The Spatula

I lived with engineers in college. Actually, I lived with sorority girls who kept sending me out of the dorm room because I was this disastrous thing called Independent and they were all pledging the same sorority. So, most of the time I crashed down the hall with the engineering students. The engineers had a new roommate that semester (not me, an officially-assigned roommate) who worked nights, so they had the extra space and didn’t mind my being there.

We lived on the twelfth floor and there was also a room of engineers below us on the ninth, and we all used to all play this game we called “Fishing for People” where we’d find objects around the dorm and dangle them out the window on a long string. One time in particular, I was assigned to write a creative piece about war, of all things, and someone pulled out a little green Army man to inspire me. It wasn’t long before the Army man got dangled out the window.

When we fished for people, we’d call the ninth floor and tell them to look out their window. They’d oblige and grab the object on the string and throw it hard and it would fly out over Forbes Avenue and swing its way back into their room. After that, we’d lower it down to the sidewalk and try to tap students on the head or shoulder with it. Eventually, someone on the sidewalk would grab it and run off with it and you’d hear our ninth and twelfth floor voices cheering in victory.

As I was writing the war piece, I randomly looked up words in my Dream Dictionary—this was an amazing book. I had other symbolism books, but this little blue/purple paperback with the yellowy-brown pages was the best. I can’t find it for the life of me and it also seems to be out of print--but I keep checking.

One of the engineers, Mike, saw the dictionary and suddenly asked me to interpret his dream. This was interesting because Mike claimed he never had dreams, or none that he ever remembered. So everyone gathered around and he admitted that the previous semester he did have a dream that he remembered, and in it, he went to K-Mart and bought a spatula. The other engineers found this funny, and you’re about to learn why.

My memory tells me that the word spatula was not in the dream dictionary. (That’s not the funny part; it was still an amazing book.) So I asked Mike what else happened in the dream, and he said nothing else happened. Then he admitted that that was the day the engineers needed a spatula in their dorm room so they piled into the car—only one person had a car so it was the car—and drove to K-Mart and Mike bought a spatula. That night he dreamed about, what else but: Buying a spatula.

I’m sorry to say that at the time, this spatula dream was snoozeville for me. What, no flying? No superhero moves? No foggy realm with magical talking dogs? A spatula? Really?

But life has a way of bringing you back full circle again and letting you reinterpret things from your past. Life pretty much gives you lessons on repeat until you really learn them.

Now I think: Don’t knock the spatula. This dream may have been a giant road sign that Mike was on the right path, living exactly when and where he was meant to be: Studying engineering, goofing off in the dorms, being surrounded by friends, and yes, living the dream and buying a spatula.

Sometimes the magic is knowing that you’re doing exactly what you’re meant to do.

~

Grab a copy of my third book, Stories From the Road, and we’ll laugh together on America’s open roads.