violet

 I met a Frenchman in my dreams, on the banks of a water feature. The grass felt cool under my bare feet and I was looking out across the landscape of trees and rolling hills. He was at a gathering hosted by my neighbor and came over to talk to me, thinking I was at the gathering, too.

Dreams progress in stops and starts, so it's no surprise that I was then giving him a tour of the house I was staying in. I explained I was just there until my publisher found more appropriate lodging for me. The house was huge but had very little furniture. My belongings were strewn about.

When we got to the master bedroom, it was vast. We walked through it to the master bathroom, which was separated into a his and hers design, each with its own closet.

Then we were sitting on a sofa in the living room talking and drinking wine. Was he hungry? We went in the kitchen, and I threw something amazing together. What was it? I don't know. Dreams are funny. We sat on kitchen stools at the counter and ate our food. Then he cleaned the kitchen while I sat on my stool and drank wine.

Next, he had found my brush and was behind my stool brushing my long, gray hair. It needs washing, I said. Then he was coloring my hair, using blonde and violet colors. Then I was looking in a mirror admiring my new cut and color. This part of my dream flashed by, unlike the hours I used to spend at the beauty parlor when I was still coloring my hair.

We sat on the sofa and talked some more. Then I said I was tired and went to bed, leaving him in the living room. (What?) I was almost asleep when he slipped into bed beside me. May I sleep here, he asked. Can you behave, I asked him. I pointed to the other side of the bed. It's a big bed, I said. He moved.

My dog woke me up then, pulling me away from the Frenchman in my bed. Isn't it always that way? You find a man who speaks with a French accent, who happily cleans the kitchen, can color, cut, and style your hair, and wants to sleep in your bed, and WHAM! You wake up.