"I had a dream about you last night." I hands flew like moths around a light bulb, needing to go on and touch the light, but kept from the bright filament by an invisible barrier.
"Really," the mirth in your voice enveloped me like a warm summer rays. "Well, do tell."
"Ok," hesitantly I let my dream envelope me. "I came into your office. Without knocking I just ran in and shut the door heavily behind me. I don't remember turning the lock, but I must have. I remember thinking that the people in the rest of the office wouldn't be able to get in..." Should I really tell you this?
I continued, ... "The light was strange, well, maybe it was the shadows. The large oak desk overpowered the rest of the room, but it seemed to be glowing without any shadows. The only thing that diminished the big, dark desk was you sitting behind it, a pile of folders at your elbow. When you saw me come in, you turned off the recorder, I guess you must have been taking dictations."
I hear you snort then say, "Well, that wouldn't be unusual. I do my dictations every day or else I become hopelessly behind and records hates that." I giggle at your predicament, or maybe I'm giggling to hide my nervousness.
Tentatively, I continued, "Well, anyway, like I was saying, the light was wrong. The desk seemed to shimmer even though the wood was dark. Your diplomas on the wall seemed to be reflecting some unseen light source. Hmmm, now that I think about it, the light seemed to be coming from you. How odd is that?"
"Well, it IS your dream," you inform me. "But why are you telling me this? It doesn't seem like this dream should have upset you."
I hope you don't notice the blood that rushed to my cheeks. Hopefully my long dark hair covered enough of my face to hide my shame. I look down into my lap at my hands, which move like frightened birds worrying a crust of bread.