Vans, rock bands, and please, don’t step on the flowers

I was with my mom and daughter. I can’t remember where, but we were leaving for home. We walked into the parking lot. On the way to my mom’s vehicle, we saw two vans parked way too close to each other, their front fenders almost locked together. We stopped to examine them. Next thing I remember, we were parked on a side street and mom said this was a better way to get to our house. I saw a long sidewalk. I said, “Oh, good, that way we don’t have to cross the street.”

While walking, though, all of a sudden the sidewalk (which before had been aged with plants growing into it) disappeared and was now under construction. Then, for some reason, we just waltzed into someone else’s house. They were remodeling. The walls were mint green, and there was no furniture. My mom disappeared from the dream at this point, and now it was only my daughter and me. A young man, about age eighteen, came in. I quickly explained why we were in his house (the explanation eludes me, now). He seemed fine with two strangers being there. I commented that the inside of his home was much bigger than what the house looked like from the street. He agreed.

Three other young men appeared. They said they were forming a rock band. I asked if they needed a drummer or a bass player, because I knew two guys who might be interested. The two guys were my sons, and I thought this to myself but didn’t say it to the young men standing around us in a semi-circle. They said they didn’t need anyone.

One of the young men started playing his guitar. The only thing was—the strings were loose, and they grew longer and looser as he played. He picked them up and slid his fingers along them. The guitar sounded almost like a violin. I marveled at this and tried it for myself. I slid my thumb and index finger along a string. To make a sound I had to press hard and could actually feel the string cutting into my skin.

Next thing I knew all of us had left the house and were headed toward my home (which now was across the street), and my daughter and I were barefoot. The front yard was covered with flowers. I walked to the driveway to get to the street, so as not to smash the flowers or possibly step on a bee. As we approached my house I started waving and pleading for the young men not to go in. It was a mess inside. They went in anyway. One of them held up a key or something. I woke up.