This is a very long blog about the dream I had last night. It’s a sketch, not polished in writing but I’ve written it within the twelve minutes of being awake, to not lose the golden nostalgia of the dream. Please enjoy
I woke up this morning and didn’t know where I was. The briefly frightening thing about this was, I woke up in my own bed at home, a place I’ve lived for two years.
I was walking down my old block with my brother when we come across a group a girls, between the ages of 6 to 10. They’re playing in the yard of the house directly across the street, the one our best friends used to live. The house that faced what used to be our house. We looked around and everything was exactly what it used to be. The mother of one of the girls (sitting on “our” porch) encouraged us to go over and join them and play. We went over and introduced ourselves, very aware of how we looked, a couple of teenagers approaching small girls we hardly knew. Yet we were also aware that many people on this block knew who we were and would jump out with smiles and hugs and how are your parents’. We played a few games and one of the games were hide and seek, particularly neighborhood hide and seek. My brother and I were the seekers and we shared a sort of look knowing that we had much of an upper hand on this game, we knew all the backyards to be afraid of, which ones had fences, who had a gap behind their garage, all of it. So we set off, my brother a little exasperated of playing with children. I found the first girl, the one that lived in my best friend’s house, hidden in what I remembered was as the “fairy cove” behind her garage. I remember looking at her backyard and noticing her family must have taken out the porch, replaced it with a patio. When I found the girl she reminded me that the object of the game was to pretend to kill everyone that I found, or else that person could run away and hide again. I, thinking it was a little grotesque, didn’t want to tackle or touch a small child if I didn’t absolutely need to, searched for a new method of pretend murder. I then noticed a collection of small edible weeds in her backyard. They were weeds that I would eat in the very same yard. I plucked a few strands of wild onion and stuck them out to her. “You’ve been poisoned.” We then set off to find the next girl. The neighbors house, people I knew, friends of my mothers, was feared by the little girls and I explained to her who lived there, including the names of their cats to cheer her up. We found girl number two on the steps. I began to wander away from the girls and my brother at this point, down the street towards of my my bestfriends houses, or her parents house at least, she was in college. I walked over to a new truck in front of their house, and my friends niece, all grown up was sitting in the back seat groaning about the safety of the car and how her grandfather (my friends father) shouldn’t drive it. I didn’t know if she remembered who I was so I smiled and kept walking. Only I wasn’t walking anymore, I was on rollerblades. I felt a prickling sensation like the one you get when you do something cool in front of your crush on the playground and you know they’re watching. The sensation was from my hope that my friend was visiting home and was staring out her window upstairs, a straight shot to the side walk, and see me. But I thought to myself that the chances were too low. I was gliding down the sidewalk, noticing how shaky I was, and noticing it was like muscle memory, knowing where each and every chack and bump and “thundery” material there was. I was crossing a side street and carrying on experimenting with simple tricks I thought I had forgotten when I saw her. Out of the corner of my eye, my friend prances and leaps on her own rollerblades, new ones, they were high tops and completely bright pink. She was holding something in her hand only now the dream is fading away and I don’t know what it was. But she sees me and starts to scream excitedly. We both squeal and I lumber clumsily to her in the middle of the street. Hugging I ell her how much I miss her and she says the same. We hear a toot of a friendly horn and move to the side has her father and niece drive by in the new truck. I tell her the funny thing that I heard her niece say and we both laugh. She says that she’s only home because her and her boyfriend were at the convention center last night. We smile and chat and continue down the street just like old times.
The things about this dream, is was so intensely real to my thoughts if I was really there today. What I would be thinking walking down the same street, noticing all of the things that have changed, remembering all the things that were the same. Accepting that new little kids played here, feeling a swelling sense upon realizing that they too would have the same attachment to their friends and this place. I would wander on my rollerblades and hope the best things would happen, seeing my friends, and if it would occur, nothing would have changed between us. The air around us would glow. Things would be exactly like that dream, so intensely happy that I feel myself sick just writing about it. And they would be different. I would notice how my bushes had been trimmed, how half of the people don’t live there anymore. Exactly like that dream. I was so sucked into that dream and the thoughts I was having within, that when I awoke I was confused. I don’t know if I expected to wake up in my old room or just never at all, but I was unhappy with what I saw. Here in this room, I don’t have any of my old things. I never got the chance to collect and purge my items. Never made the hard decision to put my dollhouse in the basement. I only ever got to purge. Only had the choice to pack it all up and never see it.
This time of year, with the window open, a bottle of nail polish, my cat sunbathing on my unmade bed, colorful papers and clothing on the floor, my room smells like that dream. That moment of happiness smells like the spring sunshine on my most prized things, me laughing painting my nails in a pair of mismatched shorts and tshirt. I wear a necklace and stud earrings. My hair is down or in a ponytail. I’m sweating a tiny bit as I keep rhythm with the music yet also try to make professional looking lines of color on my nails. That’s what my room smells like. It’s a happy happy memory, there are so many of them. Taking place in my room, my friends rooms, my sisters room, the porch, the sidewalk, the roof. All of them us just painting our nails and laughing. I feel so fucking homesick for that it hurts so much.