This time I’m fully dressed (not in my dressing gown), and before that roar even takes place, I’m conscious of where I am and what’s going to happen.
There’s a bloke I see in this dream every single time, just at the corner of my eye. He isn’t directly in front of me like that woman with the baby at Surrey Quays, but further down the road. In any other circumstance we’d be two people who pass each other without another thought. What makes him stand out in the dream is that he’s hobbling up Oxford Street on crutches. A bright orange plaster-cast surrounds his foot, and he proceeds awkwardly on the crutches in case some careless person in the crowd kicks one away from him. He’s not a bad looking bloke actually, short brown hair with a tint of red; tall, slim and broad shouldered. There’s a grimace on his face, but I’m sure when he smiles ladies would think he was a catch.
I watch him for a little while, wondering if he’ll stare back at me, curious if we’ll make eye contact and have some bizarre connection within this dream world. There isn’t the time though.
When the roar comes, that sudden noise which breaks the sky, the man nearly falls back to the ground. It seems as if his good foot and both his crutches leap off the pavement in shock, and it can only be a miracle that he manages to stay upright. He stares up, in the same direction as everyone else (apart from me now) and his face is twisted and elongated with sheer terror. His mouth opens to scream, but no real sound comes. Now we make eye contact, now we stare at each other, but there’s no connection in the gaze – his look is one of unadulterated fear, of a panicked cry for help which can’t be answered. And then the gust of wind comes and takes us both of our feet, and somehow he disappears from my vision – as if he’s vanished from existence altogether.
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