There is almost no sound of her high heels touching the Rotunda’s marble floor. It is early, only 6:20 a.m. The guards arrive promptly at 6:30. The lady is conservatively, stylishly dressed. We are headed in the same direction, towards the elevators. The strap of her large bone colored handbag slips from her shoulder. She grabs for it and fumbles, gets it open, turns towards me. In her right hand is a small silver gun. I have time to only say, ‘Why?’ when she aims directly at me and shoots. I die!
My head hurts as I get up from my bedroom floor. This is my third fall out of bed this week, each time cracking my head on the frame. But this is the first time I remember the dream I was having. Did I die in the others? I can’t remember. Is this a premonition? Is there a bump rising behind my left ear? I go downstairs to the kitchen. While my automatic percolator hisses and bubbles, I give this situation deep thought.
Bits of my dream start to return. Rotunda, marble floors? Yes, yes. There were long lines of people paying respect to Kennedy, Martin L. King in the DC Rotunda. There is a Rotunda a few blocks from my office that is a mall and has a triplex movie center. Those are the only two I know about. Why was a rotunda in my dream? The dreams the other two nights when I fell out of bed are totally forgotten. This time they are becoming more and more clear. The lady’s shoes and handbag color match perfectly. Her suit, hmnnn. Ah, toast. Brown hair,slightly curled up reached her shoulders. I’ve read that most people believe they dream in black and white and maybe I do, but I think I dream in vivid technicolor. Thinking about her almost silent shoes, reminds me to remind myself that I need new tennis shoes, nice, quiet, comfortable tennis shoes. I see the lady’s silver gun. She shot me so I could wake up, not die in my sleep.
There is no bump on my head. I don’t need a psychologist. I am my own doctor and have it all figured out.
There was only one fall out of bed caused by my absolute need to get up extra early today, before the guards arrive. I have to fire (guns fire) the laggard head of our employee health insurance department. She is mixing up the files, not making sure claims are handled quickly and correctly. Employees are bitching. She is going to be angry, furious and will want to kill me.
Case settled. Dream over. All I have to do now, before I see Angie and fire her, is make sure her purse is in her locker.
About Me
- Zela Bop
- It was Christmas Eve, 1924. A baby girl was almost not born. Her umbilical cord was wrapped tightly around her tiny throat. Somehow with magical fingers, and needed knowledge, the doctor managed to save baby, a holiday gift for the waiting family. As years passed, so many memories remained for Zelda Brotman. Yet at age 50, when her older brother told her he always thought of her as “Zela Bop,” she was puzzled. He said when people would stop to say ‘hello’ to the cute little red headed kid and ask her name, she couldn’t say it right so out spurted “Zela Bop!” And Zela Bop she was, until her tongue untwisted.
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