I had a lovely dream. I dreamed that I was going to a library event promoting books. Some kind of children or author event at a library. This library had a little cafe room off the main floor that served coffee and even wine. I don’t know of any library that has a wine bar.
On the way to this unheard of library and its event, I met a gentleman who was balding. The man looked really unkept upon closer inspection. He was sitting next to me on the vehicle taking me to the library. I was being all looky-loo at this balding disheveled man, recognizing he was the gentleman advertised on the flyer that I had about this library event. So I said, “Hello!”
“Oh!” He said, not recognizing me.
Since he seemed familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I knew him from besides the flyer, I googled him. Turned out he was a friend on my Facebook account, a favorite friend in fact. I said, “This is you is it not?”
He looked at my phone, “Yes, that is me,” and then “Oh, and you are . . .” He realized who I was, interrupted himself and asked me in a higher pitched excited voice, “Have you been to the library yet?”
“No, I am on my way there,” my reply was calm and unconcerned.
His eyes widened as he leaned in as if to whisper something in private, instead his voice was shockingly loud and his hands moved about wildly, “Something is terribly, terribly wrong! You must save the day!”
I thought this is crazy (it was a crazy dream).
We go to the library where he had already been. Inside the library it is very quiet. The quiet is a very, very quiet, an eery quiet and everybody we find in the library are reading, shushing us.
I asked the gentleman, “Where is the event?”
“I don’t know!” He was anxious at this point, so we agree to split up and investigate. Going through the library, we can’t find any staff at all. There’s not anybody checking out the books or shelving. No one seems to know where the library staff is. The gentleman tries the door to the little cafe just off the main desk to look. I go behind the desk to the offices to find nothing wrong and no one. He comes out and finds me in the offices yelling, “You must see, you must see!”
He now has on this apron along with a carafe of wine and towel over his left forearm. I asked him what happened, he seems in shock, more wide eyed than before. “I am like, I am . . . , I am serving the Queen! In the library!”
He says, “The Library Queen! . . . The Queen of Books! The Book Queen? I don’t know what she’s queen of, but she’s the Queen and she is holding court and everyone’s waiting for you to wait upon her.”
I follow him into the cafe and the gentleman scurries off somewhere. On one side of the room is a bunch of people bowed down upon one knee as if frozen and on the other side, people are waiting on her, the Queen. Fetching her this and that, fulfilling her every whim, even children. I stood watching those in front of me approach the Queen.
Apparently it goes something like this:
- You walk in and bow.
- The Queen asks what you brought her.
- You answer and present the Queen with the gift.
- She looks at it critically.
- You are either sent to knee indefinitely or allowed to wait upon her whims.
My turn comes and I am standing there in front of the Queen. I don’t bow because, well, I am still in shock. The Queen ignores my error and plunges in seeking my gift for her, almost pestering me for it, “You, You, You there, what have you brought me today?”
“I have brought you nothing. I don’t know who you are. I am here for the library event.” (Laughter can be heard behind me from the kneeling crowd. The serving crowd gasps.)
“What is that, that around your neck?” The Queen spies a potential gift, one which I had not even been aware of before.
Around my neck I find I have this ribbon, a beautiful blue ribbon, from it dangles a piece of clay that has been made into an flat oval shape. I recognized it as a necklace my granddaughter had made in school, and given to me, her grandmother, for grandmother’s day. (Where this knowledge and memory came from I have no clue, as I have nothing like this in my possession, nor has my granddaughter made this to my knowledge.) I say to this bossy Queen,”This? This is a gift from my granddaughter. ”
The queen says, “I shall have it, that is what you have brought me today. My mind’s made up.”
I scream, “NO! No you will not!”
All kinds of whisperings swirl around me, “She doesn’t understand the game!”
“ She doesn’t get the game.”
“She doesn’t know what the game is!”
“Oh, my god its gonna be ruined!”
“She is going to get us all in trouble!”
“She is going to get us killed because she won’t play the game.”
Some man, acting as a type of guard for the queen, comes over and grabs the ribbon attempting to yank it from my neck. Because my granddaughter tied it around my neck, and tied it in such a tight know, he can’t get the necklace off. He pulls it hard sending me over the table between us (the queen and me) I land in a heap at the Queen’s feet. She steps down from her pedestal throne and she tries to pull the ribbon off of me all the while I am screaming, “You can’t have it! It’s mine! My granddaughter gave it to me!
And the Queen keeps saying, “But I must have it!’
Then there was a big . . .
and the dogs woke me up to go to the bathroom.