Dream Notes.2

Many years ago, almost half a lifetime ago, I started having a dream I could not explain. 

At first I could not recognize it, it was, I presumed like any other. 

I should say that I often remember my dreams.  And since I was little, if I wanted to continue with one after I was woken, I could return to it at will (usually).  As long as I could manage to fall asleep in exactly the same position I was when I opened my eyes, and only if I went back to the same place in the (story).  It took me quite a while to work this out, and much longer to master it.  It worked sometimes, but this was not it, I mean this was not a dream I wanted back.  Not that it was a terrible dream; it was just a moment, like a chapter in a book, that at that point in my life held little meaning.   

I was (or at least I presumed it was me, for it was seen through my eyes) in a shop; the details of the surroundings were blurry.  I was talking to a woman, middle age, I did not recognize.  She had light hair, but not blonde, kind of like my mum's sister, a coppery tone.  I never remembered her face, but I could recall the color of her hair.  

We were talking for a bit, and behind us a little girl played with some toys, or she was drawing; she was blurred out too, at that point.  Then the door opened and a young man walked in, he was tall, or so it seemed; he had dark brown hair, like me. I am constantly reminded about how short I am, so everyone seems tall in comparison.  He was dismal, not angry, but when he walked in and the woman turned to him and said something I could not hear, he became angry.  

For whatever reason, I never had sound in these dreams, like silent movies without the ambiance music.  And they were long and detailed, unlike the usual way I remember my dreams; well, not long like a story, but more than the regular snapshots.  

They both argued for a while, and as they did I walked away to play with the little girl.  She was probably around 4 or 5; we sat on the floor and passed a tennis ball back and forth.  It was such an innocent moment, a fun but innocent moment, the kind you can only have at that age playing with something small and your imagination. 

The argument was loud, but it only came apparent from the expression in their faces.  There was a sense of disappointment and misunderstanding in the air, the kind I recognize now when I argue with my teenage daughters.  There was no hate in the screaming, but there was screaming none the less. 

So I played with the little girl.  I guess it seemed then, that I was not there as a customer, but I did not recognize the woman or the young man or the little girl or the shop.  I had no idea where I was or why I was there, but the situation was vivid.  

Amidst the argument something caught my attention and I looked away for a moment; the ball that the little girl was throwing in my direction rolling past me without notice.  Then the little girl running out the door of the shop, that until that time I had not been aware had been left wide open.  It was a moment, the whole dream until that point, had been a moment.  It was the details that had made it long, not the content.  The little girl run out the door following a stupid yellow ball that rolled slowly and diligently onto the pavement, onto a road that could not yet be seen.  That was never to be seen. Just the sound of a car breaking, the only noise in the whole silent film that was this dream.  The only sound linked to the impending thought of a tragedy that I could not stop.

I had this dream a handful of times over a year or so, they were apart by enough months that it made it difficult to recognize it as a memory.  It started in snapshots, they way my dreams usually appear, so there was no narrative to it, no way of knowing it.

For my 21st year I was aloud to go back to my home country for a year, to study, to see my family, to find some link to my past, and somewhat to try and find the answers to my birth family which had been never quite been put together.  The plan was made and studied hard to be given the green light by my University.  It was the first time I was to return home in 8 years, and the first time I was going to see my cousin since I was 5.  It was also going to be the last, but I did not know that then.  

As life has it, dad's position at work was dissolved and I returned home one day to hear that my trip was no longer possible.  I was not, still am not, the calmest person under bad news, and I lost it.  I was angry, sad, I don't know, I just lost it. When I looked back on it I thought that even for me the rage that ensued was more than I had in me, but there was a depth to the sadness that made it impossible to control.  I begged, I screamed, I slam doors and threw things (all somewhat normal behavior for me - I was an angel); but the reality of the situation was that no way could this trip be afforded.  I didn't care.  I was a rage and the only thing I was certain off was that I needed to go back home.  Then the dream came back.  Over and over until the only thing I ever remembered was the sound of that car.

(Sep 12, 2015)