Disclaimer: I own nothing of Psych and its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.
Rating: T+
Spoilers: None.
A/N: This is also Juliet's dream because it couldn't be easily translated to a man. It may well be the weirdest dream yet.
Obama Salama
They worked separate cases that morning but they met up for lunch. Juliet slammed her hands down on the table as she sat. Her expression said "pissed off" but she was laughing with her eyes.
"All right, what did you dream of?" Lassiter asked, grinning.
"You won't believe it."
"You're saying that to me? The man who dreamt of Hilary Clinton as a hamster?"
"Okay, maybe you will. But still, this dream was free - key. And I totally blame you for this sudden propensity of mine to have freaky-ass dreams."
"Just tell me, O'Hara. I sense it will be good."
"Oh, it was good. And really, really bad. I can't believe a moment of it myself."
"Come on, just tell me."
"All right. First off, just know that I wasn't as I am now. I was a little girl, in high school but no more than eight or nine years old regardless. I had hair down to my ass, as I actually did back then, but instead of wearing it in a ponytail as I habitually did, I wore it down like I tend to do now when I'm not on duty, and it was as wild and fly-away as it is now, not all limp and straight like it was then."
"Okay," Lassiter said. "So what happened to this preadolescent high school you?"
She sighed deeply and dramatically. "President Obama came to the school to talk to us, about what I can't really remember, although I remember it was fairly in-depth. We were in a regular classroom, it was stuffed to the gills with students, and after the presentation was over and everyone went back to class, I walked up to the blackboard and started erasing the words that were written on it. After a few seconds, I realized the President was still there, and was erasing the other end of the board. I put down my eraser and tried to walk away, but the Secret Service agent stopped me, and President Obama offered me a handshake. I shook with him, nervous as hell and thinking the Secret Service agent was bound to shoot me at any moment, and then I got the hell out of there as fast as possible.
"Outside the classroom, this big, tall, kind of chunky dark-haired teacher lady stopped me and said they were going to put my picture up for having met the President and shaken his hand. She said people were going to be kind of angry about that, because they were supposed to hold a vote about who would get that honor. I nod and walk away, towards what I think is my class - German; I took four years of that in High School; ja wohl! - and meet up with a whole gaggle of much bigger, older girls who are just looking death at me and all stand up and come towards me like they're going to beat me up. I feel absolutely no fear, and put my fists up, but I'm stopped from fighting them by the memory that one punch equals instant expulsion. So I let the teacher scare them off instead and I head on my way to my class.
Anyway, I quickly discover that I am utterly lost. Nothing looks like the school I know. In fact, the whole place seems like some kind of House on the Rock fairyland. There are curving wrought-iron staircases leading up to glass-walled turrets, a "proposal room" all decked out in the most romantic style, and some kind of semi-medieval room that I really want to go into but, for some reason, I can't. Even when I find my way into what I think of in my dream as 'school hallways,' they are nothing like I know. The walls are covered in white carpet, doors leading to sorority rooms and electronics labs are tall and narrow (and covered in white carpet), and I can't find my way around at all. Finally I find this teacher, a big, burly red-headed guy with a thin beard, who looked just like that Turk guy, you remember, the one who woke up naked in a field in that identity theft case we had awhile back - the one where we had to go undercover at a speed dating event and you couldn't even pay me a fake compliment? - and I tell him my problem and he says he can show me the way to the German classroom. He heads off and starts dropping little rubber footballs along the path for me to follow, and as I go along I try to pick them up for him, but they keep falling out of my hands. Finally he says to me, 'It's nice of you but don't bother.'
"He leads me to this big room where I discover that we're on all fours on these narrow little railroad tracks, and they're covered here with high heeled shoes with their toes pointing up, stuffed animals, and sunglasses. I sit and ponder this for a long time, and think about how I can get past these obstacles without damaging anything, and finally I realize my best bet is to crawl over the stuffed animals. I do this, and then the tracks - three of them - are clear again, and I see we are WAAAAY off the ground, in a really dark, dismal kind of warehouse structure. I now find myself clinging to this tiny, wooden handcart thing that's just big enough to ride along the rails and crouch on, and I pick a track at random because the teacher has gotten way ahead of me and I haven't seen any footballs. I choose the middle track, praying it's the right one because I have a feeling that the wrong ones just stop in midair. It does seem to be the right track, because I find a couple of footballs on it as I start zipping along it at cheetah speeds.
"But the track still ends in midair, and I scream and look down, and way far down below me is the teacher, looking up at me, and I'm still in midair, and the wheels of the cart are spinning, and I'm not moving at all - literally. I hold perfectly still because I know if I move, shift my weight in any direction, the cart will finally start to drop out of the air, and I'm terrified of the landing. I stay right there, spinning my wheels in midair with my mouth wide open, screaming, but not actually afraid now that I know I won't fall as long as I don't move, for a long time. Long enough to get bored. So I chance a look down at the teacher and say, 'Is there any way to descend that won't kill me?' and he shakes his head and says, 'None that you'll like hearing about,' so I go back to holding real still and screaming.
"And then, President Obama is there, floating in midair right beside me, like Dr. Freakin' Strange in his Cloak of Levitation, only he's just wearing a regular black suit and smiling at me. I ask him how he's doing that and he says, 'The power of there,' like it's some old joke. He reaches out a hand to me, but I'm too afraid to take it."
Lassiter was grinning from ear to ear. "You may have weirder dreams than I do, little girl," he said.
"Oh, it gets weirder," Juliet said, shaking her head. "Much weirder. Obama says he'll help me down. All I have to do is trust him. He takes my hand and pulls me back, on the cart, to the side of the room, still way above the floor, and says, 'Just step back. There's a postal box back here,' and I say, 'Hell yeah, there's a postal box. You're just trying to get me to let myself fall.' And he says, 'Would that be so bad?' And I say, 'To be a splat on the concrete? Yeah, kinda.' And then he says, 'You know, you're the bravest person I know,' and I say, 'How do you figure? I'm scared shitless,' and he says, 'You had the courage to tell me where to stick it. Not many people can do that. I'm proud of you. Now. Can you use that courage, and trust me just a little, and believe that I won't let you fall? I'll catch you, I swear.' So, slowly, I let go of the handlebars and step off the cart, and he catches me by the arms and we float to the ground."
Lassiter was now laughing helplessly. Juliet grinned, despite being a little embarrassed, and continued.
Anyway, he goes back to doing his Presidential thing and I go back to following the redheaded teacher. He leads me out onto this light green industrial-looking catwalk, where the sections of walkway are seesawing up and down and there's a gap in the middle you have to jump. Worse, it's a gap that's bigger than it has to be, because there's a platform in the middle you can't step on because it's open, having been a vacuum once upon a time, and worst of all, there's about a six-inch railing around each section of gap that you have to jump over as well. The teacher makes a run for it and makes it across, then expects me to do it. At first I'm too scared, but then I remember President Obama and get a surge of self-confidence. I take a run for it, hair streaming in the wind, but right before the leap I chicken out and fall backward onto the platform, which is seesawing up and down and slices my hair off when it comes into contact with the next platform over, like a scissors. Then I slide off and into the industrial muck and chemicals below, and as I'm sinking down, my eyes and mouth and nose all covered with this greenish-brown sludge, my thoughts are: 'It's all your fault, Obama.' "
Lassiter was about ready to slide out of his chair and roll around on the floor, he was laughing so hard, and other diners were looking at him strangely. "Oh honey, this is a good one. Keep going," he managed at last.
"Anyway, apparently they pulled me out, because the next thing I know I'm all wet and next-door to naked, wearing only a thin, wet white A-shirt and no panties. One of my friends, a little boy about my age whose name I've forgotten but was something weird like 'Tugboat,' was squatting down somewhere around my feet looking at me, so I got all embarrassed and tried to pull my shirt down over my privates. But he made some sound of surprise and started pulling things out of my vagina - Marvel comics collector cards. 'I wondered where these went,' he said. 'I must've swallowed 'em,' I say, and he says, 'You didn't swallow 'em and poop 'em out your cooch,' to which I don't have an answer.
"Fortunately the dream allowed me to reassume my dignity at that point, dressing me in the jeans and red hoodie I was wearing previously, and dumping me back in the hallway I was in before I got lost. I look out a window and President Obama is there, with his Secret Service agent, and he's kissing the foot of someone's baby, and the dark-haired teacher lady says they're going to use the baby's picture instead of mine, which is a big relief to me, and I start off down the hall, which is still totally unfamiliar to me, but at least I finally know that I'm going in the right direction. And then, I woke up."
Lassiter crossed his arms on the tabletop and put his face down on them, still giggling helplessly. "Dear sweet lady justice," he said, almost hiccupping. "That was wild, O'Hara. Maybe you should look into the idea of professional help."