Moving on

I dreamt last night I was on a small island in Malaysia or Thailand.

The water was warm and chalky blue, teeming with little dark-eyed crustaceans - a cross between pill bugs and shrimp - pinching me as I swam.

Earlier, I'd been lounging in a glass booth within a large hut-like restaurant, regaled with food and drink, when I realized something was amiss.

I made eye contact with a man chopping fish in the market below,  looking at me through what I'd thought was two-way glass - myself, naked to the waist in preparation for some ceremony.

I pointed at my eyes to confirm and he gave a kurt nod in response, looking down and away.

I was apparently on display, perhaps in danger.

I slipped outside the booth, vaulted the railing, and plunged into the blue water.

Minutes later I emerged on the other side of the bay with a familiar couple from my past. We climbed the wide concrete steps emerging from the water and continued up them and over the dune.

I looked back to see a sand volleyball player I'd once known, crouched on the landing.

He, too, gave me a nod - but seemed disinterested.

He was from another life and it seemed I was moving on to the next.