I'm going to a play with my family--all of my family. I have a lot of family. The play is in some sort of stadium, but it kind of works. I guess like the ice rink place downtown that we saw Disney on Ice at when I was like 4 or something (I don't actually remember). So we're there, and the play is going on. It's some Greek tragedy with Zac Efron and that chick from HSM starring in it.
In the middle of the show, something goes wrong, and Zac and the chick are fighting. Somehow I get involved and my old best friends from elementary school. The play pauses.
Meanwhile, some new guy is manning the DJ station (I'm not quite sure why the DJ station exists). During pauses he starts playing really slow music. My brother goes up to him and is all, "you're a lame DJ," and they start to fight, but because of the slow music and the fighting of the actors and stuff, everyone is walking out. I save the day by putting on some rockin awesome music and some people stay. But then this other thing happens (?) and for some reason everyone decides to leave for real. In the hectic craziness, I find my wee sister and we make our way upstairs together, to the exit.
Upstairs, there are a few people lazily milling around. The vast majority of the audience has gone. My sister walks up to the vending machines.
"Allie, I need to talk to you," she says, and she's crying. I roll my eyes.
"Stop crying. What's up, Weas?"
"I've been thinking about killing myself. Or you guys," she says. I stop rolling my eyes and decide this is serious.
"'You guys?'" I ask.
"You and Sam," she says. Oh my heavens, my sister is more insane than I thought.
"Okay, let's talk," I say, and I follow her to wherever. Suddenly we're at her dorm room, which is at the end of the T in a pre-worker's union NYC apartment building. She's on the 3rd floor. While we're there I look out the window and someone throws out their trash into the alley between their building and Weasa's.
"That's what I hate," she says as the bag of trash lands decisively on the ground and makes a disgusting spletch noise.
"That is pretty sick," I say, and suddenly I realize that there is a dead body in that bag. "If someone died and were left in one of those bags, no one would even notice because the smell is so bad anyway," I say. Weas just looks at me, because clearly I am insane, but anyway, we both think the other one is insane, so there you go.
Then we're suddenly back in the lobby of that strange stadium/auditorium, at the vending machines.
"We're starting a movement," Weasa says to me. I just stare at her, like wtf? I'm sorry, man, but this is so weird. She swipes her student ID into this vending machine and presses some buttons. The glass face of the vending machine opens and she reaches inside, pushes aside some candy or something, and pulls out a key.
"This is the key to an important room," she says, closes the vending machine, and moves to the next one. "It needs to get to important people."
"Oh," I say, and look up because I distinctly feel like I'm being watched. There's this guy across the room staring suspiciously at me and the Weasa. "Weas, there's a guy staring at us," I say.
She turns and looks at him. "Oh, he's on our side, don't worry. He's watching out for us."
She turns back to her vending machine and fiddles with it. It's not working. She looks at the clock and starts freaking out because apparently time is running out. So I do my best to fiddle with the thing too, and my sister's all like, "Stop it, just make up a cover story!" because her ID card is stuck awkwardly in the machine and it's obvious that she's not supposed to be doing that, and this admin lady is coming up.
So I pull out the PB+H sandwich that's been chillin in my purse and I'm all, "Here, Weasa, this is how you eat peanut butter and honey," shifting my body so the lady can't sea Weasa's fingers. Weasa takes the sandwich in one hand and takes a bite. The lady is distracted.
"What kind of bread is that?" she asks. "Which vending machine did you get it in?"
"I didn't get it from the vending machine," I said, as if that were obvious. "This is spelt bread, the best kind of bread out there. The bread you sell here on campus is so not even whole wheat. What do you expect me to eat? Seriously, you really need to look into getting some sort of bread with high fiber content," I say.
"Wow, you're so right," the lady says, and grabs my arm to drag me from the Weasa. I let go of the vending machine and go with the lady to the exit, and then she tries to make me leave with her but I'm all "I'm actually a custodian" so she lets me stay. Whew.
So I go back in there, and Weasa is with that guy from across the room and they're both at the vending machines. The guy sees me and hails me over.
"Will you join us?" the Weasa asks. "I think we can trust you."
"What are you even doing?" I ask. "Besides breaking into vending machines, of course."
"We're destroying the Establishment," the guy is like. "Are you in?"
"Of course I'm in, I hate the establishment. Can I have a secret mission or something?" I say, and the guy is so excited he grabs my arm and starts running down the hall. We stop at this door with notebook paper notes taped to it, all folded up, and a lock that you have to press buttons on to unlock. He unlocks the door and there's a big conference room inside and a few other people.
"Operatives," he explains to me, and greets the one or two others by name. Then he takes a seat.
"What's your name?"
"Allie."
"I saw you at the DJ station."
"Yeah."
"You like politics."
"Yeah."
"Well," he says, and pulls out some notebook paper. "First things first, your secret identity. Your code names will be Super Julia on Tuesday, and Rage Age War Discreet." He writes them down.
"Uh, those are kind of long names," I say. "How about something simple. A regular name of a normal human being."
"Ach, you're right," he says. "Your other code name will be Tom C."
"Uh, okay," I say.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AND this is where I woke up. Kind of too bad, I was excited for my secret missions.
Last night I was reading this book about the Clintons, and there was this whole chapter on the people that have been close to them who have mysteriously died. Guys, it was so creepy. Their personal doctor is found dead and then the people who know about it die too. The typical method of killing is gunshot wounds to the head, and they're all like the same--and in every single case, the people killed are ruled to have committed suicide....
even though there is no gun nearby. A few people with inside knowledge of the Clinton-Gore HQ in Little Rock were found tied up and stabbed and beaten on these railroad tracks, right, dead of course, and there were seven people who came forth to testify in court. Within the space of like 18 months, all seven of those people were dead. Mostly gunshot wounds to the head ("suicides") and one beheading, which the coronor ruled as a death by natural cause (gee, I hate it when people's heads fall neatly off their bodies. Happens all the time, you know. It's as natural as hangnails and bad hair days).
Or, did you know, twelve of the Clinton bodyguards have been killed mysteriously.
Twelve. When does that even happen? When does that happen. There are pages and pages of death stories involving former fundraising buddies, physicians, bodyguards, White House interns, campaign managers, close personal friends. Writers. There are three or four instances of a person writing down a report of something going on with the Clinton campaigns and then mysteriously being shot in the head, or beheaded in a dumpster behind Starbucks or whatever. Coincidence? ...hmm. Weird.
Our country is so screwed.
But anyway, so that's what I was reading into the wee hours of the morning, and it occurred to me while I read that maybe that's why everything would happen in my life, if I personally crossed the Clintons through something I wrote and they tried to kill me.
I think it would make a fascinating story.
Maybe this dream will have to become a novel. I think I would read it. You know, if I read fiction anymore, LoL. Whatever.
Hmmm....
