I dreamed I was watching a movie preview of a man and woman breaking up. She was on the bed crying and asking a bunch of “but what about??…’s” But what about if your sister calls? But what about if it’s your birthday? He just closed the door and left.
Next I see this game show made out of an upright gigantic bean bag toss and the same actress from the movie preview. (She was also “me.” You know how dreams go). She was tightrope walking on the top of the contraption as someone or something threw objects to make the squares spin on the board. They were all squares pertaining to her life. “His sister calls and you always cover for him.” SPINNN! You have friends. SPINNN! You waste time thinking “if only I’d known.” SPINNN! The audience is a circus, laughing and cheering on cue. The actress is marching across the top like a drum majorette in high heeled boots, knees way up with every step, bean bags hitting spinning squares, announcer belting out things about my life, audience frenzy egging me/her on.
I leave that scene.
I’m somewhere dark but it’s lit with pretty colors. I can feel I’m dreaming, but I stay asleep. I can also feel I’m crying but want to stay with the dream. If I turn a corner I make new colors. This dark alley is a gorgeous purple… turn the corner, the brick is lit with green. A man begins walking behind me and I feel afraid. I quickly enter a building and try to lose him but he follows. As he stops and talks to someone I go up and down the zigzag staircase thinking that will confuse him, but it ends only a foot from where it started.
I still seem to have lost him and am in an entirely different scene. I’m walking on sharp gravel and every so often I hear a rock up ahead drop. I am crying even harder – only in real life, not in the dream – and feel very, very sad and lonely. To the left there is darkness and nothing and to the right is a wooden wall with windows. Someone is throwing marble rocks through the windows. As I near, the white marble rocks grow bigger I yell to stop or they’ll hit me.
A voice booms:
“Can you not SEE I am making great art here?!”
And I realize it is parallel to the game show, every time a bean bag is tossed, a chunk of marble is thrown, all sculpting and cutting away at and adding to the life that is on the board on the other side of the windows.
It is me. And I am the art. “Great” art.
Aren’t dreams the weirdest thing ever? I easily interpret that to mean: Everything that happens to me makes me, well, me. But I watched it play out as some Alice in Wonderland odyssey that had me crying and melancholy even still. Why?…
Andrea’s home for Christmas break and we were watching TV together. In the show, a couple who had just met started talking about what they wanted in a spouse or if they could see themselves getting married in the near future. It bugged me.
Now that last sentence is a huge one.
That never would’ve bugged me in the past – I lived for those kind of shows. But I started spouting things out and then putting my hand up to cover my mouth. It was like someone who opens their mouth to talk, but bubbles come out, or a chipmunk voice, or puffs of cinnamon instead. Their eyes plead and you can tell they’re thinking “whoops! where’d that come from?” each time. I couldn’t stop! “Ew, this is gross, they’ve only just met.” (Hand to mouth, did I say it was gross?) “This is stupid! I don’t even want a boyfriend… the thought of someone needing to know where I am and what I’m doing at all times makes my skin crawl now.” (Hand to mouth, what is happening? I have never said anything like this!)
Andrea, lying on the couch, threw up her arms and yelled Praise the Lord!
We laughed but the things I was saying were serious. All these years of knowing I don’t need a man, I’m okay, I don’t have to have a husband, I can be alone — I knew those things but I never felt I could do them or be them. For the first time since I was 12 (maybe younger) there is no one I’m fantasizing about, going out with, in love with. No one! And I don’t WANT that! WHAT? I DON’T! Not right now.
The things I’ve learned in my brain have finally found their way to my heart. I feel strong. I just thought it would happen gradually, but I love that I stumbled upon it during a dumb dating show.
Just months ago, I related to this sentence from Lonely, by Emily White, more than anything:
…it soon became routine for me to start crying the minute my apartment door was closed and my book bag hit the floor.
I still cry sometimes. But I cry from joy now, too, and I’m glad because I want to feel and experience things genuinely. I love coming in my apartment door, or going out for that matter. I’m done trying to cover life up. I’m unearthing myself.
I got a massage this morning in which the therapist pulled my hair for twenty of the fifty minutes of my appointment. I’m not saying she accidentally kept yanking my tresses while working on – oh I don’t know – my body… she literally sat there and pulled my hair. As a technique. For twenty minutes.
You know, some things were considered “cute” in the days before Dateline To Catch a Predator, Sex Offender lists, and child pornography all over the world wide web.
But these days, what possesses someone to think this is cute??
All leaning against the front of their house and stuff??
Early Sunday morning Andrea came home from school to attend church with me. Driving us there, I noticed my side mirror had been bumped and I rolled down the window and popped it back into place, not giving it a second thought, but, foreshadowing(!!)…
So, okay, we sit through church. Yadda yadda. Amen and amen.
When it’s over and we walk back to my car, I notice something.
Dent and blood:
Andrea: “Mommy, who’d you kill?!”
Me: “Hey, who’d I kill?!”
I mean seriously, what? We looked in the trunk, but no body or anything. How could I have hit someone recently and not known it?
Back at my complex I was able to obtain the same parking spot and aha! Clues.
Blood on tire rim and splatters on pavement:
Blood on curb:
Blood leading up the sidewalk:
… all up the sidewalk and then back into the parking lot where it finally disappeared.
Andrea said I should call the police but I thought she was just overreacting until a friend later told me I should and so I did. But I was afraid I’d be disappointed, which I was. Where’s Dexter? How could you not send the blood splatter analyst – I mean, seriously? You’re not taking any DNA? Complete waste of time, though the cops did fuel my drama. “That is a LOT of blood.” “Look how it splatters all across the hood to the left and then onto the door to the right.” “Someone really got into it.”
“I know, right?” I encouraged. “And then they probably had to get treated at the vet! You know… because they’re wanted.”
And no body.
And a dented car.
But a mystery! And those are delicious.
(So is this).
I come across these all the time at work and they bug.
Really? Cause to me it looks intentionally written on!