The day before I came back to OSU this quarter, I had a dream. This is it, exactly as I remember. I didn’t try to make it good literature. That would be lying.

The dream began in sterile dorm room after my first class on the first day of the quarter. I looked at my class schedule, which lay alone on a low, white table or desk. The schedule was plain, but very well laid out, as if someone had taken a basic OSU-style schedule and made it neat and crisp in MS Word, with alternating white and 10% gray cells. I had two more classes to go to. The first was Political Science, in room 100. The instructor’s name started with a T. The second was Chorus or Choir of some sort. I decided I could remember the room numbers and times, and that I did not need to take the schedule with me. I took a white COTA-esque bus to the campus, which looked a great deal like one of the twin Lakota High Schools. There were some evergreens around the school – only a few – and the sky was bright but sunless. The parking lot was nearly empty. I entered the building. The insides where gleaming white, and the place seemed built like a modern mall. I went up a flight of wide, open stairs and passed some potted bushes on either side. I entered a hallway on the left and went down a gently spiraling staircase. The walls were rough-hewn stone, now. Nothing of the mall architecture remained. I got the impression I was backstage at a theater. I looked up and down the hallway, upset at having forgotten the room number of the class I was about o be late for. After a few minutes, I noticed a sign on a door that said “Room 100-T”. The T represents the last name of the instructor, which I no longer recall. The room was a smaller, yellower version of a standard Scarlet Suite in the basement of the Ohio Union. There was a high, wide piano on one side, and the instructor was behind it. He didn’t notice my entry. Another (balding) man noticed my entry as he was taking attendance. He seemed glad to see me, and marked me as present on the attendance sheet. As he continued with his work, I took a seat and noticed Betsy Tudron, who was sitting across the room. She waved, I waved back, but then realized it wasn’t Betsy, and she may not have been waving at me. The class was then over, and I was back in the same dungeon-like hallway, looking for my other class. As I searched, I found black plastic letters on the wall indicating the room of the Chorus class. They also said “Brian – class is meeting outside” and described the location. I went outside, which was rather similar to the Numbers Garden, and found the class already in progress. A tall male with long, wavy brown hair was conducting the chorus with a baton. The chorus was standing on two sets of AHS risers. Sitting on some sort of rolling cart was a dark-complected girl with broad hips and a bare midriff. The cart rolled toward me, and the next thing I remember is holding the girl’s hand and being very happy. Her hand was warm and smooth.

I woke up then.