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Dream fragment: 6.4.2015

June 5, 2015

{It’s currently 11:30 p.m., Thursday night. Spouse had just gone to bed, and I was sitting on a chair, reading an interview with dancer Gregory Hines, when I suddenly saw an image in my mind’s eye of a dream I must’ve had this morning. It insists I need to write about it, so here I am.}

+++

Exiting a long hallway, I enter a room where a group of people sit at the far end, near the windows. They’re talking and laughing, and one of them has a mop of brown curly hair that’s glowing in the sunlight. And I recognize him! I stride boldly towards the group, and hail him by name, “It’s Greg Ganster! I don’t believe it!”

I’m so happy inside and out, I’m beaming.

He, very clearly, has no idea who I am, or that he’s met me before. And… there’s no way to explain, really.

I walk to another part of the room, still excited and happy.

I wake up.

+++

I went to middle school with a boy named Greg Ganster, who had a mop of dark curly hair. He wasn’t one of the most popular kids, but he was still pretty high up in status, as far as I recall. He was smart, he was funny, he was interesting. He had joie de vivre. I liked him a lot.

I wasn’t interested in him romantically or sexually; I just liked him as a person.

Which, actually, was really rare for me.

= = =

When we were in 8th grade, the rich parents dreamed up this idea where all the kids in our grade would attend modern social dancing lessons, in groups, during the evening. There were paid instructors; us kids had to wear dress-up clothes, and use our best manners. Like cotillion, I guess, not that I’d ever heard of that back then.

The rich parents also made sure all of their kids were in one particular group, while the social outcasts of various sorts were in other, less-desirable groups.

My family was middle-to-low on the affluent scale, and I was smart but weird, so I should have been in the group with the other smart dorks. Instead, I somehow landed in the “cool” dance group that was mostly rich kids, and/or popular-and-smart kids.

The rich kids would have definitely preferred to treat me like garbage, as they did during the school day (while the teachers looked the other way), but Protocol! Manners! So they mostly ignored me, or looked over my head as they danced with me. It was still a nice change.

Greg’s family, as far as I recall, wasn’t rich, but he was popular-and-smart. He was tall, like me; I think he might have been an athlete. But he was willing to be awkward as he learned, which was endearing. He had a sense of humor about it all. And he was nice to me.

That’s when I realized how much I liked him.

= = =

One day, I was over at a girlfriend’s house, or maybe a friend was over at my house, but anyway, I had this idea: I would call up Greg Ganster and tell him that I liked him. As a person.

I’m not sure I had thought it through any farther than that, but… I was always coming up with ideas like this. And mostly carrying them out, because I was oddly fearless.

So I called up Greg Ganster, and he was home (and his mother didn’t freak out about a girl calling her son), and we talked for a while.

I told him who I was right away, but he didn’t believe me. He seemed to think I was either the sister of a friend, or a more popular girl, but he definitely thought someone was playing a weird prank on him (because who would pretend to be a social pariah?).

We had a really enjoyable conversation.

I suggested I could call him again some time, and he said that’d be cool.

I thought he liked me as a person, a very rare occurrence for me.

I couldn’t wait to see him again at dance class, so I could see his reaction when he realized it really had been me calling him.

And… it wasn’t terrible. But he was really confused. And he never wanted to talk to me again. He became polite, instead of friendly.

= = =

In the dream, upon seeing dream-Greg Ganster, I felt the way I would feel if I saw Paul Wisniewski (who, unfortunately, has been dead since circa 1994). I felt buoyant, joyful.

In the dream, explaining that we attended SSPP together, or even that we were in dance classes together, was totally irrelevant, which is why I said “there’s no way to explain, really”.

= = =

I could keep digging to try to figure out what GG symbolizes, but I think I’ll just hug the dream images to my heart because they felt so good.

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