My Favorite Chair

Draped over my favorite arm chair in my dining room, the TV in the corner on the Disney Channel, my siblings either playing on the computer or watching Netflix in the living room, I escaped my comfortable world for a more exciting one where my dreams live. So I was reading the book my mother gifted me, about a surgeon's orthopedic residency at Mayo. So far, little has surprised me, other than the methodical way these men work through all of these stressors and don't break down. I want that challenge. Probably not in the orthopedics ward, but in a hospital nonetheless, my heart racing the first time a scalpel cuts by my hand.


But there's part of it that is hard for me to swallow. This man, so far in the book, has a wife and two children. I understand he loves them very much, but that love only makes his journey more difficult. He has barely any time to spend with them, and his daughters know his brother better than their own father. His wife gets increasingly tired, jaded by his non-presence and broken plans. And I'm left thinking, "No. Way. In. Hell." Most women will be getting married, starting families, by the time they're 26. Besides the fact that the institution of marriage confuses me, fills me with mixed feelings of several origins, and that having children quite honestly scares the crap out of me, I don't want to be in that position at 26, just starting my residency. Sleep-deprived, overworked, under-appreciated, stressed, I don't want the added guilt that comes with my own family, the feeling of failure, the knowledge that I'm choosing my career over them. That's exactly what it will be and, really, that's the way I'm wired. My purpose here is not primarily to be a wife and mother, which most people can do (though not everyone can do it well). Sure maybe those things will come along eventually, but not when I'm in the middle of my training, walking so dangerously on that rickety bridge that leads to the destination I've been dreaming of my entire life. I'll want my siblings and parents in good relations, but preferably not under the same roof as I. I'll want friends, for sure, which will hopefully be found in like-minded doctors, residents in the same situation. Maybe I'll even be able to accommodate a boyfriend or girlfriend should I be so blessed, but that will be difficult, particularly if that person is not also a medical professional. All in all, I will be a surgeon; the last thing I want is to have more complications.


As tradition holds, I fell asleep in my chair. I started dreaming immediately, an interesting, not-usually-great sign. I entered a church courtyard, where several young women were floating above tombs, wearing white, ragged dresses, with daggers above their heads. Soon enough, I found myself floating about, as if I had rocket boots or something to keep me hovering, almost flying around. Some "important" figure appeared, a judge of sorts, maybe a priest or other religious leader. Suddenly a dagger appeared next to me, and it started moving, writing letters into my arms, messages to the figure and the other girls around me. I couldn't tell if I was moving this dagger with my mind or if it was out of my control. I felt I and the other girls were being condemned for something, as if we were witches. Then the dagger turned into some sort of sooty stick, and dark lines were drawn on my hands and fingers. A man with wings entered the room preceding the courtyard, a hero of sorts, there to rescue us. If he succeeded or not was unclear, but I was then transported to a giant castle room, and the world switched around. I was no longer good, I was evil. I took a bag and floated to the top of the mantle above a ginormous fireplace and starting putting in several different ornaments and a stuffed turkey. A giant red dragon appeared in the room adjacent to me so I took the things out of the bag and replaced them, scared of being killed by the monster. To my surprise, the dragon came over, nudged me with its nose, and purred, much like a cat. The winged-man, with wings of black or blue, appeared once more, and beckoned me to a large window at the side of the room overlooking what seemed like an ocean. He said something along the lines of "Come, we have more interesting things to see." I followed him out the window and another flying man appeared. We flew behind the first man, and we flew fast with what felt like little control. The little control I had starting diminishing as I glided above the ocean and through cities of a different time period, where everything was made of stone and fire and automobiles did not exist. I started to become fatigued and I couldn't maintain my speed or altitude, and whatever wings I had turned grey and transparent. The man near me, the second one, noticed this, said something like "She wasn't ready for this," and held onto me, helping me complete the journey. We landed soon in a city of white brick walls and humble shops and homes, a canal running through the middle of it, roads built over bridges over roads. I looked at the boy who had saved me, and acknowledged his help by closing my eyes and engaging in a long, passionate kiss, better than I've ever had in my waking life. The next thing I knew I kicked my leg out in real life, knocking over a container of almonds, spilling them all over the floor. My lovely dream was over.

That was a pretty poor recall of my dream, but it was quite interesting. Sure there was more, and feelings and sights I could not convey if I tried, but those were the most notable things. I almost never dream of things of that nature. That fantastic part of my mind usually lies dormant in favor of more modern things that have very little apparent meaning, just random scraps thrown together from the corners of my psyche.

I can try to be with you,
but somehow I'll end up just losing a friend.