Early this morning I dreamt I was at a large local university, attending an event similar to the L.A. Times Festival of Books. It so happened that my ex-boyfriend was also attending the event. I’ll refer to him as Winkie, the name he chose for himself and which I used when dedicating my debut novel to him.

Perhaps I should explain that I dedicated Gullible Travels to Winkie because the Lord had led me to, not because I am holding on to the past. We broke up for the second time years ago, and as one who drives I know one cannot drive by looking in the rearview. Which I once did.

After failing my first driving test in March 2000, it took me over a year to muster the courage to try again. The following summer I invested in a fresh set of lessons, and this time my instructor was a stage actor named Lewis. Early in our initial lesson he astutely commented, “You have a tendency to obsessively look in the rearview.”

I knew at once this applied to more than my driving. Young as I was, I was aware I had a tendency to obsessively look in the rearview of my life.

To return to my dream, Winkie and I walked around the campus for a bit, then went our separate ways. He wanted to check out the music vendors, and I wanted to visit the university’s English/Creative Writing booth.

The representative at this booth was seated at the back. Perhaps in her late thirties, she had straight dark hair and lily-white skin. She was dressed in a white t-shirt and black jeans and wore bright red lipstick. As often happens in dreams, I somehow knew she was an English professor.

The professor refused to acknowledge me when I came up to the table. I asked a few questions about their department, but she did not so much as look up. When I said something about their creative writing program, she briefly glanced at me, but it was a cold, stony glare.

I found the hostility puzzling. I had never met the woman before and couldn’t imagine what I had done to deserve this treatment.

As I was thrashing about for a new question to throw her way, Winkie showed up by my side. I slipped my arm in his and said softly, “Could you please pretend to be what you were twice to me?”

He understood I was asking him to pretend to be my boyfriend, which he was twice to me, so he smiled and said, “I can try.”

Seeing Winkie, the professor arose and began to write on a board behind her, with her back to us. As she did, Winkie stepped away to take a call, and I was on my own again.

“What is your name?” I asked the professor, emboldened by the fact that she’d seen Winkie.

“Lisa.”

“Is that spelt L-i-s-a?”

“It’s e-e, not i,” she replied curtly.

“OK. And your last name?”

“Abercrombie.”

“Well, Leesa Abercrombie,” I said, “you’ve been really rude to me and I will be writing to your department head.”

She uttered a contemptuous snort and continued to write on the board with her back to me.

“And there may even be a lawsuit,” I added. “My boyfriend is an attorney.”

“Whatever that is,” responded Leesa Abercrombie with a shrug.

I walked away from the booth feeling sad yet satisfied that I knew my next step. When I caught up with Winkie again I told him what had happened, then added ruefully, “I missed a really good comeback.”

“What was that?”

“When she said ‘Whatever that is,’ I should have said, ‘You’re an English professor and you don’t know what an attorney is?’”

“That would’ve been a really good comeback,” Winkie agreed with a laugh, and I woke up.

This is not the first dream in which I’ve cracked a joke. But it’s the first time I can recall when I’ve cracked a joke and woken up feeling sad.

In my time of prayer later, the Holy Spirit showed me why I was feeling sad. Then He led me to meditate on Jesus’s post-resurrection appearances in John 20, and before long I was no longer sad.

I guess you could say I made a really good comeback.

(c) 2025 by Sharon Arpana Edwards. All rights reserved.