A Dream of You

I’ve rarely dreamed about you, at least that I can remember. But I have thought about you a lot, and felt a lot.

Last night I had a dream about you.

I was at your father’s house. But it was not your father’s house – it was lighter, strewn about with the clutter of many things, and smaller. The focus was a couch. You and I were seated on the couch next to each other, my father was there also – he sat on the other side of you, and your father was seated next to me. So, on your right, was me. On your left, my father. On my left, you. On my right, your father.

Our fathers would switch places sometimes.

You were balding, ugly and angry that you were there, wanting to leave. But I still felt something for you, and wondered why you remained. You yelled at me about it for a while. Your father looked at me with some kind of empathy – like he understood, and was apologising to me, and saying, this you must accept – it is he- but he said nothing other than with his eyes and his stance.

My father sat there like a tree growing deep into earth, which made me feel secure. But he also said nothing.

Then this small group of people came over who were friends of yours. They dressed themselves up, the girls had their hair cut nicely, they all wore clothes as if they were going out to a nightclub party night – they talked about television shows and spoke about people who weren’t there in petty ways. When they looked at each other they saw nothing, but had some kind of rappor that kept their energy/talking level high. Their laughs seemed nervous.

You were leaving with them to go to a restaurant. And then you all left as a group, and you accused me of something as you left, without saying it.

I looked at your father, very sad, and he just looked back, and I knew he understood.

There was another guy there – I’m not really sure where he came from. But he surprised me from behind, and I turned around to look at him, and his hair looked like it had just been chopped closely to his head, and he was dressed unusually, having the look of intensity and honesty. He smiled at me. And I remembered something that ran like a deep, hot chill to the core of what I am.

When I left, I looked back at the house, and all the lights were off – darkness. But I saw movement through the window.

The air was crisp, alive. And the tall trees shuddered in the wind, all at once.