I was sitting in a classroom at a small table-like-desk. There were floating shelves on the wall above my head. Books of all sorts were stacked like my own cases at home—this way and that with some books upright and some on their sides. There were loose papers jutting out of a few editions. There were big books jammed on top of a little books and vice versa. The shelves were essentially a mess with no rhyme nor reason.
The walls were a pale, light green—much like the edges of this page. There were posters of the alphabet on the walls. Posters of the presidents. Posters of other things I couldn’t really decipher. I knew that all the posters were rather juvenile. I surmised it was a class for young kids. Maybe kindergartners, I couldn’t really tell. And, I didn’t really care.
The phone rang. It startled me as I had not noticed it before. It was sitting on the desk in front of me. I answered the phone. I don’t know who it was, or what they were saying, but I could hear mindless words in the earpiece. Kind of like one of those Charlie Brown cartoons. “Waaa, waaa, waa.” I zoned out.
Just a little behind me to the left was a long table. You know…the kind every school has. They are about three feet by six feet. They have the brown faux wood tops. The legs fold up underneath them and they can be portable if you can haul around an awkward 20+ pound deadweight.
So I am sitting there…sort of zoning out on the phone, but semiconsciously trying to figure out what in the world is going on and where I am. Something in my peripheral catches my attention. I turn my head to the left, and there she is.
She’s wearing a mustard yellow sweater. It zips up the front kinda like the one I’ve seen in her closet. Her hair is the same brown as it was, but it’s looking a little disheveled. I’m immediately trying to determine if it’s her wig or her real hair. I conclude it’s not her real hair but I can’t really tell what it is. She turns and smiles at me. For a brief moment I am stunned. “Mom”, I say. “What are you doing here?”
I instantly know in my mind that I am dreaming. I realize it’s the first dream I’ve had about her. And, even though I know it’s a dream it seems so real and I don’t want it to stop.
Then I notice my Dad sitting beside her. He’s looking straight ahead so all I see is his profile. She’s sitting in between us. She looks at him and then back at me. I’ve still got the phone up to my ear with the cord dangling down. I wonder, “What in the world is my Dad looking at?” He continues to stare straight ahead.
I look at her again. She says, “He’s not ready to see me. He can’t do it yet.” “What does that mean?” I try to cry out, but not one word nor one sound even leaves my mouth.
I hear one of the kids stir in the other room.
“Not yet”, I say to myself. I don’t want the dream to come to an end. More noises. “Stop!!” I shout in my brain. I try to refocus back toward the dream, but it’s quickly become like a gas disapating into the thin air.
I concentrate hard. I realize I’m now standing in a hallway looking for her. I see a mom I know from the girls’ ballet school. I ask her what she’s doing here. She doesn’t answer. Instead she turns her back to me and continues down the hallway. I notice her hair. Is it real? It’s mid way down her back—it’s blond and carmel-colored. It’s pretty. She rounds the corner to the right at the end of the hall before I have a chance to ask her.
And, then it’s over.
Just like that.
That’s it.
Now I’m completely awake realizing it’s morning. Comforted, happy, sad, and disturbed all at the same time.
Dreams are weird, I reason.
Reality, only not. Truth, only not. Strange, only not. Comforting, only not. Happy, only not. Sad, only not.
Yep. Weird. I decide.
Can’t wait for the next one.