The Most Vivid Dream

I have a few vivid dreams that have stuck with me over the years, and I'd like to share one in particular here today.

Background: This dream occurred when I was a senior in high school, and I was recovering from wisdom tooth surgery. Under normal circumstances and for a run of the mill sick day, my Mom would have left me home alone while she was at work. This was a little different, I'd had all four wisdom teeth removed at once (which in hindsight, I am grateful for having done so), and the post-op swelling and throbbing pain took hold almost immediately after the surgery. Since I was going to be heavily medicated over the next few days, I convalesced at Grandma's so she could keep an eye on me. She was all too pleased to do the pseudo-Jewish grandmother thing and feed me matzo ball soup.

My Grandmother was a widow at this point, as my Pop-Pop had passed on about two years ago. She had a faithful companion in the adorably rambunctious form of a Miniature Longhair Dachshund. His name was Schatzi. 

Details surrounding that stay are mostly hazy and vague. Although normal, my body's reaction to the procedure kept me in a constant state of pain for the first few days after. I was pretty much on a constant cycle of Tylenol 3 with Codeine, eating what little soup I could manage (much to Grandma's chagrin, of course) and copious amounts of sleep. Schatzi was, by all accounts, the welcoming committee to any visiting and overnight houseguest were gifted with having him as a bedmate for the duration of their stay. So naturally, he stayed by my side the entire time I was recuperating.

The Dream: On the second or third night of my stay, I recall taking another dose of meds and crawling into bed. I remember feeling the weight of Schatzi curled up on top of the blankets and at my feet, lightly snoring as I quickly drifted off. 

I'm now alone, standing on a moderately bustling street with my right arm extended and waving. Quizzically, I look up to see why. Oh, I am trying to hail a cab, apparently. My free hand is holding an umbrella, shielding myself from a downpour. I am yelling out something that does not make sense to me, at least at first. It sounds like gibberish but then I realize and just know that it's French. I am speaking French. I look around. More gibberish from passersby. Unusual license plates on the cars that whiz by. I turn around, and the unmistakable twinkle of the Eiffel Tower is in plain sight. I'm in Paris!

I'm caught up in the moment as I gaze in awe. The Eiffel Tower! I must go see it closer, and when it's not raining. Although it's rather romantic seeing it just like this in the rain. It's Paris, of course, it's always romantic. My trance is broken by a man yelling. More gibberish that still makes complete sense, somehow. I turn to look. A taxi has arrived, and the cabbie is frustrated and asking if I am going to take all day. 

The cabbie has a familiar face...Schatzi!? What on Earth!? He shakes his head, not recognizing me, yelling at me some more. Small bits of ash fall from the cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he moves. I don't want him to drive off, so in one full swoop, I am in the back of the of the cab, umbrella closed. He straightens in his seat, and somehow adjusts the plaid beret on his head, even with his very short legs. I look further and see that he has a custom driving setup with the brake and accelerator pedals almost directly under the steering wheel. Which makes sense, since his legs are 3 or 4 inches long, at most. His mood changes now that I am in the cab, He's idly singing along to the radio. He asks me where I want to go, and I tell him I am not sure, worried that he'll throw me out. But to my surprise, he's OK with that. We sit in silence for a bit as he drives on, the never losing sight of the sparkling lights of the Eiffel Tower. He starts singing again and tells me that he loves classic standards. 

Suddenly, I bolt upright. I am woozy with sleep and still deep in the opioid haze. I can see the glow of the TV that Grandma has likely fallen asleep to, as she does. My eyes adjust to the outline of Schatzi, now splayed out and inexplicably taking up the bed. 

"Schatzi," I ask groggily. "Was that really you?"

And just like that, I am knocked right back out again.

My Parisian cabbie, and a Good Doggo, Schatzi. 1993-2010 💙