I’m excited about going to my cousin’s birthday party, but because she’s a girl I have to wear a dress. I don’t want to but I have to. I’m the only boy there but it’s OK because I’m wearing a dress and every one says it’s really pretty. We play pass the parcel and I won a tiara, then we’re playing musical statues and my party dress is sort of… floating around me. It’s really hard to stand still when the music stops because my shoes have heels… so I didn’t win anything.
Did you enjoy the party?
I think so. Everyone was being really nice to me for a change.
Is this ‘for a change’ in real life or in your dreams?
In my dreams.
So in most of your dreams, the other people aren’t very nice to you?
Most of the time they tell me that I have to dress like a girl or tease me for dressing like a girl… sometimes they’re nice to me.
Do you like dressing as a girl? …er… in your dreams.
No. Sometimes.
Have you ever dressed like a girl in real life?
No.
Are you certain?
Yes…
“I must admit I was relieved when you said that.” Mum interjected. I gulped and glanced at her.
…I only dream about it.
Interesting. [pause] I’m going to bring you out shortly Peter. [quietly] is there anything you’d like to ask him? [louder] Peter… your mother’s going to ask you a question.
Er… hello Peter… it’s me..
Just ask him. He knows your voice.
Sorry, yes, of course. Peter… if you had some of the clothes you’ve been dreaming about… would you like to wear them?
I don’t know. Maybe… would I have to wear them?
Not necessarily [pause]
[quietly] Anything else?
[quietly] No. [cough]
[louder] OK Peter, I’m going to leave you under for a few minutes whilst you mother and I have a quick chat. You shall not listen to this conversation. Think about last night’s dream instead.
[click]
[silence]
Talk about an uncomfortable silence! I thought my heart was going to pound out of my chest. I fumbled my fingers nervously and gulped audibly. “I suppose this is when we have that chat.”
My mother smiled through pursed lips and nodded.
I sighed a short sharp sigh before saying, “Well… I don’t know what you expect me to say… since I can only remember tiny bits of any of those dreams.” I told her. “It’s not like I can choose what I dream about.” I added.
“I know love.” Mum said in an empathetic tone. “But there is a common theme to them.” she added. I hung my head. How on earth does a fourteen year old school boy even begin to explain that? “How long have you been having them?” she asked.
I shrugged and said I didn’t know. “A year or two maybe.” I muttered. Mum asked if I’ve always had them as often as I do these days. “I dunno…” I replied. I tried to explain how I wake up, remembering barely nothing apart from maybe one tiny detail and half the time I forget what that was by the next day… but I got the feeling that my mother thought I was just being evasive. “Some of them I can remember for ages… like the one when I had to play hopscotch with the girls at playtime instead of soccer or tag with my mates.” I told her.
“And were you dressed as a girl too?” she asked. I nodded and described the grey pinafore dress with it’s hateful heart shaped zip pull. “So you were back at junior school?”
“Er… maybe… I don’t know.” I replied as honestly as I could. “Last night’s dream still seems really vivid.” I added.
“Which one?” Mum asked. “The nappies or…”
“The bra that I couldn’t remove.” I quickly yet meekly interrupted. “I can still picture it quite clearly.” I confessed as I recalled its numerous broad blue straps criss-crossing my back.
“The bra?” Mum asked. I nodded. She suggested I draw it. “Before you forget.” she said.
“It’s something I’d rather forget.” I told her.
“I know but, the doctor did say it’s important of note every detail down… in your dream diary.” she reminded me. “That’s what I should have got when we were in town.” she sighed. “I’ll pick you one up when I run you to school.”
“I don’t feel like going to school today.” I mumbled.
“Well there’s nothing new there.” Mum smiled.
She got up and put the kettle on, asked me if I’d like tea or coffee. I asked for a coffee. She put a piece of paper and a pencil in front of me and suggested again that I sketch the bra I’d dreamt about wearing. “Can’t I just forget about it?” I asked.
Mum smiled an empathetic smile. “I don’t know Peter… can you?” she asked.
I found myself describing the bra as I sketched it. How its straps criss cross at the back and the additional straps that come from around the armpit and around the back of the shoulder and around the neck. “I don’t think it’s supposed to be.” I replied when Mum said it sounded uncomfortable. She looked at my rough sketch and asked what it looked like from the front. “Just like a normal bra…” I said, taking the paper. “But with a kind of collar.” I added as drew an even rougher sketch.
