I was in a resort hotel room. My wife and kids were already outside. It was time to go. Four beds, wood paneling. A door to my right to the beach, with sand tracked in. A bathroom ahead of me, a living room behind me. I had my suitcase out on the bed and was closing it.
Two women came in from the living room, the second carrying a guitar. Aware that I was dreaming, I looked at them closely. No, they were not my daughters. They were older and didn't look at all like them. The first had straight black hair to her shoulders, blue eyes, a flattish face, heavily built, a gray wool sweater, a pleated skirt of dark grayish green. About 30.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"Oreo," said the first. "O-R-E-O".
That's unusual, I thought. In dreams I can't read anything. Even if I see letters, they keep changing every time I look at them. She spelled her name O-R-E-O and it isn't changing.
"He's the one I told you about," said Oreo, standing by the entrance to the living room. "He's the one who wrote Lori Lee."
Her friend sat and leaned back in a wicker chair, smiled. She was about 25, with a frilly white top, long tightly curled brown hair, a protruding face with a thin nose, and was lightly built.
"Lori Lee?" I asked. "I don't know that song."
So Oreo sang it. Her friend picked along on the guitar.
Oh a Lori Lee, I'm a comin a back a to you
Oh a Lori Lee, I'm a comin a back a to you
Oh a Lori Lee, I'm a comin a back, that's what I want to do
Oh a Lori Lee, I'm a comin a back a to you
Oh a Lori Lee, please keep a place for me
Oh a Lori Lee, please keep a place for me
Oh a Lori Lee, I'm a comin back, that's where I want to be
Oh a Lori Lee, please keep a place for me
Oh a Lori Lee, I'm a comin a back a to you
Oh a Lori Lee, I'm a comin a back a to you
Oh a Lori Lee, I'm a comin a back, that's all that I can do
Oh a Lori Lee, I'm a comin a back a to you
"I didn't write that!" I said. And thought fast. "But, if you sing it again, I'll write it down!"
"No," said Oreo.
I madly looked around for pencil and paper. Then I woke up.
And then I found pencil and paper and wrote it down. Along with the accompaniment.
Though, I marked down the author as Oreo.
This was in response to a prompt on reddit.com r/WritingPrompts, "The characters in my dreams started talking back recently. They say they've been watching me during waking life and would like to make some recommendations." Although, it seems to me that's the point of most of my dreams, to kibitz on what I should really be doing. So this is just a verbatim reporting of a sample dream. Here's sheet music and audio for Oreo's song.