Nice Dream

I sit inside a crowded cafe, my back to the room. The year -- who can tell time when the guns have barely silenced?

Malnutrition is my ghost. Across my shoulder, I finger a braid woven from thinning hair. The bones of my wrist stab beneath waxy skin. I am writing. A dark blue ring of ink stains the cuticle of my thumb, like a lake drawn on a map. Voices blend into rainfall, drowning tones and syllables.

But him. I hear him.

Fate trips me like a tree root. Walking becomes falling. Do you know that feeling?

I twist my neck. He is talking to friends -- because he always has friends. How does he manage, when he never begins a conversation? Now he is singing, all of them like drunkards, but he holds only a demitasse. His face has stalled on a path between youth and cynicism.

I have not seen him since the Bois Jacques, that night I should have kissed him.

My body knows nothing of chairs and tables and jungles of feet. Obstacles recede, pushed away by my advance. I say his name.

He jerks beneath the electric shock of our eyes catching, holding. The singing careens to silence. I slide into a seat across from him, more graceful than a movie actress. Who have I become?

"Keep singing."

A melody crawls out of his lungs until his voice breaks. I stand and lean across the table, hands splayed on the sticky surface. My lips are on his. Against his mouth, I whisper words -- words like stop now, kiss me, we are alive.


Unlike in most of my dreams, when my subconscious will not let me disregard Keven, I actually got to kiss Jake Weber. And I was not interrupted by kids or alarm clocks. Afterward, Silvia arrived to display a series of '20s and '40s fashions on an overhead projector, adding an appropriate sense of surreal. Then we were on an airstrip. A plane pulled up. The pilot opened the door and ushered us inside. Roll credits. Literally. I have never had such a linear dream, something so rational and cinematic. Normally its crap like last time. What a sweet way to start the morning.

1 comment:

Mircalla said...

your unconcious could not have chosen a better role for me. i was just setting you (and your lover) in the right mood...