Last dream of early morning 5/15/07

The classroom resembles both a room at my elementary school and the auditorium at my work site. On one side of the room, students feverishly work on an Advanced Placement Exam. On the other, an adult creative writing class waits as I pass back packets of poetry. Soldier is supposed to be in class but he has not arrived.

There are two women who eye me with undisguised disgust: a college-age brunette and a thirtysomething blonde, Nadja. Somehow, I know that Nadja had a past romantic relationship with Soldier so I have been doing my best to act professional and keep my personal connection to him discreet. Nevertheless, she upsets me with her cutting eyes. I pass back the young girl’s work, still shaken by a poem that alludes to Soldier as an object of desire and to me as an unworthy rival.

My heart pounds as I walk towards Nadja, stare at my last name in a footnote that confirms the poem is about me. I stare at the comparisons in the last stanza of the poem,
She as the “lover” and me as a “killer”, with her described as “true” and me as “whore.” I stop, turn, get on the phone to call T., my Work Mom. She arrives quickly.
“I can’t do this,” I say. I hand her the packet of writing as Nadja snickers and whispers to the person sitting next to her. I pick up my cell phone and text message Solider, “Where R U?” T. hands Nadja her work. T. walks back and stares at me with doleful blue eyes.

“Call Brett,” I tell her.
“What?”
“Get Brett. I need him here.”
“But he’s gone.”
“Call him. Please. Where is Brett? I need his help.”

I wake up, sad, scared.