by Chanel Earl
And I wasn’t upset in my dream. We wore the long dresses and little white bonnets on our heads. There were children, but I didn’t know if they were yours or mine or if they belonged to another woman, who was another sister wife. She was both present and not present all at once, and I think I knew her a long time ago, but maybe she was just a made-up dream person.
It was only a dream, remember? And I can’t be blamed for what happens in my dreams. I am asleep and have no control.
But it was a good dream while I was dreaming it. You were there with me and we worked together, we drove together. Together we made some food in big bowls and carried them outside to a picnic table. There were people everywhere. It was sunny.
You are such a wonderful friend to me, and in the dream, it was the same. We smiled at each other and we laughed as we wiped children’s faces and hands, preparing them to eat. We laughed at their dirty cheeks and their reckless abandon, the joy they felt as they played.
I never met our dream husband. He wasn’t there. But for part of the dream I knew that he was Joseph Smith, and for part of the dream I knew he was a boy I dated in high school, and for part of the dream he was your own real-life husband and that felt awkward, and for part of the dream he was my own husband. That’s when I woke up.
I think it would be best if we didn’t see each other for a week or two. Maybe a few days would even be enough. I don’t know.
I know you can’t be blamed for what happens in my dreams either. It’s not your fault that my subconscious threw us together like that. But I’m still just not going to be comfortable around you for a while. Sorry.