So I had a dream last night.

... And I don't feel like getting up out of bed and writing it down, so I'll just type it here before I forget it. DISCLAIMER: Maurice Gibb is right up there with George Harrison as far as I'm concerned, which means he's one of my two second favorite people in the world. So if you have a problem with a little personal interaction, fish you. At least it's nothing like the rocket ship explosion/thong dream (You know what I mean, Stealth Pigeon).

I'm at the scene of one of my recurring dreams, the slope with the frozen lake. However, this time the frozen lake has become a thawed brown river. We are bushwhacking along the side of this river (When I say we, I mean me, a friend named Leif, someone that could be either Stealth Pigeon or another friend, and an eighth grade History teacher named Mr. Yazzolino). Mr. Yazzolino has a red accordion that for some reason I know for a fact is Leif's.

We keep bushwhacking until we find a path. We all go along it except for Mr. Yazz, who veers off and enters the river. We act like he didn't just do that and keep walking. Eventually we get to the hill I mentioned earlier. We look down the river and see Mr. Yazz approaching in the center of a flotilla of rafts, perched on top of a silver cataraft. He gets off next to a pavilion that is very similar to the one the band plays on in the first scene of the Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band movie and comes up to us. 

I ask to learn to play the accordion, and he hands it to me. He shows me how to put the leg straps on (DON'T ASK), a thick one on the left leg and a thinner one on the right. There is a strap going up the outer side of each leg to attach to a waistband that is tied to the accordion. The accordion seems to have turned black and leathery while I wasn't looking. Then he leaves with Leif and the other girl, drifting down toward the pavilion where an old style band has suddenly gathered. 

The straps are bound together at my knees, so I am forced to sit down, being unable to walk. I examine the buttons on the side of the accordion, which are orange-yellow. I press one and pull out the accordion. It makes a terrible noise, and the band in the pavilion turns to look up at me. I try another key and it makes an even worse noise. All of a sudden Barry Gibb -Barry Gibb!- comes out from the back of the pavilion dressed in a long black and white glittering robe. He blows a long, loud, clear note on his trumpet. I answer back with the accordion, and suddenly the music is beautiful.

I pick out three notes, press the first, draw the accordion out a bit, press the second, draw it out a bit more, and press the third and pull it out the rest of the way. It sounds heavenly, and everyone hushes to listen. A figure comes out from behind a garden in front of me that I hadn't noticed before. I play the accordion two more times the same way, choosing different notes. 

Maurice Gibb walks from the garden up toward me, also clad in a sparkling black and white robe. "That's beautiful," he sighs, coming to sit down next to me. He reaches around me and takes hold of the accordion. His arm rests on my back. He shows me how to play an even more beautiful melody, and the band slowly picks it up and takes over. Maurice, the accordion, and I get up and walk slowly toward the pavilion, my hand in his.