slow dancin’ – coma style

 

I hate dream sequences. Nevertheless, here goes.

I was having the strangest dream.

You can dream inside of a coma, you know. You can do all kinds of things inside of a coma. You can take coma naps. You can sing 99 comas of beer on the wall. You can even perform coma standup comedy. Comas aren’t just boring, they’re lonely as hell.

In my dream, Fanny and I are together somewhere. I can’t tell exactly where. You know how dreams are? Coma dreams are no different.

I remember there was this castle. A river boat and a haunted mansion. Maybe I’ve seen too many movies, but Indiana Jones was there. King Arthur and Mark Twain. Yoda, too.

Jellyfish were jumping everywhere. Elephants were flying. Then, Abraham Lincoln shows up.

Suddenly, we’re running through the jungle. Tarzan comes swinging in and we duck into this tiki hut. Only, when we look back we’re not in a tiki hut at all, but a haunted house.

That’s when Fanny says to me, “They’re onto us.”

They are?

“Did you see the look in Tarzan’s eyes?”

I did not. I was too busy trying to shake Indiana Jones.

“They got the Professor,” she says.

The Professor? What about Gilligan? The Skipper, too?

“Not THAT Professor.”

Oh, right. THE Professor. How did he get mixed up in all of this?

“If he cracks,” said Fanny, “we’re done for.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. Or that she even knew the Professor.

“They know about the spy from Tumerling.”

Who is They?

“The Germanicans, dumbass. Get with the program.”

How did she know about the Germanicans? Had I told her? If I did, I sure don’t remember. Maybe the Professor told her. Maybe she heard him out there on Santa Monica Boulevard. God knows the rest of Southern California did.

I asked her: What do we do next?

“We have to find the Tumerlingian,” she said.

How do we do that?

“By finding the Professor. He knows exactly where the Tumerlingian is.”

What good will that do?

“Then we can get hold of the Germanican battle plans. We’ll know exactly the time and place of the attack.

And?

“We can warn everyone,” she said.

What good will that do? How do we defend ourselves against a googolplex of alien pathogen warriors?

“We suit up.

Suit up? Oh, right: Suit Up. But how did she know about suiting up? Again, must have heard it out on Santa Monica Boulevard.

“We can turn their own strategy against them. If we can somehow cover every man, woman, and child in hand sanitizer, we can fend off the first wave of the attack. After that, the little buggers won’t have anywhere to go. They’ll be left out in the open. Exposed. Once exposed, they’ll start dropping like flies.”

Like War of the Worlds.

“So do you know where he is?” she asked.

Who?

“The Professor?”

Of course I wanted to tell her that the Professor called and that he was in a place called Hollydale, but I was in a coma and could not.

Now, I know what you’re going to say: that this was my dream and I could do anything I wanted. But the truth is, none of us has any control over our own dreams. Not really. If we did, then we’d all be movie makers. Right?

“We’ve got to find him. Earth’s very existence hangs in the balance”

I would if I could.

“The Professor is the only one who knows where the Tumerlingian spy is, and thus the battle plans. We must find him.”

Got it the first time.

Then all of a sudden everything got quiet. I look around and that’s when I realized: we weren’t in a haunted house anymore, but a castle. Only, this is no ordinary castle. This castle is a cartoon.

Next thing I know I’m looking at Fanny and she’s a cartoon, too. She’s Cinderella.

“Not Cinderella, silly,” she says. “Princess Aurora.”

Who?

“Sleeping Beauty.”

Oh. THAT princess. I knew my Disney movies like I knew the inner workings of the LA sewage system.

I guess that makes me Prince Charming, I told her.

“Prince Phillip,” she said.

Whatever.

How I got trapped inside a Disney cartoon, in my own dream, I’ll never know. I hate Disney.

“This is not just any dream,” said Fanny. “This is Our dream.”

OUR dream?

“Yes,” she said, “OUR dream.”

Right. You and me.

“I’ve been here before,” said Fanny.

My princess.

“What about you?”

Me?

“Yes; you, Arlen.”

I don’t think so. I hate Disney.

”You sure?”

Quite.

With that, Fanny seemed disheartened, and done.

“Dance with me, you fool” she said.

But I don’t know how.

“Like this,” she said, and she pulled me close.

Next thing I know, Fanny and I are dancing. Slow dancing. Imagine that.

“There we were,” she said. “It was late at night and we were all alone. There was just the music on the radio. All the lights were down low. Don’t you remember?”

I did not, but it all sounded so wonderful.

“It was just you and me. No one else in the whole wide world. Our shadows danced all across the wall as we moved to the music, so soft and slow. The rest of the world was so far away and small, it was like we were the only two people alive.”

Then, she told me to hold her. Hold her tight, and never let her go.

Of course, I said. Never, Never will I let you go.

I told how she was the only one for me. Ever. I told her about how much love there was in this heart of mine.

She whispered to me. I told her she was the one I was looking for all my life, the one I thought I’d never find.

I told her for me, there was no one else in the whole wide world.

Whole wide world.

Alice in Wonderland suddenly appeared. There was Buzz Lightyear, Chip ‘n’ Dale, Peter Pan. There was Mickey, Donald, and Goofy too.

Then we kissed. Fireworks exploded overhead. It was the kiss to end all kisses, as far as cartoon kisses go. Do cartoon kisses even count? How about dreams of cartoon kisses? How about coma dreams of cartoon kisses?

I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned, it was as good a kiss as any. For me, it didn’t matter whether it was real or not, just the feeling I got from it. As far as that was concerned, the feeling was as real as it gets.

I kissed her as long as my dream would hold. Fanny was more beautiful than any movie star ever. More beautiful than Barbara Stanwyck, even.

But all dreams must come to an end. Even coma dreams.

Suddenly and slowly I came out of it. Not out of my coma, out of my coma dream.

That’s when I noticed a song playing on the radio. It was Slow Dancin’. Not the Funky Kings original, but the Johnny Rivers cover. Swayin’ to the Music. Now, I got it.

Oh, well. It was fun while it lasted.

Then, I realized Fanny was there. I could still smell traces of her perfume. Exactly what time it was, whether it was night or day, I do not know because I WAS STILL IN A FUCKING COMA!!!

“Well, now,” said Fanny, “how’s my favorite trauma-induced, unresponsive, deep-sleeping Casanova?”

Missing you. More than ever.

“Well, I thought maybe you could use a little cheering up.”

You bet I could. And while you’re at it, see what you can do about the food. No more Nasogastric Tube milkshakes, please!

So she told me a joke.

“What did the nurse say when she found a rectal thermometer in her pocket”

I don’t know.

“Some asshole has my pen!”

Chuckle, chuckle. Coma chuckle.

“Did you hear the one about the nurse who died and went to hell?”

I did not.

“It took her two weeks to realize that she wasn’t at work anymore.”

Funny.

“What’s the difference between Mother Teresa and a nurse?”

Heard it. If you want to hear real nursing humor, go down to the trauma center sometime. Fanny was such a cornball. Still, she was my cornball.