Bananas and Bad Dreams, part 1

The other day I found this recipe for banana muffins. I've made 2 batches in one week and have already eaten 3 from the last batch. They are quite tasty and homey and very comforting with a glass of milk and are, for me, pure comfort food. Makes you wonder how the banana, a tropical fruit, became an American staple. I mean our story is about apple pie, not banana cream, yet nothing says soothing goodness like banana nut bread, warm from the oven, slathered in butter. Am I right?

My mom used to feed us bananas sliced up in a bowl of milk. I'm not sure why. For growing pains perhaps, all that potassium and calcium? I don't remember, but regardless of the original intent what it became to me was the quintessential comfort food.

I remember once I was babysitting and one of the kids had fallen asleep on the couch. I woke her up and pointed her toward bed, halfway there she began screaming like she was on fire! I grabbed her trying to figure out what was wrong. She just looked past me and continued to scream and scream. It was horrible. In an act of desperation I gave her a shake and she finally looked at me, collapsed into my arms, and began to cry. She had been having a waking nightmare- walking around with her eyes open, but still caught in her dreaming brain. Needless to say we were all pretty shook up. We scrapped bedtime and went upstairs to the kitchen for some bananas and milk. We all needed a little comfort.

I, unlike some people, do not have cool dreams or if I do I don't remember them. In fact, as a general rule I don't remember ANY of my dreams, cool, horrible, weird, or lame. They all, usually, evaporate with consciousness... usually. About two years ago I had the most horrible dream of my life. I woke up in a cold sweat, sick to my stomach, and too freaked out to be comforted by a good ol' bowl of bananas and milk, a muffin, or anything.





I'm in an orphanage. I grew up here and have recently come back to be on staff and work with the children. I'm in the dormitory with the children and it's rapidly becoming dark and we're all frantically trying to move all the beds into the center of the room. I'm giving instruction to this child and that, "get that bed." "Move these together like this." "Hurry, it's getting dark!" I have it in my brain that we must make one giant bed out of all the beds, fit them together, make a place where we can all huddle together and be safe, but it must be done before dark. The children scramble around in the darkening room and I push and shove at the beds worrying there won't be time.

In walks Lilith or as some of you may know her: Bebe Nuewirth. In my dream she's simply Lilith, not an actress and not the character known as Lilith that she portrayed on Cheers and Frasier, but just Lilith, my childhood friend. We grew up here together and she's one of my closest friends and the orphanage administrator. She got me this job, something she reminds me of as she points out what a lousy job I'm doing. I'm scaring the children she says.

I remind her that the children have reason to be scared and it's not because of me. Horrible things have happened here. I know, I grew up here, I remember. Lilith says all those things were a long time ago and were blown out of proportion by our juvenile brains. I should know better she gently scolds. She continues to talk, making me feel foolish. She's the administrator of this facility now and would she, my dearest, oldest, bestest friend allow anything horrible to happen while she's in charge? She's gracious and smart, sophisticated and intelligent and I feel awful for adding to the children's panic and doubting my amazing friend. I stare at my shoes in shame.

"So a few children died," she says.

I nod, saddened by the memories.

"It happens," she whispers sounding, likewise, sad. And I know she's right. Children die sometimes. It's a terrible fact.

"So a few children got eaten."

My head snaps up. She smiles at me, but she's no longer my dear, elegant, life long friend. Her face has changed and twisted.

She's a demon.

I grab her head and begin to pray. I don't know what to pray I just know: I can't stop.





I woke up then. I could still feel her head between my hands, where my fingers had dug into her ears. If I stop and think about it, I can feel it still.

The dream rode around with me for a few days before I told Chris about it. By then it had lost some of it's alarm and just became "Beth's Creepy Dream". He agreed it was frightening- no wonder I remembered it! And that was that or so I thought. A few days later he told me that in curiosity he Googled: Lilith. She turns up in many old legends, across various cultures. Turns out that Jewish mystism holds that she was Adams first wife and that she left him to become the mother of demons. Some accounts say that in bitterness she seeks to destroy human children, she strangles them or EATS THEM WHILE THEY SLEEP!

Chris wondered: what if my dream wasn't an ordinary dream? What if my sleeping mind saw Lilith and put the face of the only Lilith I knew upon her, hence ol' Bebe? Scrabbling to push beds together before dark because children died in the night, children had been eaten in the night? Dream and legend sync up in alarming ways.

Muffin anyone? Bowl of bananas and milk? Go ahead, get some. I'll wait.