Did you ever have one of those dreams that made you wake up suddenly, your head raised from your pillow, thinking “That was all a dream? It seemed too real.”? Did you ever have one of those dreams that made you jump out of bed, turn on all the lights in the house, searching for another presence, an intruder, corporeal or otherwise?

This dream made me do both.

It starts out with me in the office, being summoned by my boss regarding a sensitive matter. Please note that in this dream, like in many, time converges, so in many parts I’m an adult doing my normal thing, and in other parts I’m a fourteen year old living with my parents in my old house and going to school. The story may not make sense to you without this premise.

In her office, my boss tells me she has a friend, living out of town, who’s being harassed by an ex-boyfriend, and is quite scared. This friend has requested to talk with me about it. I oblige and head out, into the desert, to an old dilapidated house on the corner of a road and a railway line. I get out of the car, knock on the door, wait for a response that does not come, circumnavigate the house, peering into windows and out into the vast dusty flat expanse of the landscape.

Down the road I see a small figure dashing toward me. It’s a man. He’s dressed in blue, sitting a tiny wheelchair, small enough that his arms reach the bitumen where he pushes himself along, gliding along the road as swiftly as an old car. He calls out to me, angrily, “Have you come to save her from me?”

As he approaches I can make out his face. He has sandy hair, a rough face with a goatee, and a look of pure aggression. I remember that though my body is not trained for fighting, my size can feign enough power to thwart a confrontation, and my lungs can summon enough rage to scare off people. I reply to him, “Get away from here, fuck off now!” I see his rage turn to fear on his face, and he makes a U-turn, departing as swiftly as he came, but then something catches his eye, and he makes a left turn towards a new destination.

It’s her. She is dressed in black, with high, messy hair that falls below her elbows, wearing a black oversized shirt, black pants and boots. She is limping along the road, supported by crutches, calling out to me for help as the Man comes nearer. I run to intercept the ensuing attack, and stand in between the Man and the Woman, using nothing but my obvious size advantage to protect her. The Man and I are engaged in a shouting duel, which I thought would buy enough time for the Woman to reach her house, but the yelling match was cut short.