Two dream-like things have happened to me in the last twenty-four hours:
I awoke in the dark at 4:59 this morning to the sound of a small crash, about the volume of a slammed car door, followed by the frantic peals of a car alarm. There were flashing lights, and I could hear a large truck huffing and puffing outside--like a garbage truck, but they don't come by on Sundays. I walked to the window and saw that a firetruck passing its way up our narrow, potholed road with lights blaring but with no siren, had swiped the bumper of a little Honda hatchback out front. The car, as though startled from its slumber, was squealing and screeching its dismay. Three tired firefighters stood, surveying it, in the hazy glow of the streetlights. After a minute, the Honda settled itself, one of the firemen took its plate number, and the truck moved silently on.
That's the kind of scene my sleeping mind is wont to fabricate, and I'd be convinced now that I'd been dreaming then if Stephen didn't remember it, too.
In the daylight, hours later, we took the train to North Station in search of a new cupcakery we'd heard about in Boston. The storefront was so narrow that we almost missed it. Inside, a table for two was crowded in one corner, and a narrow counter ran along the opposite wall. An antique mint green lacquered stove stood sentinel next to a waist-high cooler of fancy drinks in translucent pastel-colored bottles. The remainder of the shop was divided in two by an enormous glass case filled with the kind of fanciful desserts that one might see in Willy Wonka and wish were true. S'mores cupcakes topped with tiny toasted marshmallows. Palm-sized Boston cream pies. Homemade Hostess cupcakes. Miniature pumpkin cheesecakes. Vanilla cupcakes, chocolate cupcakes, peanut butter and jelly cupcakes. Oreo cupcakes. Red velvet cupcakes. And so on. And on and on and on.
We bought four, and stuffed two in our mouths immediately. I drifted off to my afternoon meeting on an extended sugar high. The remaining two now sit, fluffy and decadent, preening, in their little white bakery box on the kitchen counter.
Proof that dreams can come true. Wow.
