“I had this dream!” DL exclaims. “I’m so glad I’m remembering to tell you.” I nod, excited; I love to hear her dreams. “In my dream, I look down at my hands and my hands they are newspapers….” Her eyes glisten, the thrill of headlines at her fingertips. I glance behind me, at the naked woman, methodically smoothing lotion into her chocolate brown skin. Is she listening? To the Dream narration? Here in the downtown Oakland YMCA locker room? “And I make this movement,” DL continues, a slow dance with her hands. They are ballet in the air. “I go to throw my newspaper hands at the door. And they make that loud thump against the closed door….Like, you know, when your paper is delivered?” I nod. I know this sound. It is delicious. It means that your newspaper is here. Your day can start. Make some coffee. Feed the cat. Read the paper. “But when I throw my newspaper hands at the door, they aren’t newspapers anymore. They are fins!” Her eyes glimmer, sparkle. It is a miracle! I glance back again at the Chocolate Lotion Woman behind us. She is dressed now. Gathering up her things. Checking her phone. Are her earplugs in? How can she listen to music when a dream is being narrated?
I shake my head, baffled.
“What does it mean?” DL asks. I grin, widely. “It means your hands are the news. Your day is full of swimming. And miracles abound!” She laughs, delighted, as Chocolate Lotion Woman floats past us, a tiny smile playing at her lips.
Was she listening?
