specific.”
His hands itched, his mouth watered. “Close enough to touch.”
He watched spellbound as she shifted her hips stepping lightly and smoothly walking over to him. The motion of her hips was distracting him. She flowed like water, well set music. He felt himself respond to her.
“Will you listen to what I have to say to you?” she asked.
“Why do women always need to talk, we have nothing to talk about.” He placed his hand on her face cupping her cheek, it felt like the smoothest silk. “Touching, that’s what we need to do.”
She cupped his hand in hers as she looked him in the eye. “Why are you here?”
He stared at her oddly as the question vibrated in his head like an echo. Her eyes expanded and started to glow a bit. He saw a part of her, like a shadow or illusion of her shift away from her and fly into him. He could feel her in his head starting to tear around. His childhood flashed briefly in his mind and was passed on to his first sexual experience. He was in his bedroom when he was 17, Janet Tully taking him into her hand for the first time. He has his first realization about Hollywood as two skinny blondes with fake tits offer him cocaine on their exposed breasts. The strips of his mind peeling away as he started to lose control of his motorfunctionality lying in the middle of his gameroom.
“No.” Colan sat straight up in bed naked sweating, breathing hard.
He dropped his head into his hands, the dream vivid in his mind. The feelings of helplessness and vulnerability were stark in his person. He threw himself back down on the bed with a thud, then gave a disgusted look at his sheet tenting over his erect penis.
“Well good to know you still work in moments of crisis.” He muttered.
He couldn’t blame it, she was gorgeous, that creature he had dreamed about constantly for months now. Really it was the dreams before that had eventually led to her. It had started sometime after his nervous breakdown. He would be sleeping and have the most horrific nightmares. He was in hell and all around him were roaming beasts and fire breathing creatures. And always some new lamb for the slaughter would drop from the sky and be unmercifully eaten. He had tried to defeat the beasts and they would come back stronger, more evolved. After months of these dreams he had resorted to trying to escape. One night he had gotten to the top where people were dropped in and he had heard singing.
He closed his eyes and recalled the dream. She had been singing Amazing Grace. Simple lovely and it had actually sounded like salvation. He had waited till she finished and then pulled himself up and he had been in that odd field. She hadn’t seen him. Just continued about her way. She would lay in that field humming to herself. She would do such odd things there as if she was somewhere else seeing something else. It was like this odd form of pantomime. It wasn’t until a couple of weeks ago she had sensed him and now they actually spoke to each other.
He got out of bed to start his day. It was such a silly foolish thing, his dream woman. Everything about her was completely different from what he usually looked for in a woman. She was a dark skinned brunette he usually went for pale blondes. She didn’t mince words, his women where usually cunningly coy. She stood up to him, he hadn’t had a women tell him no in a little over a decade. The oddest part of the whole thing was that every once in awhile he had to work very hard to convince himself that what happened in his dreams wasn’t real. That she wasn’t real. He had done all kinds of research on it. Dreams were just an extension of repressed desires. Really he wanted something different from what he was and where he was and she represented it.
He stood in the shower letting the hot water fall over him. He dropped his head and felt it running through his hair down his neck and shoulders. She was an interesting creation he had to admit. She was black from what he could tell, but those eyes and her hair, the black women back home had never looked like that, not women of any of the races he had grown up around. There were things that were still considered taboo in Oklahoma, especially in the country. Dating someone not of your same color was one of them.
Honestly he hadn’t ever really thought about it. His mother hadn’t raised him to care. But the people surrounding you always ingrained it in your make-up. White privilege is what it was called by people who studied it. This whole dichotomy of entitlement and empowerment. He knew about the theories, those with power and all that. He also knew that they were one hundred percent true. This had been part and parcel to his breakdown.
All his life he had told himself that he wasn’t a racist. That deep down inside he wanted equal rights for all people. But the world was the way that it was and nothing could change that. Such a scapegoat that was created with that one thought. Colan knew better, he made movies, he created and recreated the world everyday, every week every hour as a new person was exposed to what he was directly responsible for creating.
The world is not the way that it was because it just was, it was the way the people in power created it to be. Through all open forms of media, radio, television and film Americans are being told what to do, how to do it and most importantly who to do it too. It wasn’t too long until books and magazines converted and now you even had to second guess what you read in the newspaper. Then the internet came along and changed the face of the game. There was information out there for those willing to look for it about the true face of things in the media and the world.
Colan realized that he had gotten lost in his thoughts but like a well trained automaton had dressed himself, drank his morning health shake and was firmly seated behind the wheel of his jaguar.
