untitled
'SWEET
DREAMS'
By:
Katvictory
*****
"I
was born in the wagon of a travelin' show.
My mama used to dance for the money they'd throw.
Papa would do whatever he could.
Preach a little gospel,
Sell a couple bottles of Doctor Good."
*****
I was drugged.
That's what I have to tell her the next time I see her. I never
would have mentioned this dream if I hadn't been drugged. Thing
is, she's never asked before, what I dream about. And I must
admit, most of my dreams are not like this one. Actually, if I
told her of any of my other dreams I wouldn't be in this kind of
trouble...no..., if I had told her one of those, she'd probably
try to get me a psyche evaluation. Now, with this one, I've just
confirmed her beliefs that I am a pervert.
It all started with her coming to see me here at the hospital.
They've still got me on some heavy duty narcotics. I sleep most
of the time. And I have some pretty strange dreams with these
pills. I was sleeping when she came up. I was just coming out of
the dream, opening my eyes and I saw her.
"That ain't tactics, honey, that's just the beast in
me..." I murmured, thinking I was still in my dream.
She burst out laughing which brought me instantly, if not
completely, awake. She stood chuckling by my bedside, and when
she saw I was at least partly coherent she quizzed me on my
awakening statement. I told her that I had fallen asleep
listening to that old Cher song and had the weirdest dream.
Because I was out of my mind on painkillers, (given, I must
remind her the next time I see her, because I suffered an injury
in the line of duty) I explained, telling her my dream...
*****
I was walking up a road. It was hot; a steamy Southern night. I
had taken off my coat, slinging it over my shoulder as I trudged
along the heavily rutted dirt path. Hearing the sound of a wagon
behind me, I moved to the side of the road to let it pass. I saw,
to my surprise, it was a colorful chariot of an itinerant
proprietor of medicinal remedies. A perfect opportunity was at
hand to see if I could gain employment. With my silver tongue I
could sell anything.
I stepped a bit onto the road and waved my hands to flag the cart
down. It stopped. The horse was so close I reached out a hand to
pet the animal.
"Hello," I waved, flashing my most charming grin.
The man handling the rig, was a disheveled, nefarious sort. He
was dressed in a spiffy three-piece suit that appeared to have
seen better days. He had the look of an Irishman, once a dandy
but now down on his luck. Perhaps he'd imbibed too much of his
tonic.
"Y'all headin' west?" I asked, making my accent smooth
Southern style.
At that moment a head peeped from the curtain behind the driver.
It was a young woman, a colleen -- beautiful, with long auburn
hair and silky ivory skin. She peered out at me with distrust so
I flashed her my most winning smile and got a shy, virginal grin
for my efforts.
Papa -- I assumed that was who the driver was, noticed the
exchange but said nothing. He only flicked the reins, spit a bit
of juice out the corner of his mouth and continued to study me.
Finally, with a nod to the seat next to him, he spoke.
"Goin' to Memphis."
I grinned happily, and bounded up beside him. I happened to catch
the lassie's eyes as I climbed aboard. They were just as I
expected, a clear sky blue, twinkling with a touch of the devil,
but with nothing but pure innocence at the soul. With a wink that
made her quickly shut the curtain, I settled into my seat on the
rough-hewn plank. This was going to be a very interesting
adventure...
*****
"Mulder," Scully interrupted, her voice low and
controlled. "Is this going where I think this is
going..."
It should have been a warning, but hey, I was drugged.
"Wait, Scully, it gets really good. It was all so
real..."
*****
We stopped by a river to camp for the night. Dr. Good, the
proprietor of the medicine show, was quite a talker. He explained
his business had experienced several disasters of late. (One
being the experience of being tarred and feathered in
Montgomery.) And yes, he could use the services of a tall,
strapping, handsome, smooth-talking, Southern boy to woo the
ladies and con the Gentlemen. Since I was in the South, I was
Southern enough to fit the bill. All the other criteria I was
born with. Doctor Good's Traveling Medicine Show & Apothecary
had hired its newest employee.
The little colleen, whose name was Kathleen, served us our meal
of beans and hardtack (what exactly is that stuff?) I could smell
lilac sachet each time she came near, a heady scent in the hot
August night. Papa soon hunkered down and drifted to sleep by the
fire.
I wandered down to the river, to wash the day's dirt and sweat
away. That's when I saw her standing there, knee deep in the
water. Soft moonlight kissed her pale skin making it shimmer;
tiny beads of water made it glisten. The damp tendrils of her
hair caressed her neck, and I was amazed to watch her sway to
some inner song. She danced on the river bank, a Celtic sprite,
free and wild. She was a pure, hedonistic siren, and of course my
body responded. She must have caught my movement, for she sprang
up the side of the grassy bank, grabbed her colorful gypsy dress
off the tree where she'd hung it, and scurried back to camp.
My bath was uneventful and the cool water helped me so I could
sleep.
We arrived in Tupelo the next day, and after setting up shop I
began my spiel --
"Step right up and hear the news, that's right, Ladies and
Gents, come on up here and hear my testimonial. Before I met Dr
Good and tasted his nectar of health and vitality I was a thin,
shell of a man, racked with consumption and ague. My wife left
me, I lost my farm, turned to alcohol and the company of loose
women. But I saw the light -- I SAW THE LIGHT -- when Dr. Good
picked me up off the street and gave me some of his magical
elixir.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, it cures all that ails you,
consumption, ague, dropsy, piles, croup and colic for the
babies... Ladies, it makes the pain of the monthlies disappear
and fine sir, yes you...if you've taken the diseases that follow
wild women.... you've found a miracle... Now step right up and
get you a bottle of Dr. Good's Tonic of Life, only one thin
dime... yessiree, one-tenth of a green back.... that's it,
sir.... thank you, ma'am... and now lets watch our pretty little
Kathleen dance... this lass was raised on the stuff...!"
We took the money and ran, camping just right on the Tennessee
border.
I followed her that night when she made her way down to the
river, and watched as she stood on the bank to remove her frock,
hanging it once again on a tree branch. She strolled smoothly
into the water and began to soap herself, allowing her hands to
smooth skin that looked to be as soft as down. She bent to scoop
water to rinse, and as it flowed over her she looked to be a
goddess sculpted out of pure ivory by an ancient master.
Finishing, she tiptoed to the bank and her clothing. I stepped
from my hiding place, and took her in my arms. She fought at
first, but as I tasted her cool moist skin she melted.
"Why sir, why do you use such tactics with me?" She
said no, but her body spoke yes.
"That's not tactics, honey, that's just the beast in
me."
*****
"And I guess that's when you woke me up," I explained.
Scully never uttered a word; I couldn't even read her expression.
It looked something like shock and I guess maybe anger, because
she left. I haven't heard from her since.
But, like I said, it wasn't my fault -- I was drugged.
*****
Funny, the nurse just brought me a package. It's a tape. I popped
it in and it's Bob Seeger singing "Night Moves." With
it are the lyrics to the song with a couple of minor changes and
a note, not signed, but I do recognize the handwriting.
"Mulder, a lullaby --
sweet dreams . . .
I was a little too tall
Could have used a few pounds
Tight pants, points hardly renown
She was a red haired beauty
with big blue eyes
And points of her own,
sitting way up high
Way up firm and high...
Out past the cornfields
where the woods got heavy
Out in the back seat
of my '60 Chevy
Workin' on mysteries
Without any clues
Workin' on our night moves
Tryin' to make some front page, drive-in news
Workin' on our night moves
In the summertime
In the sweet summertime, summertime ...
Talk to you tomorrow."
THE END
DISCLAIMER:
They all belong to Fox and C.C., I'm just a lowly wanna-be. Bob
Stone & Seegar penned the songs. I get no money, so I'm doin'
nothin' wrong. Don't be mean and try to sue. I'm so broke,
there's nothin' left for you
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