The Dream
Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart.
I woke up with my throat aching. It felt like someone had been strangling me. My eyes burned and my pillow was wet. I lay in the dark room and heard my breathing quiver, just like a child’s after a big cry. I replayed the images from the dream.
I entered a familiar bathroom, heard water running and looked towards the shower. Someone was in it. The translucent door opened, and a familiar voice said, “Come on in.” I couldn’t make out a face but there was something memorable about him. Is this my husband? Am I married?
As he reached out for me, smiling softly, I crossed the threshold. Warm water rained down on my face and his arms wrapped around me. I locked mine around his neck. Immediately, it was as if the water severed unseen strings that were holding up my arms and torso. My body collapsed, and his arms bore my weight. With each exhale, my body felt heavier. I let myself fall into his sheltering arms and chest.
His hand touched the back of my head and energy shot through me. It felt like the burst of adrenaline you get when you think you are about to lose something important, but then realize you still have a chance at getting it. My limp embrace changed to a cling, as if letting go would end my life. I buried my face in the nape of his neck and tears mixed with the water. My body ached all over, grief completely overwhelmed me. I tried to cry, but couldn’t make any sound.
Something woke me up. After a minute, I realized it was my own sounds gently escaping my throat. I wanted to scream out, but the snores from the other side of the bed reminded me that I was not alone.
I got up, knowing that I would not be able to sleep until my throat relaxed. As I tip-toed out of the room, my husband rolled over onto his side. I walked down the hallway, and peeked at my three sleeping children. Although each had their own bed, my two youngest were joined like twins in the same bed. They slept like ragdolls with their arms and legs flopped in unnatural arrangements. Their soft faces gave me a sense that all was right in the universe.
What was I doing dreaming about him, us, in a shower? My first love.
I hadn’t tried to NOT think about him. In fact, it surprised me when I realized that he hadn’t crossed my mind in a while, a long while. My current life was more than full. There was graduate school full-time, three children under the age of 6, and helping my mother to heaven. The stench of a decomposing marriage sometimes interfered with my duties, but for the most part, I just ignored it.
As I entered the dark living room, I fell into to my favorite over-stuffed blue velvet chair, turned on the lamp, and reached for the notebook and pen. The words soon blurred and I watched the ink run. But I kept writing. That’s what my counselor, Becky, told me to do. I’d been writing a lot the past three months, but it didn’t seem to help. She assured me I was getting better. I believed that this dream, somehow, would help me more than anything else I’d written-ever.
After I finished scribbling my disjointed thoughts, I looked over at the computer sitting to my right. The green screen spoke to me like a blank canvas and I painted my thoughts on it. Find him. I need to find him. I have to find him. I got up and clicked the little round button. The screen came to life. I typed in “Yahoo people search” and waited. Little white boxes appeared, guiding me to plug in his name, a city and birth-date. The name came out of my fingertips as easily as if I were typing my own name. The city: I was going to guess that would be the same one from 20 years ago. For the birth date, I punched in November 23, hoping I was close.
The machine began grinding, as if a construction crew were in that tower, rebuilding a crumbled structure. The top line seemed to expand as I read it, “Thomas Howell Green, Tallapoosa, Georgia. Birthdate- November 23rd.” Below it was a phone number. I started to breathe fast and my heart rate doubled.
I quickly calculated how long it’d been since we first dated. Twenty-two years. He still lives in Tallapoosa after all this time? It did make sense. He was close to his family and loved the peach farm.
A tsunami pushed me forward. Is he O.K.? Oh my God, maybe he just died! Maybe that is why I dreamed about him. Maybe his mother or father died? Or wife? Does he even have a wife? Children. Does he have children? What are their names? Ages? Does he still play the drums?
The surge of courage continued. I have to call him. O.K. I am going to call him. I glanced at the wall clock. 4:22 am. I can’t call him now-not at this ungodly hour.
What I did during the next hour and a half I cannot tell you. It is almost as if that time just vanished from my life-because the next thing I remember is picking up the receiver. Putting my hand on the keypad took superhero type strength.
When I pressed that first number, I felt like I had slammed a brick wall with a sledge hammer. I broke through the wall as I dialed the second number. With each number, I felt like I was swimming towards the surface of the ocean after having been stuck on the bottom. My lungs screamed for air. I kicked my feet as hard as I could and pressed the final number.
When I heard the first ring, the sun’s rays turned the surface of the water from a dark turquoise to a pale green.
“Hello” came through the earpiece and thrust me above the water with a force that resembled a missle. I inhaled deeply and relaxed all over.
I’m not sure how long I paused. I considered hanging up. All I wanted to know was that he was alive. He was. I could just hang up now.
“Hello. Hello?” he repeated.
“May I speak with Thomas?”
“This is Thomas.” I heard a soft southern accent. It was definitely his voice.
“Thomas, this is Karen. Karen Tomlin. Do you remember me?”
“Karen? Yes I remember you!” Not a trace of irritation in his voice; he sounded amused.
“Are you O.K.? I need to know you are O.K.” I twirled the spiral cord in my hand and stood up.
“Yes, I’m O.K. Are you alright?” His tone dropped an octave.
“Yes. I’m fine. How about your parents? Are your parents O.K.? ” I asked, certain I was about to hear of a tragedy. I turned and took two steps back to my chair.
“Yes, my parents are fine. Really, they are great.” He said, placing emphasis on the ‘really.’ He must have known I needed reassurance.
I paused for a minute, feeling certain that he was omitting something grave. “Now you are serious, everything, everyone, you, everybody’s O.K? No one is sick or anything? You aren’t sick?”I could hear my own heartbeat in my head. I sat back down and twirled the cord counter-clockwise in large circles.
“No, I’m not sick. And my brothers are all O.K, too. ”
“I just had this feeling that something really bad happened to you. Something, um, well, serious. And I got scared.”
“Well, something pretty big did just happen to me.”
“You got married?”
“No. I’m holding a newborn in my arms. He’s two days old. We just brought him home from the hospital today, or well, yesterday. He’s sleeping and I’m rubbing his fuzzy head. He’s beautiful.”
“I bet he is. Becoming a father is pretty huge. Congratulations.”
“Well, this is my second son. My other son is 10.” That answered two of my questions. Married? Yes. Kids? Two.
“But, this isn’t my first. It’s different this time, though. I guess cause I’m older.” I did a quick calculation. Me, just turning 40, meant he was about to be 44. “I’m gonna be 44 this year…”
“November 23rd.” I interrupted. “And you aren’t older. Men can have kids at any age!”
“You remember my birthday?”
“Apparently I do.”
“How about you? Do you have any kids?” He re-directed the conversation, making me a bit uncomfortable. I hadn’t thought this through enough. How was I going to answer his questions?
“Yea, three. Two girls and boy. My son is two. I didn’t think I’d ever have any. We were married seven years before I got pregnant.” I felt my stomach twist into a knot when I said the word ‘married.’
“Now, tell me again why you called me?” He sounded more awake.
“. I…uh…had a dream about you. It was pretty intense.” I began wrapping the cord around my index finger till it was covered completely, then releasing it.
“It must have been an intense dream for you to call me. Karen, is everything O.K.?
“Yea.” I said, while trying to force a steady voice. I felt certain that the message: Things suck for me right now, came through loud and clear. I pressed down on one end the spiral phone cord, condensing it on the end table while I continued, “I love my children. They keep me going.”
“I bet they are beautiful.” He paused, and I heard him inhale. “So, how are your parents?” His gentle voice pierced me.
“Well, my mom’s not doing too well. And my dad lives in Mexico.” I pulled my knees close to my body wrapped my arms around them.
“I’m sorry about your mom. What’s wrong?”
My chin pulled down and I felt my eyes fill with tears.
“She had a stroke several years ago. She lives in a nursing home close by.”
“Oh Karen. I’m soooo sorry.” The tenderness in his voice unlocked my steel door.
“Thanks.” I didn’t say anything else. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I curled up into a sideways ball, pulled a blanket off the back of the chair and wrapped it around my shoulders. A tear dropped onto my knee.
“So, you take care of three kids and your mother?”
“Yea. I’m not working right now. I got laid-off off last year, thanks to Governor Sonny Perdue’s budget cuts. I was a French teacher.
“Oh, that’s too bad. We lost some teachers here in Haralson County, too.”
“I’m in graduate school, taking some English classes so I can get certified to teach it. I'm hoping to have a job by January. OK, Now my turn. Are you still playing music?”
“No. I threw the towel in about 10 years ago.I’m working for the Post Office. It was time to get a real job.”
“Oh.” My mind rewound to the early eighties when I spent Saturday nights watching him, the drum-wizard, play timeless rock-n-roll. “So, you don’t play at all?”
“Occasionally I’ll play in a blues or jazz band. But, not too often. Family responsibilities.” I relaxed my shoulders and felt my heart rate begin to slow down. His familiar voice began to act as a sedative on my nerves.
“Well, I know this was a crazy phone call to get, and I’m really sorry if I’ve disturbed you…”.
“No, you didn’t disturb me. I was already awake, standing in the kitchen with the baby.” He paused for half a second and then added, “I’m glad you called.”
“Thanks for saying that. It is really good to hear your voice.” I took a deep breath and laid my legs over the arm of the chair. “I’ve actually been awake for about two hours, wanting to call you.” I felt like I’d just peeled off half my skin.
“Really? Two hours? Well, I’m glad you didn’t call at 4am. I would have thought someone had died.” He chuckled.
I glanced at the wall clock-6:20. “Have we been talking for 30 minutes? It doesn’t seem like it! I better go.”
“You can call me again if you want to, Karen.” The way he said my name shot me into a vertex of mixed feelings. Sadness, joy, anguish, and desire rushed around me like hot summer wind. I ran my fingers through my hair, sat up in the chair, stared out the window, wondering what he was looking at.
“O.K. Thanks again.”
“For what? For answering my phone?”
“I don’t know. Just thanks. Thanks for talking to me.”I said, with a relaxed throat.
“No problem. We’ll talk again.” He said matter-of-factly.
“That’d be nice. Well, good night… or good morning.” I glanced out the window and noticed the black was fading.
“Good night.” He said.
I hung up the phone and sighed. I felt my face stretch into a grin. I slumped over the arm of the chair, laid my hand under my cheek, and watched fairy particles dance around my living room. I closed my eyes just as the sky turned from a deep pink to a golden white.
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