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Writer's pictureThe Dreamweaver

Three Segments | The Dreamweaver


SEGMENT 1


I was in Chicago visiting my parents at their apartment on Washtenaw and while I was setting up the new stereo system in the back bedroom, the door opened and it was my old friend Ian from England.


No sooner did we get to talking, he fell fast asleep on the wooden folding chair he was sitting on.


I gently moved his shoulder to wake him and he awoke startled and apologized for dozing off saying he hadn't slept in days and was exhausted from his travels.


He got up off the chair and went over to sit on the radiator and by the time I got back to the room a few minutes later after having gone into the kitchen to make him a cup of tea, I found him fast asleep, curled up on the radiator.


I deliberately closed the door hard enough knowing it would rouse him from his sleep and I handed him the mug of tea.


He said he had been traveling for weeks and had nowhere to live.


I said he could stay with us and I would set up some blankets on the floor where he’d be comfortable.


SEGMENT 2

I drove to a fast food diner on Chicago’s far southwest side after hearing there’d been some racial tensions there due to some plant-based meat products being added to their menu. I thought this would be a good story to cover for the newspaper I was recently hired at.


Arriving at the small restaurant situated at the far end of an indoor shopping mall, I went inside where I observed four tables, two of which were occupied so I sat down facing the counter and the other two diners, middle-aged White women.


The waitress, an older White woman with dyed black wavy hair approached my table and asked to take my order.


I ordered two sunny side up eggs and hash browns and asked discreetly if they had any plant-based breakfast meat. The waitress bent down toward me and, in a faint whisper, said they only had sausage patties. Asking for clarification, I asked the waitress to verify she had understood my request and she said I couldn’t have been clearer and that there was "not an iota of meat or poultry in the sausages."

SEGMENT 3


I joined a theater company in Israel where I had recently moved.


The members of the company were all seated at a large boardroom-style table getting acquainted and going over the policies, procedures and program for the upcoming season.


Just then, the striking dark-skinned sabra actress that was seated opposite me took a pack of cigarettes out of her purse, removed a single cigarette and set the pack on the table in front of her and proceeded to light the cigarette.


Shocked that not only did no one say anything, but just then three or four other actors lit up cigarettes and soon after, half of the company seated at the table were smoking.


I immediately knew I wouldn’t be able to stay in the company and stood up and walked over to a clothing rack where a few of the actors were organizing some men’s costumes, mainly suits and jackets.


I helped them by moving around some of the garments by organizing them into categories, lighter weight to the heavier garments on either side of the rack.


Then I went to the kitchen under the guise of bringing some of the remaining soup bowls used at lunch to be washed.


Once in the kitchen I decided to rinse my hair in the sink as it smelled of cigarette smoke.


There was a small travel-sized bottle of shampoo next to the sink, but picking it up and looking at the label, the only word that wasn’t in Hebrew was the word “silver,” so I assumed the shampoo was for colored hair so I just rinsed my hair with water.


Then I woke up.

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