A Dream About "The Gates"

by Steven Smith

posted 03.01.05

(page 2 of 2)

I woke up lying on a cold cobblestone path, clutching my knees. In front of me was a mass of orange shapes, working themselves back and forth. I blinked back the blurriness in my eyes and focused my vision.

Christo mounting Jeanne-Claude’s massive backside slowly came into focus. Gravel and Shrill, now dressed in orange leather masks and matching cock socks, were drilling Christo and Jeanne-Claude with collectible John Lennon guitars. Jeanne-Claude was smearing excess hair dye all over places that, in a perfect world, would never see the light of day. Christo, continuing to pump and be pumped, readied two electrodes while mumbling, “Just because, just because” under his breath. I turned and ran as fast as my legs would carry me.

“Get back here mein sheizer,” cried Christo, his words tumbling out with a thick German accent.

I looked over my shoulder and saw Gravel and Shrill pull their guitars out with a wet pop. But before they could hurry after me, Jeanne-Claude caught hold of their cuffs.

“No, no,” she said. “You don’t stop.” She then turned to Christo. “And you. Call me Eva.”

As I turned my head back around, I caught a glimpse of the bark on a great oak tree before slamming headlong into it.

-----

I awoke to see a crowd of Saffron gates standing over me, whispering to one another.

“Ooooooh, thank GOD! You’re ok,” said one of the Gates. “We thought with your busted nose and all of this blood, that those two limey sadists had used you up and spit you out. I’m Frank.”

“Nithe tah mee eww,” I said. “Wha hahh puhn?”

“You were out cold ssslugger,” said another gate. “Christo, Jeannie and their two handymen musta spooked you. I don’t blame you though. When those two get going…brrr-rrr, no THANKSSS!”

I looked down at my shirt. It was covered in orange bloodstains that had begun to dry into a flat, neutral gray. I reached for my nose and a flash of white-hot pain shot around my skull and down my spine.

“Ooooh, honey. Don’t touch it. It’sss broken for sure.”

“Ahn who ah eww?”

“Oh heavensss to betsssy, I’m Rick dear,” said the gate with a discernable sibilant “s".

“Nithe tah mee eww. Wheh ah weeh?”

“Were in The Ramble honey,” said Frank. “You gotta come here to get away from those perverts and all the other stuffy gates if you wanna have some fun.”

“Seriousssly. I tried to convince Jack to come along but he was all, ‘We’ve got a job to do here Rick’ and I was all, ‘Whatever Mary !’”

Just then a pulsing house beat rose out of a stack of amps near the babbling brook.

“Ooooooh! I love this song! Care to dance?” asked Rick.

“Shuh, wah the hahw nah,” I said.

The Gates whipped off their fanny packs and got down like a gang of filthy club kids. They were a flurry of grinding, their sheets tangling in the wind. Rick slipped me a tab of something.

“Here honey, take this. It’ll make your nose feel better.”

“Thanh eww.”

“And if you play your cards right, I might even give you something of my own to fix that speech impediment a’yoursss.”

I placed the pill under my tongue. Just before my eyes rolled back in my head, I turned around to look Rick in the eyes.

“Ah with thith coo lath fohevahh.”

“We’re only here for 16 days, baby.”

“Thahn ah behah may ih coun,” I said, tumbling back into Rick’s Saffron fabric.

-----

I woke up in my bed, waist-deep in a puddle of Saffron-colored liquid.

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