A story on the path dreams take.
Sitting in a semi packed bus, wishing the driver would go faster, not that I was late. I wanted to reach my destination as if I was in a cab. Nodding, he deliberately slowed at every green light, waiting for it to change to red. “He was early,” my commonsense alerts. He stops at the bus stop facing a stop sign. The light was green when he stopped. A lady steps in pulling a small wheel bag behind her, eyes staring at the back of the bus, even though a few empty seats were at the front. She passes them, going towards the back, when a voice beside me called out, “Mavis.”
Her eyes follow the voice and she said in excitement walking towards us, “Carol, girl I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
“Would you like me to exchange seats so you could sit together?” I ask.
“Sure,” Carol agrees.
I got up and took an empty seat behind them, beside another lady.
Mavis plops down, saying, “thanks.”
I nod and sit down as the bus crawls to the next bus stop.
“Girl, I had a weird dream about you last night, it’s even weirder to see you on a bus. The last time I saw you, you were driving and that was four years ago. What happen?”
“My car is in the shop, and I have a few errands to run,” Carol informs.
“You still married to that old miser Vinny?” Mavis asks.
“Oh yes, he gets on my nerves but yes,” Carol complains.
“I dream you were getting married and. . . . .”
Carol cut in, “Was it to one of the oil barons of OPEC? Or any one of the late King Fahd’s sons of Saudi Arabia?”
A few of the passengers laugh, and Mavis turns to stare at her with furl brows, then asks, “Aren’t you supposed to be happily married?”
“Girl happiness is overrated. Plus, I have a right to my fantasy,” Carol asserts.
A few of the passengers agreed.
“True,” Mavis admits. “But it’s my dream, not yours.”
They both laugh and Mavis continues, “It was weird because you were the one getting married, yet I was wearing white and you were in black.”
“Yea, weird,” Carol agrees in deep thought.
A voice beside me said, “Not really.”
They both turn around as she continues.
“My name is Roya, in my culture, dreaming about a wedding means someone is going to die.”
Carol’s right-hand jumps towards her left breast and she uttered, “I’m going to die!”
“No,” Roya reply. “Dreams don’t walk straight.”
“I don’t understand,” Carol said.
“Whenever we dream about a wedding, a family member or someone we know is going to die,” Roya explains. “The opposite for funeral.”
Someone asks, “So dreaming about a funeral means someone is going to get married.”
“Yes,” Roya confirms.
“Okay,” Carol breathe a sigh of relief, in understanding.
“So her dream means death?” the same person asks.
“Yes,” Roya agrees.
“Well, it’s her dream, I hardly know her, so I am safe,” Carol defends.
“What do you mean you hardly know me?” Mavis slap her on her hand.
Laughter erupts in the bus again.
“Well, I do know you, but not today,” Carol said laughing rising to change seats.
Mavis pulls her back down on the seat.
Turning to Roya for clarification, Carol asks, “So, according to her dream, I was getting married, but I was dressed in black, and she was at my wedding wearing white?”
“Yes,” Mavis confirms.
“Black for funeral and white is for wedding,” Carol continues.
“Yes,” Roya agrees.
“So that means someone is going to die, so I will have to go to a funeral?” Carol asks.
“I already told you that,” Roya said.
“Look,” Carol explains, “All this is scary, Ok. Whose funeral will I be going to?”
Pointing to Mavis, Roya said, “Hers.”
Shock held every passenger on the bus for the next two stops, their mouths agape in astonishment. I think a few missed their stops too.
Mavis broke the silence, pointing to Roya, she warns, “You need to mind your own business,” getting up, she pressed the bell. The bus stops a few yards ahead. The stoplight was green as Mavis and a few exits, eyeing Roya as they depart. The driver closes the door as the light turns red. All eyes were on Mavis as she walks a few yards away from the bus, looks up at the light across the street, and then she walks across. A car races past the bus, hits Mavis, hoisting her body in the air a few yards ahead. Another car coming in the opposite direction, hit her again, sending her body back towards the bus.
Screams erupt from the remaining passengers inside the bus. Many covering their mouths in shock, as Mavis’s body bounces back, hitting the windshield of the bus with a crash. Cracking the windshield, blood painting it red.
All eyes turn to Roya in fear.
The back door of the bus flew open and trembling, Roya got up and walks out.
Shock held all of us for a while, then someone asks, “How could she have known?”
A voice answered, “Her name means dreams or premonition!”
In my country, our dreams mean a lot to us. Dreams are like puzzles and they don’t walk straight. Dreams warn us and give us answers to questions no human can give. Dreams help many of us to do the right things.
Thank you for reading this piece. I hope enjoyed it. Please enjoy more from other writers on this platform.
Fiction and Poetry Bios of ILLUMINATION Writers
Introducing fiction and poetry writers from their pen