Monday, June 30, 2014

I will follow you into the dark

When I finally do sleep, I have a dream of you.  I wake in the dream lying in a ditch, with my truck next to me, in Winchester.  Why am I in Winchester?  I must have been heading to work. So in this  world I must still work in Lexington, maybe I was falling asleep and needed to rest, which makes as much sense as anything else in my dream. I gather my stuff out of the ditch as a paperboy delivers the Lexington Herald.  Somebody follows behind him, stealing them, before I take off.

For whatever reason, I have to get home and shower.  It is nighttime, and my clothes are muddy, or perhaps I'm only in my underwear.  I head for home.  For some reason I have to sneak into my family's apartment, which means going through a back way through yours and Tony's place.  Yes, in this world, we live in the same apartment building.  Dream logic.

I remember thinking you were still not really talking to me.  It was 4 am, and my mind was incorporating stuff about you that you'd told me... you worked first shift, but it was early enough that you wouldn't be awake.  I could sneak through and not bother you.  Of course that didn't happen.  As I was about to reach the front of your apartment, I see Tony.  I've never had a dream with him in it to my knowledge.  He is in your living room, I think sorting through vinyl?  I'm not sure.  He recognizes me immediately and I can tell he doesn't understand what you saw in me.  But I just give what I'm assuming is a look pleading for him to not say anything and he doesn't.  I can make my escape.

Of course this is where you walk in, talking to him about something.  You don't see me at first and when you do you're not sure what to make of it.  Oddly you react kind of like John Watson, ask Tony if he left the door open again (double reference, Sherlock and Shaun of the Dead.)  Tony leaves the room and you resign to let me pass through, but you follow along to my family's apartment.

The scene changes.  I say my family's apartment because it's not my parents', as Dad has passed on.  Kelly is here, younger and not talking much.  Mom is here, older and kind of grumpy.  Keith is here, fat.  One has returned from the grave, little Miko.  As I set up the shower, which I guess is in the living room for some reason, you play with Miko.  I try to tell you not to, because I don't have your allergy medicine, which I remember tossing away.  It was one of the only things you left behind that I did toss.  You say it's okay, so I go to the shower.  

Mom brings the body wash, my big rust-colored towel, and a washcloth.  I don't want to use the washcloth.  The body wash comes out with a Jell-o like consistency.  It is difficult to use in my beard.  But I wash off and dry off.  I try to get my clothes on as quick as possible, because I have no idea what you're thinking right then.  Why you followed me back.  Why aren't you mad.  And when my mind asks these questions it's using your nickname, not your actual one.  I've never used your nickname, not often anyway.

I begin panicking because in the hoarder's delight of an apartment, I can't find any socks.  You ask what's wrong and I mention that I need socks, where are the fucking socks.  Then I see that I'm wearing them already.  You laugh that laugh of yours and smile, saying "I was wondering when you'd finally notice that."  I begin to be relieved.  Then you say, "Well I guess if you could drop me off at work..." meaning the Winchester Walmart.  Keith says to you, "Hey, you work at the Walmart's don't you?"  We laugh again and I begin to believe that we might be friends again after all.

There is a thunderclap and a blast of white light that pulls me out of the dream.  Right then my phone is playing this song, a cover by Amanda Palmer of a Death Cab for Cutie song.  When I heard the original, I hated it.  It is almost a happy song about losing the person you love the most.  Literally losing them to death, and how you'd rather take a chance on what's past that with them than without them.  Amanda covers it with just the sad bits.  So I got up, listened to her version, cried, and wrote this dream blog.  I don't know if you still have this bookmarked on your browser.  I know you did once.  This is my way of being passive-aggressive.  A lot of these posts do have references about you.  Sometimes they are sad, sometimes angry.  Mostly they just miss you.

And now I guess I'll do laundry.

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