Jimmy has the freakiest and most intense dreams of anybody I’ve ever known. He actually physicalizes them – twitching and talking and sometimes even getting up and walking around. He’ll wake up in the morning thinking they’re true, and they’ll rock his mood for the entire day. And they always seem to get me in trouble. Apparently, the version of me that inhabits Jimmy’s subconscious is much more interesting than my real self.
A few months ago, I was lying in bed in the middle of the night, innocently and unsuspectingly sleeping, when Jimmy suddenly hit me in the head with a pillow. I sat up panicked. “What, what?” I asked, confused. From the depths of the other side of the bed came a low, frightening, rumbling voice, much like the voice of Satan in The Exorcist. “DID YOU FUCK JOHN?!” (I should point out that the name has been changed to protect the, I assure you, innocent relative he chose to obsess over). At this point, I should have probably said something like “Of course not, my love, I’ve always been true to you.” Instead, I groggily asked “John Who?” As if I needed further details before telling him exactly who I had or had not fucked. “JOHN KALAMAZOO” (again, not aforementioned relatives real name) said Linda Blair. This would have been another excellent time for me to proclaim my unfailing love and fidelity, but instead I said “He’s in New Jersey, you idiot.” This was less an indictment against New Jersey
It took me about 15 minutes to wake him up properly and convince him that it had all been a TERRIBLE DREAM, and he needed to relax and go back to sleep. He was mad at me all the next day, which I think is pretty damned unfair. If I’m going to get the punishment for bad behavior, I should get to have the fun of actually DOING the bad behavior.
And this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. He’s woken up in the morning furious with me for making out with some guy at a party. In his DREAM. And it’s weird, because Jimmy isn’t really a particularly jealous person. It’s like all his jealousies get buried in his subconscious and manifest themselves in these intense dreams of his.
So last night, I wasn’t completely surprised when I woke up at about 3 in the morning to find Jimmy standing over me holding a comforter. Somewhat threateningly. Maybe. “What are you doing, honey?” I asked sweetly. He stood there for a second or two, then tried to cover me with the comforter. I should explain that we’re in the middle of a heat wave here in Los Angeles, and we don’t have any air conditioning (not as pathetic as it sounds to people from other parts of the U.S., most people here don’t), so pretty much the last thing I needed was a down comforter. “Jimmy. It’s hot. I don’t need the comforter. But thank you very much.” He stared at me for a second more, put down the comforter (which, by the way, he’d gotten off a rack on the other side of the room) crawled back into bed and was snoring within about 30 seconds.
The first thing he said to me this morning was that he’d spent the entire night dreaming that he was saving me and Jude. Dream after dream where he had to save us from eminent danger, or care for us in some way. “You didn’t dream that you wanted to…smother me, or anything, did you?” I asked suspiciously, and told him about the comforter incident, which he had absolutely no memory of at all.
I’m choosing to believe that he was dreaming that I needed caring for. Isn't that sweet? Maybe we were stuck in a snow storm, or I was sick with a terrible illness and required warming. He was just being kind and loving. Or maybe he’d caught me in bed with an undisclosed male relative and thought he’d quietly do away with me. What do you think? Maybe I should start sleeping with one eye open.