means something?

At breakfast I told Tim my dream. I was driving his Ford Falcon and pulling a large utility trailer, trying to get to a writing seminar of some sort. My passenger was a friend whom I respect who was to speak at the event (and maybe I was supposed to, as well), and we were late. Things kept happening; we had to drive to the coast and then go through weird spaces, like a derelict car wash, and I had to stop often and make sure the trailer was still attached right. I worried I would get scratches on Tim’s Falcon or otherwise mess it up. James kept appearing randomly, and I would ask his assistance, but he would be thinking through something and unable to do much for me. I was all-around embarrassed, and the dream stuck with me, so I mentioned it to Tim.

His response: “So you’re the one who took the Falcon and trailer!”

Seems he had dreamed he was at a conference and had pulled a load of electronic parts in a trailer with the Falcon. They were meeting at a hotel, and when he went out to the parking lot, the car and trailer were gone, and he was upset.

Peanut butter jar in hand, I stared at him.

Tim’s 1966 Falcon sits in our garage beside my ’68 Mustang. He runs it very rarely anymore, because it needs rear body work we can’t afford. It’s the car he learned to drive in and bought from his dad. It’s not like we’ve had conversations about it lately.

We don’t usually tell each other our dreams.

I suppose, after 31 years together, things like this happen.

I asked him five times, “Really?” We shook our heads and smiled.

Tim said, “Tonight, I’m coming to get you.”