Waltz of Her Life

"There wasn't anything showing on the screen? Like a REM or something?"

Geraldine gazed at the screen in disbelief. "No. Not recently."

"But I had a dream," Linda said. "And it was just as real as you and me standing here. How could nothing show on the screens?"

"I don't know."

"Well, do you want to hear about the dream, for the research?"

A sheepish, confused look crossed Geraldine's features. "Normally I would, but if there was no REM activity, the report wouldn't be valid."

"I guess I can understand that." She returned to her sleeping room, put her sensors and the mask back on, and tried to fall asleep, to return to the glorious ballroom.

She did fall asleep, but what seemed like only moments later, the hallway outside her door buzzed with activity. It was seven a.m. After she dressed, Jay met her in the lounge area to give her twenty-five dollars (the payroll was a week behind, the same as at the feed store). She considered just going on to breakfast and then to a bank, but stopped herself.

"Jay, something really unusual happened last night." He squared all of his attention on her as she told him the whole dream about the ballroom and the dance.

After Linda told him the punch line, that the sensors had failed to record anything, he scratched his chin. "It's one of those things, I guess," he said, shrugging. "Most of the time dreams trigger rapid eye movements. Sometimes they don't. I guess this is just one of those times."

Linda went on to discuss what was really bothering her. "It's been three nights and I've only had one occurrence," she said. That was the word they gave to the event that resulted when the mini-bulbs in the sleep mask fired and helped bring on a lucid dream.

Jay patted her on the shoulder. "It'll all kick in soon," he said. "You'll be fine."

"But I feel like I'm stealing money from the department!" she wailed.

Jay gave a short laugh, probably to diffuse some of her tension. "You're not. Believe me, you're not. See you next Tuesday!"

On Saturday she took Myrtle to the good supermarket near the shopping mall at the edge of town. She bought ground chuck, tomatoes, seasoning, ricotta and mozzarella cheeses and a box of lasagna noodles. Lauren and her roommates cheerily welcomed her when she arrived and started working her magic with the stove and oven. Thankfully, between the four of them, they had all the right tools she needed: a large saucepan, a skillet, and a rectangular oven pan for the lasagna itself. All five of them greedily ate Linda's dry, cake-like, spicy lasagna.