Again, I found myself waking up this morning convinced my father was waiting for me to come home from school. I am having - suddenly - very clear, vivid dreams about him. I can't recall the rhyme or reason, but I can clearly see him.
He's young. Or looks young. Forties. I am in high school. I know I am a sophomore. Tenth grade is what I am certain of. We live in an apartment on the ground floor, but we have a very large sliding glass door. Very similar to the apartment complex Rob and I lived when we were in Laurel but it's not the same. Mom is not there. I again sense that she is not living.
Dad is so handsome. His hair dark and combed just like it always was; on the left side with a high arc. He's dressed in black slacks and a white dress shirt, and a pin-striped black vest. Dashing! No mustache, though! I don't think I have ever seen my father without one. I wonder why I dreamed he didn't have one? What does that symbolize? I've never seen him wear a black vest, either. He had a gold watch. That he did wear, but this watch was gold. Not stainless.
Dad and I were hugging. We had just had a very emotional conversation. Happy tears replacing sad. I don't know why. It is morning and I am about to miss the school bus. I don't want to leave my father. I am enjoying our time together. I feel that I must pull myself away from him. We hug tightly and I pull away, grabbing my notebook and books (this was way before backpacks were the norm).
"See you after school, Squirt." He slid the door closed, and I turned and ran to catch my bus. Suddenly, I stopped. I turned around and ran back to the patio. I see him inside, walking out of the living room. I knock furiously on the glass. He turns to face me. I smile and give him an "I love you" sign. I hold it high for him to see. I see him smile and he says it back. I don't hear it, but he mouths it. I hesitate, then run for the bus.
I have been having a lot of dreams about my parents, lately. I don't know why. I'd like to know, though. Why now? Why so many? I, like my Aunt Cammie, don't believe that dreaming is just all that extra energy the brain must purge in order to rest. There has to be a reason! I mean, dreams make some sense. It's not just jumbled bits and flashes of nonsense. It seems that the brain must work to put these odd little stories and scenes in a way to make some sense, right? I learned years ago that the brain works harder when we dream than when we are awake. That kind of freaks me out.
I think I need to start journaling my dreams, again. Back when I was a senior in high school, I took psychology. My teach gave us an opportunity to get some extra credit by agreeing to keep a dream journal for two weeks. Three times each week, we would set our alarms for 2:00 AM. Upon waking up, we would grab the notebook that we were told to keep close to our beds and begin writing. Don't think, just write. I thoroughly enjoyed this and got my extra credit. I kept doing it. For years. I had to work and though I didn't have to set my alarm, I would just write when I woke up, or when I could. I eventually stopped. Our apartment flooded and my journals (I had many composition books, FILLED with dreams) were destroyed. I would give my left boob to have them back.
Until next time,