My dreams aren’t easily remembered anymore. Not like the dreams from my childhood, when the fuel for the dreams were Saturday morning cartoons and the newest bully on the playground. Those will always stick with me. One doesn’t forget the kind of dream that makes you a hero, and the villain curses that he would have gotten away with it if wasn’t for those pesky kids. Nor does the memory of that one jerk ever leave you, that one older punk who impressed his “girlfriend” by harassing First Graders, and kept doing it for three years until the morning of the last day of school before moving to a new city, and you fought back and kicked his ass. Or maybe it was just a dream of getting that sweet revenge...ah, who cares. I was starting a new school in a week anyway.
The one recent dream which I could remember made my intrigue meter twitch. (Disclaimer: the dream was months ago, as well as most of this writing. I am also a habitual procrastinator.) Having gone through several life changes lately had caused many sleepless nights and lackluster fits of nightmares. But this one had a feeling of familiarity, definitely of my past that held happier times. I tried explaining the dream to a friend, who wisely pointed out that dreams most often are not about the who, what or where of the dream, but about something in ourselves. At that time I couldn’t remember the ending, which I felt was always there but just out of sight in the fog. Even though I knew my friend was correct, I was frustrated to not be able to reconcile what about me I was supposed to glean from the dream without knowing the ending.
I wrote about the dream, put it aside, wrote some more. Finally, life and work and every other excuse stepped in for me for why I should give up on ever finding the ending. Two months later, it emerged from the fog. I was quite clueless to why it chose that moment, but I was not in a hurry to understand either. Quickly I wrote the ending, stepping back after it was done to see what wisdom could be found…
* * *
I walked through the door and the night sky extended from horizon to horizon. I thought I was outside already before I approached the door, and that it would take me inside somewhere warmer. Soon I realized the space I was in before was just a room with an obscured view. The door shut hard and loudly behind me, startling the people sitting around a campfire several yards away. Maybe ten, possibly more, huddled in a semi circle around the far side of the fire. It was very quiet, but I could tell they were talking among themselves, in pairs or in threes.
I scanned the semi circle from right to left. As I neared the end of my initial examination, I found one familiar face. Hoping she did not notice that I recognized her, I continued my glances from face to face. I had not expected to know anyone here, let alone her. I didn’t even know where here was. It was so dark outside the circle of campfire light I couldn't see any objects or landmarks. Just darkness and suddenly the starlit sky. No sounds but the crackle of wood burning and breaking under its flaming destruction. And the slight murmur of voices.
I approached the fire and began walking behind the people. The campfire cast their shadows against my legs, hushed tones turning into bare whispers as I moved around the circle. It felt so cold there, not just because these people blocked the fire, but they seemed to be talking about me. The whispers grew the further I moved around. I stopped abruptly, and the whispers stumbled, caught in the firelight. She sat there on the opposite side of the fire from me. Her ears were filled with words and phrases from the people on her left and her right. If she heeded their words, her face gave no indication of affirmation or denial. Her eyes were locked on me, demanding that I take notice, to recognize and remember.
My walk behind the people continued, until I reached an unobstructed and unpopulated view of the fire. The ground underneath me was cold as I sat down, a space away from the next person and a bit further away from the fire than the rest. I needed to warm up, badly. Rubbing my hands together didn’t help much, and I could barely feel the heat from the campfire, even after a stranger I hadn’t seen yet used rough branches to stoke it. He grunted at me, waving the stick's glowing red tip to indicate I should move closer. The dust billowed under my feet as I shuffled forward. All at once, in looking up to see if she was still watching me, there was a dark gap in the circle where she was sitting, along with a popping sound that reminded me of the movies, when somebody disappears into thin air.
But it wasn’t movie magic. She had moved and sat on my left, completing my connection to this side of the circle. A warmth returned, like blood rushing back into my hand after leaning on it for too long. I wanted to say something. I wanted to say hi and tell her how much I missed her. I wanted to ask her how she was doing. I wanted to know what she was doing here at the campfire, and if she knew where here was.
But I couldn’t find my voice. I knew I could, if I had the nerve. It should be so easy just to say the words. But I felt like I did almost thirty years ago, the last time I saw her, so why would it be any different tonight? Back then, there was a balance. One might say I was afraid to upset the apple cart. I suppose that statement is true. I was afraid to lose a friendship for the sake of telling her I felt more. I was selfish for that; I didn’t think she had any interest beyond a friendship with me. She was dating somebody else. She would confide in me, as she would to a close friend, and I felt guilty for essentially have a relationship by proxy. So I didn’t want to upset the balance we had in our friendship. That lasted for awhile, until we lost contact and drifted apart. Of course I regretted not telling her more, but I had figured that it was too late.
And here she was at this campfire, choosing to be by my side. My mind jumped so anxiously from thought to thought that I hardly noticed her lean into me and rest her head against mine. Still no word from her. The only sounds were slight murmur of voices. Only the crackle of the wood in the fire and my heart beating in my chest. Only the sound of her breath in time with mine.
And my thoughts raging in my head, a cacophony of words left unsaid.
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