McMenamins Spar Cafe Private Booth

I am recording my dreams n 2017. I rarely dream of a particular person. There is one particular person I dream of often. I thought I’d share this one…

We were at a house party with a live band. The house was a very spacious, well-appointed multi-level mid-century modern that was nothing short of elegant. I didn’t recognize any of the people at the party but apparently, in my dream, I knew them well.

I was sitting at the bar in the kitchen, drinking cranberry juice, and chatting with the hosts. He approached me. He was baked! Without much introduction he asked me, “You want to get out of here? I want to show you something.” (Everything was as is it is now between us. In other words, we are not together and do not speak) I simply replied, “Sure.” He grabbed my hand (…you know even in my dream I was acutely aware how much I love that simple gesture between us) and followed him out.

I don’t recall how we got there, but we walked up to what looked like a concrete block warehouse with a tall chain link fence, and muddy parking area.

One step inside, and the exterior was clearly a facade. We were required to take off our muddy shoes (I was wearing pink Teva sandals) before entering. He grabbed my hand and led me into what can only be described as a cross between a swanky speakeasy, a high end opium den, and an old world library.

There was something glorious, contagious, and ruinous about it that thrilled us both.

It was dark, exotic and rich, with views of the stormy ocean through small windows at each booth or station. Each station was semi-private, came with it’s own server, had a slightly different decor. He chose a sumptuous S-shaped chaise lounge for two with attached cocktail trays and a corner window.

From our corner I could view four gentlemen in a booth (Have you ever seen the private booth at McMenamins Spar Cafe in Olympia, WA? That.) making a transaction illicit drugs out on the table), and a passionate googly-eyed couple sharing cocktails at small antique table that was reminiscent of my favorite restaurant, Cibreo, in Florence, Italy.

I’ll skip the dialogue and what happened next sweetly to myself.

After awhile our female server said, “Mr. _____, it’s time.” It was so charming, I felt as if I had been transported to another time and place, I didn’t want to move. He gave me a look that told me we must. As if on cue everyone quietly exited. I didn’t understand at the time. No money was ever exchanged, the lights went out, and like stage hands people quietly put things away.

When we got outside I realized I had one of my shoes and another person’s shoe, and turned to correct the mistake. Arriving at the back door I was told I could not enter. I ran around where we had originally entered, but by then the concrete shell was flooded with ocean water. It was then I realized what he had not told me about this secret place. It was only known to a few, it operated more like a membership club than a bar, it was open only after dark, and each night it was buried by the sea. In part, to remain hidden from law enforcement.

I could see my shoe stuck in the mud so I held my breath and dove to grab it. I came running out wet and laughing.

He waited for me nervously as I am certain I broke every rule.

We ran across the street and up steep stairs cut into the hillside into a neighborhood (one I have dreamed about before).

Happy.

~Just L (#Dream, January 8, 2017)