Small Press Month: dream time.

I wrote previously about the difficulty in writing good fiction involving dreams - it can come off so very badly.  Derek White, he of Calamari Press (Good, Brother, the excellent Part of the World, among others) has his first novel coming later this year.  I asked if he would share, as part of Small Press Month.  Here's an excerpt - a dream sequence.

The Adjoining Room at the Calico Hotel

Marie-Yves and I went to “get a room.” When we arrived at the hotel the lobby was full of cats—orange tabbies that all appeared to be related. One in particular, with tear-duct markings like a cheetah, rode with us in the elevator. It had some sort of nerve disorder that rewired its intentions. If it tried to jump to the right, it jumped to the left. If it tried to jump up, it slunk to the ground. This cat had learned to make do by always thinking the opposite of what it wanted to do, so by not trying to get in the elevator with us, it ended up in the elevator. Initially I thought by the way the cat was rubbing against me that it truly wanted to ride up with us, until I realized it might be rubbing my leg against its will, and that it in it’s heart it truly despised us.

I was embarrassed because I was the one that had suggested this hotel to Marie-Y, who by this time (judging by the ruby ring on her finger that evidently she had received from me) had become my fiancée. The cat tried to rub against her leg but fell in the opposite direction away from her.

“I’m sorry,” I kept saying.

“Don’t worry about it,” she kept saying back, touching my elbow. “There’s nothing you can do.” Then Marie-Y started rubbing against me with increasing intensity.

When we got to our floor the hall was full of identical calicos. They all got out of our way as we approached like a sea of cat molecules parting. They bowed down on their front paws in perfect unison and avoided eye contact. The orange cat with the nerve disorder and tear-duct markings remained in the elevator as the doors closed behind us.

“Sorry if this is weird for you,” I said.

“Don’t worry. It’s putting me in the mood.”

Our room key said ‘habitation 16-28-13,’ but all the doors had X’s or Y’s on them. The room at the end had a bank vault door with a combination lock.

“Ah-hah,” I realized. “Maybe it’s not the room number, but the combination.” There was a funny smell coming from under the door, making me reluctant to even try it. One of the cats lifted its tail and sprayed on the door, effectively counteracting the smell.

“We’re rich!” yelled Marie-Y. She hugged me and I accidentally kissed her on the lips thinking she was coming to kiss me, not realizing that the custom here was to kiss to either side on the cheek. Marie-Y kept kissing me back, on the lips, and then with an open mouth and I reciprocated. She tasted like she had eaten an orange, or some orange-flavored candy.

“Why?” I asked, after we had finished kissing.

“The Muséum National d’Histoire Naturelle will pay 10,000 euros to anyone that finds a male calico.” When we looked down, the cat had mixed in with the others.

“They all look the same to me.” 

“Only one of them is a male, with an XXY chromosome instead of XY.”

“How will we be able to tell?”

“By lifting their tails and checking.”

When we walked toward the cats, they kept sweeping just out of our reach. Marie-Y got down on all fours, meowing like she was one of them—thinking the male might act differently toward her. No such luck.

We woke up in bed together, which reminded me I was still sleeping and had yet to meet Marie-Yves.