“Dreams” is a short story by Canadian author Jane Urquhart which appears in her short story collection Storm Glass. Furthermore, it is a part of a section of stories within the collection listed under the subtitle “Five Wheelchairs.” The tale opens with the story’s protagonist being ripped awake from dreamy slumber crying out, “Don’t forget your seatbelts!” The very peculiarity of this admonition—repeated twice—is enough to force an explanation to her newly wedded husband also ripped out of his own slumber in the comfort of their honeymoon suite
Therein commences the subject which gives the story its title. The dream which so disturbing as to wake her right out of the fiction involved a parade of all the men she’d been involved with in her life presented in the manner of closing credits. The weird part here being less the framing than the situation of each of the men: seated in wheelchairs suspended by cables hanging mysterious from a clear blue sky.
“Dreams” is an exercise in minimalist fiction. It is only five pages long and nothing substantively actually happens. After telling her new husband about the dream of former lovers in wheelchairs flying like trapeze artists, the action essentially consists of choosing which wedding gifts to keep, which to give away and which are maybes, a round of lovemaking following by a nap, a swim in the ocean by John while his bride writes thank-you notes. “Dreams” could be said to have a dreamlike quality itself in terms of pacing, characterization and transition between scenes, but the real dreamlike quality is the atmosphere of meaning. Like dreams that remembered with a certain haziness, the connection between events is lost and the actual events themselves are only remembered with out much vivid detail. Typically, the recollection of a dream is centered upon one singular image or feeling and such is the case here.
The epicenter of meaning in this very short tale revolves around an appropriately dreamlike off-kilter emotional response to the sight of John swimming in the ocean. The mere repetition of the entire scene—the wave and John’s bodily reactions them—instill an existential dread in the unnamed bride. She lapses into near-hysteria at the thought that the rest of her life is going to be entire predictable and defined by monotony. The worst part, however, is that John, out there in the ocean, actually seems to be enjoying this dreaded vision of repetition which has overcome here.
It is an odd story and those who look for meaning only in action will find it even more so. As is the case with minimalist fiction, everything of real important must fill in the blanks. It is a type of writing in which, quite literally, its message is to pried out from those things which it does not say. Work is required on the part of the reader, but it is a fine example of this type of writing because the author has subtly planted all the clues necessary for connecting the dots to create a complete image.
