A Real Dream

Date: 20 August, 1996

A Real Dream

The following is a real dream that I had on my last night in Guatemala. Read it like a screenplay - or rather, a teleplay. Think America's Most Wanted Home Videos Tonight.

Theme music. A newscaster's talking head and desk.

ANNOUNCER: This is Sam Donaldson. Good evening.

Cut to other announcer.

ANNOUNCER 2: And I'm Kevin Mitnick, filling in for John Tesh, and this is Entertainment Tonight.

Cut to video.

A woman aiming a rifle, mounted on a swiveling tripod, out a first-story bedroom window. She's white trash, skinny, dressed in a long skirt and maybe an open vest and sleeveless shirt. Behind her and to the left is a dresser drawer. There are no lights on in the room. Outside it's nighttime, with a bustle of activity - spotlights, sirens - maybe a helicopter.

WOMAN (shouting out window): Well I see a bunny in the bushes over there...

She aims down and to the left, at a bush by the backyard fence. The camera zooms in on a white object - it's part of a uniformed officer, crouching and taking a bead.

WOMAN: And there's one up in that tree there...

Her accent is the kind of redneck twang that's heard in trailer parks from South Carolina to Oregon.

She aims up and to the right at a tree in the yard - again, her sharp eyes (and the camera) pick out a sniper.

WOMAN: And then there's you, so I guess *that's* what you mean by "just you and me...!"

A megaphone begins to respond. (At this point the sleeper realizes that, just before the scene, the negotiator had said something like, "Okay now honey, let's talk about this, just you and me.")

But suddenly, the camera pulls back slightly to reveal - she's not alone in the room. A guy, blond, hair tickling his neck, a little moustache - frantic (much more than she is) - approaches from behind, shoulders his way to the window. He's holding a big handgun, with a long, thick silver barrel. He waves it out the window as he yells.

MAN: OK, enough of this! You're going to get me out of here!

MEGAPHONE: OK, just calm down --!

MAN: *You* calm down! Fuck this!

His eyes flit tentatively, nervously, between the lights outside and the woman. His gun does the same.

MAN: I'll do it! I'll blow her away!

He points his gun at his woman - grabs her neck -- now apparently she is his hostage.

But in a Quentin Tarantino turnaround, she starts yelling at him.

WOMAN: You'll fucking what?

Before he can respond, *she* pulls out a handgun and sticks it in his face. (Hers is smaller - maybe a snub .38)

The camera is now tight in on their faces.

He starts to stammer.

WOMAN: Do it! Come on! Fucking blow me away!

His resolve is faltering. He seems to gather courage, grits his teeth - pushes his pistol so its barrel distorts the flesh of her cheek. Her gun is still in his neck. Her eyes are defiant, her mouth a sneer. He hesitates, pulls his gun back an inch... She drops hers to his chest, taunting him.

MAN: ... I cain't.

He sags, decomposed.

He sinks onto the bed (stage left), on his back, his shirt unbuttoned, his chest bare and tan, an elbow at his forehead, sobbing.

MAN: Yer my woman.

She suddenly drops all her attitude, puts down her gun, and falls to his side. Her smile is fawning and girlish. She curls up next to him, snuggling into the crook of his neck, her arm across his waist. (He's still gazing dejectedly at a spot on the ceiling.)

WOMAN: Well then, kitchy kitchy coo.

Freeze frame: the couple on the bed. The sound of a studio audience saying, "Awww..." as it starts to applaud.

Before the theme music could start, the first of my wakeup knocks filtered through my earplugs and changed the channel. A slightly pudgy young woman, Mayan or Chinese, says, "I've always *wanted* a Latin lover." Another knock; I wake up. It's 4:30 AM in a dingy hotel in Chimaltenango.