I was back in high school, though I may have just been there for a visit. I was with my favorite teacher, Mrs. Davis, in the classroom she occupied during the four years I spent with her (the year after I graduated, they made her move. And the year after that, she retired). All the lights were on, but the room had the eerie feeling it took on whenever it was raining outside and there was nothing to see outside the big windows but gray clouds.
I was there with other students, most of whom I seemed to know. I remember my ex-friend Colette being there; Mrs. Davis was always her favorite too, and she and I sometimes seemed to be competing for her admiration.
I kept trying to ask Mrs. Davis if she would fill out a recommendation form for my camp counselor application, but other people kept getting in my way. Everyone wanted to talk to her, and she seemed too busy to spend any time with me.
The rest is kind of fuzzy: crowded hallways, wooden floors, a feeling of discomfort in a familiar place. It was dark outside during the whole dream. I finally got Mrs. Davis to take my recommendation form, and I felt that I had finally gotten something accomplished. Of course, I then woke up and realized that I really do need to get the recommendation form to Mrs. Davis if I want any shot at that camp counselor job.
