Dreams of Bones (and Guilt)

  I hardly ever remember dreams. It's so unusual, in fact, I've often wondered if there's something wrong with me. I've used the statement, "I don't dream," but I know that's not true. However, I had a dream this morning that seemed pretty real. I scribbled a note in my phone so I could write about it before the details vaporized in a haze of the morning's activities like dreams do.
  I remember walking through a winding hallway of a building, almost like a school. I find a door and walk outside to a driveway surrounded by tall chainlink fence. I sit in the driveway and a movie begins on a screen that's like a memorial of a handful of people's lives. I now realize these people are dead. I feel nothing since I didn't know them. While sitting in the driveway, a man from inside the building comes outside and places in front of me pieces of the dead people's jaw bones. The bones are fragmented and of varying sizes and colors, like some had been in the ground and some had been bleached by the sun. The man resembles someone I knew. He had wavy strawberry blonde hair, weathered skin, and not a tooth in his head. He tells me to recreate the dead people. I look at him and with a feeling of remorse I tell him I can't do that. He says please try it.  He goes back in the building and I sit in the driveway fondling pieces of jaws. The door has a window and the older man peeks through it to watch my progress. The movie continues to play and I pick up and inspect each piece of jawbone and wonder how to put the people back together. The bones are misshapen with sharp jagged edges that stick to the skin of my fingers. I hold pieces up and pretend to give a look as if to imply there's progress to be made, even though I know there's not. I know the man is watching me and I want him to have hope for the reanimation of those he's lost. The task is hopeless and I feel guilt for not being able to help.
  Then I wake up.