glory, glory I had a dream the night before last that I'd been asked to be in a parade. It was divided into ten thematic sections--I was in the last, which was "youth." There were a dozen or so other people in my group--all of them young black women around fourteen or fifteen. We bunked togetherr. We shoved all of our beds together to make one mega-bed and stayed up late talking about what good friends we'd become. All the same, I felt a bit distant.

We were never given much direction as we prepared for the parade--we knew we were to be paired with, and to somehow perform with, another group of young businessmen. But what we were to do and how we were to do it was never fully explained. I grew more and more anxious, and more and more resentful, of the organizers--whom I never met or saw.

The parade itself was actually in a giant stadium--it ran in a circle around the outside track. There were dozens of celebrities around--though Travolta is the only one I remember solidly. Lots of people in fancy dress. The first few sections were over-the-top: huge, dramatic, well-funded. Section 4 was actually a display of military might, completely separate from the track, in the form of a fly-over of jets and helicopters. And the whole time, the girls and I had not really planned what we would do. Obviously we could not compete with jets and celebrity.

I remember seeing group 8 go down in a giant freight elevator--they were being led by someone whom I used to know. I think it was a guy named Glenn. He looked terrified. The kids just kind of skipped around the track. But they were spread very evenly, at least. At that, I just walked away.

I woke up in the morning still upset, resentful. It's a position I absolutely hate being in. I'm actually organizing a reading soon, and I'm playing the role of the Organizers. I don't want to draw a corollary, though--I think I'm being a bit nicer.  ¶ 10:38 AM 0 Comments