Daydream For My 22nd Birthday.

We got to the station in Bordeaux and my watch sat at 10:20. My train, or what I wished to make my train, as I had no ticket, nor had I laid eye upon her yet, was set to take leave, with or without me at 10:35. I stood in the line as Olivia printed her ticket from a kiosk. She is prepared. 10:28. I step up to the cashier- "English?" "Non." "Ahhhh. Ehhhh...Oui, Ce bon, je vuis dres un billet ehhh Saumur, oui?" I surprise myself. "Oui." I hand her the amount I see on the display as she mouths the numbers aloud, more at me than to me, take my ticket, and head back into the main terrace of the station. I look frantically for Olivia, as tho she were a toddler I'd left carelessly in a swimming pool. She appears and approaches gracefully, smiling. "My train is now" "Ok" she says. I give her a hug, kiss her cheek and then I'm off. I get to the platform and find my train on the monitor. This is done by checking the departure time, as often the stop you need isnt the last stop, and thus is not displayed. I go to my platform and get on the car I believe to be mine. Just in time. I sit down, open my apple juice, and begin to thumb thru my Ipod.
A man approaches me. He says something, and points to his ticket. I am in the wrong seat. 10:34. I get up and head to the dining car, where an approachable young woman is setting up shop. I am not feeling as confident and say, again, this time with some humble shaking in my tone- "English" "Non."
"Ehhhhhh" and then, as tho I am unable to speak at all, I point to the ticket. "You have the wrong train". I don't reply, run out of the car, onto the platform and to the man in the purple hat, the SNCF employee. I force my ticket into his hand- "Please" He points to the train on the other end of the platform. I run, run, to the other section of the high-speed and hand it to the purple hat there. "Oui, car doux". She points. I get on, find my seat, and sit down. I am sweating, hot, and obviously American. It's 10:41AM, and we pull away.
I lay my head on my folded arms once my forehead has dried, and slip into my head.
I'm walking down a gravel road, and beside me, in the ditches, a chain-gang wielding sickles is swinging in time to my steps. "Hey-da boss" "Soma mighty fine herbs you got here, boss". The sun is hot on my neck. My shadow goes before me at nearly thrice my height.  I put my head down, and look to the dirt for the shadow of the boss-man they are calling to. There is none. Ahead, I see three men lying on there backs. Their hands house full, constantly overflowing bottles of red wine. I step past them. A large door in the distance approaches quickly, I pull the large, circular, brass handle. The heat from the sun that the brass has stored transfers to my hand without hesitation. 
There is a long hall. A great hall, with stone sides, marble floor, and towering columns flaking both sides. A jester in a white mask and three point hat approaches me. "There must be some kind of way out of here" he laughs, and wonders down the great hall, his shoes' bell's echoing through the chamber. I follow.
A large clock chimes twelve times- "It's getting late" I say. He doesn't turn. He quickens, and I do as well. We ascend a marble staircase. A parade of women in dairy-maid dresses, all with the same humble face, pass by my side, going into the chambers. They are like ants, their heads down-turned, moving quickly, with direction, but without motivation.
I catch the jesters heels, we are in a tall marble tower, and it is night. The sky is back-lit, and he pulls two brass telescopes from the chest of his billowing white shirt. He takes one to his eye and looks through it, and points with his free hand. His finger extends nearly a meter. I look through the scope and see my brother, Nate, and my best friend, Peter, approaching on white horses. They are in torn clothing, and their faces are clean. They gallop with no regard for themselves or their mounts. The jester pulls the scope from my eye, compresses it to the length of my finger, far too small to be correct, swallows it, and hops off the tower.
Its 12:46PM. The train is speeding through the south of France, and I am again drenched in sweat.