“April in DJ’s Cafe” — C.Birde, 10/16
Shut the car’s door. Leave it. Walk away. Cross the wide street, dodging traffic, darting between parked cars. Hands upon the door – glass cool beneath fingers’ touch. Enter the café. Pause to scan the interior from the threshold. Pendant lights shed a warm, welcoming glow over booths and small tables. Quiet murmur of conversations. Locate him. Seated in a bentwood chair, he leans forward, shirtsleeves rolled up, elbows on table. Across from him, on the upholstered bench, a second man nods, interjects, listens.
Descend three steps. Weave between tables clustered about the dark-tiled floor. Sit down on the bench nearest his table. Don’t interrupt – he discusses business. Also, the baby needs attention. Nine-month-old April. Balance her on one knee as you wait, hands spread to cup and support her small form. She is a contented froth of white-clad lace and ribbons, taffeta and crinolines.
Another woman, clad in crisp dark skirted suit and hat, slides down the bench, asks: “Do they have a date?”
A date? Search her face for understanding – skin thin as parchment, creased at the corners of her eyes, downward at her mouth’s edges. Her expression yields nothing. Scan the café again, observe the small clutches of people – mostly men discussing business. Observe the women – all plain-clothed, practical, narrow women. Women with infants of various ages. Women waiting. Nannies?
Tell her, “No. No date yet.”
The woman nods shrewdly, asks: “What are your hours?”
Tell her, “Mornings. Evenings. Most afternoons.” Hold April closer. Feel her warmth, her aliveness, the pleasing weight of her. Inhale the fresh infant scent of her.
The woman seems surprised, says: “I only have the day shift – that’s enough.”
Smile at her. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know.
The men finish their discussion, rise to depart. Time to go. Lift April – taffeta crinkling – balance her on one hip. Follow the men around the tables, across the café, outside. Pause briefly to consider poster on wall – “DJ’s Café”; curling periwinkle and white paper on old brick.
Shoulder the door open. Step outside, into crisp Autumn. Realize the men have drawn away – across the street, into the dappled shade of the tree-lined park, brightly studded with the colored silk tents of a fair. Holding April close, hurry across the street to catch up. Lose sight of them amongst the shifting current of fairgoers and performers.
Nightjars & Damselflies 
My dream: Awake in dark movie theater. See corny kung fu movie playing on screen ahead of crowd. Find myself at the rear. Screen moves behind and to my right. Mildly amused. Screen moves to my left and changes to a raunchy cop TV show. Not interested and close my eyes, thinking I should brush my teeth before going to sleep. Movie theater turns into a brightly lit gym where scrawny black comedians pass through a dark curtain to become muscular giant parodies. One passes me as I hide beneath a blanket. He says there is nothing to fear as we are all muscular, now. Still, I hide. Waiters and waitresses, dressed in red, black and white, pass by, glancing my way and whispering criticism of my behavior. View shifts to a wall of vanity tables. A cluttered mess of photos and notes includes a dry erase board with names of performers about to go through the dark curtain to the left. I deduce these are stripper names shortly before some horribly dressed women (or men in drag) pass through and then exit through the curtain. A waiter walks by me and jokingly reaches for my crotch, claiming there’s a package for him there. I wake defending myself.
So, are you looking for a nanny? Or, what do you make of this one?
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That’s a lot of material to work with! If I were you, I would consider the dream you related in a series of smaller scenes. I would look for recurring themes that might be disguised as different images. I would try to determine the dominant symbols in each “scene” and consider my reaction to those symbols, and then try to see if they are reflected in my waking life. Remember, I believe that as dreamers, we each have our personal language of symbols, although there are archetypal forms common to us all.
As to my own dream, no nannies for me — I see my dream as nurturing an “infant” personal project, although I am mystified by the specificity of “DJ’s Cafe”.
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the details of the person of the protagonist approaching and then entering the cafe are strong, vivid. once inside, things get mysterious, especially in the conversation of the two women. the persona is focused on being with a man, but he is an elusive “spirit.” april is innocent beauty and hope.
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Your insights intrigue. I struggle with the concept of anima/animus — which seems to appear quite strikingly in this dream, with all the women being caretakers in the form of nannies (but for me, holding onto April as my own “new beginning”) contrasted by the men who are oblivious to the women and wrapped up in “business” talks. I suppose, some day, the concept will make sense to me 🙂 This dream was actually the continuation of the previous dream, “Wild Ride”, and it will wrap up in a third chapter next week… 😉
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Thanks for the tip. I look forward to reading the other two chapters and then the third.
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