Seemingly Mundane

I park the car in front of a large trailer next to a strange building at night. I follow a stream of people into the building.

The band is taking part in a district-wide concert, in which all the high-school bands will play the same song. We are setting up our instruments in the practice room as the streetlights shine in through the tall and narrow windows. Mr. Fosberg, being his normal crotchety self, tells us we're all sitting in the wrong places. He moves the horn section to sit behind him, facing the rest of the band. We are joined by Bertha, a lower band member, and Philip Van Wyk. I try to tell him that he should be in the clarinet section, but he won't listen to me. Bertha pulls up a chair between Matt and Sarah, and I am insulted because with the addition of Philip it makes me look like fifth chair. I want to tell her to go sit on the other side of Cindy, but decide to let her enjoy her moments in our prestigious section, as it's likely to be the only chance she'll get.

Foz tells me and a few other people to go ask the organizer of the event when she wants us onstage. I exit through a side door, which opens onto the backstage area. I am dwarfed by the monstrous set pieces and heavy hanging curtains.

I approach a short, squat woman with a commanding voice. She tells me that before she can answer my question, I have to go tell the people in the booth that they missed Daylight Savings Time and they should turn their clock back an hour. We need the extra time to finish setting up.

I am led to the booth through a series of metal hallways by a black-clad tech. A small child trails after us. The tech motions me through a door into a cavern-like area behind the auditorium and underneath the booth. The child is afraid and latches onto my leg. As we proceed over paths of metal grating, I sense movement from the side. Pastor Ann (who is almost legally blind) stands and says "It's nice that Kathryn was able to bring her sister along." The child clearly is not my sister, but I decide to not say anything, because Ann lives in this cave and is therefore blind. We continue.

The tech leaves us at a playground to wait for the people in the booth to see us, where we are joined by several more small children (my cousins), Jenny, and a young man (who auditioned after me on Friday). It suddenly becomes imperative that we keep the infant entertained, because if she cries then the entire performance, happening on the other side of the wall, is ruined. To do this, we scale the wooden jungle gym and hand the baby from one person to another, higher one higher than the last. We reach the top, and the construction grows more to accommodate our efforts. The growth is, however, much too sparse, and we cannot climb any higher. We panic to find a way to keep the child quiet, but before we can solve the problem, the concert is over. We collapse to the ground in relief. Keeping an infant quiet is harder than it looks.


A separate dream, but not, we are two warring factions. I have amassed an army of real and imaginary animals to combat the Kingdom of Ice. We enter the practice room where Mr. Fosberg stood not long ago, and the opposing sides bristle at each other as I try frantically to make them listen to me. My side will be decimated, though, because it appears that our King and Queen have been drugged. The Ice King laughs as we rush to their sides. A mountain lion with a large sled tied to its back tries to haul them out of harms way, but a mountain lion is not designed to pull things, and our woozy and effervescent rulers giggle as they are towed awkwardly out the door. We are dismayed.