Dreams and Desires

“So, this happens every night?”

Brett Waters stares at me as if I’m insane, and frankly I’m beginning to agree.

We’re sitting in the Hart House dining room having lunch and I’m telling him about my dreams.

We both teach courses in modern drama, although he teaches Ibsen and Chekhov and tends to be philosophical and I specialize in Tennessee Williams and am preoccupied with desire.

But I’m not just a drop of reason in an ocean of emotion—I hope. I try to convey some semblance of rationality.

“I’m at a loss to explain it,” I tell him, “but somehow I get the impression this girl is someone I once knew and is now dead—and, let’s face it, she’d have to be, because as you know, my love life is pathetic.”

“Any clues as to where your dream affair takes place?”

“I get the impression it’s the Deep South—I see white manses and smell magnolias.”

He rolls his eyes. “O my god, Bro—southern belles and mint juleps! Can’t your dreams at least be a little less conventional?”

I colour a little at his shock—Okay, a lot. I feel the need to explain—to try to justify myself.

“Yeah, I thought of how lame that sounds too—but I do teach Tennessee Williams.”

He arches an eyebrow.

“Well, if I were you, Pal, I’d just go with the flow. It seems harmless enough—but until we perfect 3-D holography, this is probably the closest you’re going to come to losing yourself in a romantic fantasy.”

He gets up to go to his 1:00 pm lecture. “I hate to say it,” he grins, “but Freud would have a field day with you.”

I smile ruefully as he walks away. He’s right, of course—it’s probably my long-suppressed libido speaking to me through the language of dreams.

But I also have a lecture to attend too, and as I think about it, the image of my Nemesis comes to mind in the person of Karine Williams, a beautiful, but challenging student.

From the first day of semester, Karine has been a persistent adversary, peppering me with incessant questions and smirking if she succeeds in catching me unprepared.

Her constant needling has worn me down and made me limit student questions.

Lately though I’ve decided to take a more proactive approach—not allowing her acres of time to hand in assignments, and cutting her off when she verges off track.

I don’t know why she upsets me so much—she’s only an undergrad and certainly not a formidable opponent—but we already have a history, so to speak, and she can call out elemental emotions sleeping in me.

But I’ve made up my mind and have drawn a line in the sand, and if she crosses it today, I’ll make sure she pays.