Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Day 51: Manderley again

"Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.”*    

I have a stuffy head and sore throat so last night, I took some stuffy-head-so-you-can-rest medicine.  Okay, the Walgreen's version of the stuffy-head-so-you-rest medicine but in the "death-green" original formula.**    It knocked me out and back into the arms of the ONE WHO GOT AWAY.  Also known as the ONE WHO CHOSE SOMEONE ELSE.  

The first part of the dream was him lamenting everything that he gave up by choosing to be the GOOD GUY WHO STAYED.   Passion, intimacy, himself.  His true self.  He continued to wage this internal war in my dream.   Until finally, he snuck in and then out of Germany and back into Detroit, which in my dream apparently borders Germany and Canada.   He and his friend were chased by German border agents and after their successful escape to my kitchen, the friend disappeared and the ONE took me in his arms (and on the kitchen counter tops.)

It was during the sweet-spot of this dream that the dream took another twist.  As dreams are wont to do.   In between passionate, longing kisses, he told me that he often thought of me, especially during play group or when reading a parenting manual when a mom named Julie was mentioned.  And my heart dropped.  Into my knees.   With disappointment.  

Then, the slow beep that builds into a series of loud beeps that is my alarm clock.  Pulling me from the magic of his arms, from figuring out why the context of which he thought of me made my heart drop, from hearing all the other ways that he thought of me, from having him choose me, to be with me.  To be with me for more than one night, for more than a few stolen hours.

And then all day, I am haunted.  The elevator door opens as I leave the parking garage at the Greektown Casino Hotel and the first word that I hear is Chicago.  Where we met, from whence he hails.  Then, this long, rambling discussion with myself on the way into work.   Chicago is a popular, storied city that is often mentioned.  As is California.  It's not unusual that people, books, music, and movies reference Chicago or San Francisco or California.  It does not mean anything.  There are no signs.  There are only hard, cold facts from which to draw a harder, colder conclusion.

And here I am.  Still at work.  90 minutes past quitting time.  Still haunted.

*From Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier

**Dennis O'Leary, No Cure for Cancer

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