It happened yesterday. As I had missed the King’s Highway, the royal
road, I found myself traveling across the Meadows. Fields passed in a green blur as my car
glided forward. I was on my way to the
bibliotheca. An archive of tomes and
treasures to enchant the mind. Yet
as my car pressed forward, when I had gotten off the thoroughfare to take this
way, I always thought of her. Rather
than a sensual tendril, this was actually more of the mundane. I remembered her words in passing that one
should pass by the green village if traffic should ever appear. There it might have stayed except there was a
black car in front of me. Well the
problem wasn’t in the sleek sportster that was in front of me, it was in the
lumbering yellow leviathan in front of it: a garbage truck. As this slowed our passage, it gave me time
to think. To dwell for a moments
reprieve of the trace from the past. It
reminded me of a dream.
The
dream was odd in that I remembered most of it.
Usually, it is only fragments or frozen images of scatter shot
narratives that survive my passage during the night. A flash of eyes, the shattered glass, the
collision of ice cubes, a wilted rose on a broken boulevard: just images.
This seems to be a defense mechanism put in place by my brain to protect
me from my own madness. A bind placed by
myself, to save me from myself.
Perhaps. But every so often, my
mind is merciful in that it allows some of the visions to pass.
I
was in a house. It was one of those
dream houses. You have never been in it
but from the wooden interior frames, soft lighting accentuated by candles, the
wooden floors--it was a fashionable place.
The guests were dressed in the plumage of the upper class evening
wear. I can’t argue. I was also decked out in the haute
culture. I don’t know why the party was
being held except it seemingly was an open house for people to meet and greet
each other. Sadly, all too often it’s
not what you know, but who you know.
Anyway, I was engaged in one such conversation. Well not really. It was one of those conversations where you
are present, but only half-heartedly. I
had other things on my mind. I knew that
she was here. She was somewhere. I had to find her. While the person I was talking to continued
in there rambling, I took a champagne glass from a silver tray. At his pauses I would fill in with the
appropriate “uh, huh,” “really,” and “ya don’t say.” My eyes were furious in their scanning to and
fro. My senses were racing trying to pick
up where she might be. Seeing a doorway
I excused myself to go into the next room.
I
entered the next room to find myself in a crowded kitchen. Now one might expect it to be full of the
hustle and bustle of help making sure the party continued to flow. Replacing the sound of colliding cutlery
however continued banter. As the blue
colored tile on the walls served to amplify the bedlam of the banter, the sound
was crushing. My eyes scanned
furiously. As white cuffs capped with
links of the finest stones rose to the air in an unceasing and unending calls
for cheers. For who, for what, I never
was truly sure. My eyes scouted.
The
delicate ballet of courting couples had begun.
By this time sweet words of whisky had replaced the shy wisdom of
wine. Be they groups in their fifties, forties,
thirties, twenties, or even the uncoordinated youth… they were all reflections
of the others; shy studied curious or explosive in bombastic bravado. Women adorned in the finest of pearls swirled
them around fingers in a slight seduction to those they were talking to. The silent laugh as a hand was pressed to the
chest. White jacketed maître de rushed
about blocking faces with trays or upheld arms before the face could be fully
grasped. Where could she be? Where could
she be? I sat on a chair trying to
figure out the next step. In the cacophony
of smells of roasted flesh of rabbit and lamb, arose a trace of her distinctive
fragrance. Immediately I leapt from my
chair. Like a bloodhound I followed the
scent through the throng of party goers desperate to appear animated behind the
suffocating masks they bore.
My
eyes fell upon a sudden break in the crowd.
In part of the magic that only dreams can provide, a doorway that had
been hidden from my vision earlier, appeared on the back wall. With each step closer to the doors the scent
grew stronger. I did not have time to
look nervously around, this could be her, it could be where she was. I opened the door to find a wooden staircase
going up with the hall bathed in light. I locked the doors behind me. I began to climb the stairs unsure but
hopeful. When I reached the top of the
stairs I came upon a great room.
The
only thing in the room was a huge bed.
The roof of the room glass open to the sky which allowed the bed to be
bathed in the warm glow of the sun. On
the bed itself was a huge white comforter that hid a diffused shape below. Her arm lay palm down on the bed. Through an opening in the comforter I saw her
beckoning eyes smile. I ran to the bed,
pushed back the comforter to reveal her face, her smile. In her savage beauty a part of me died in
return for life perpetual. Tears of joy
softly swept down her cheek as I leaned in to deliver a kiss that had been
building for so long. At this point the
dream broke down into images of shapes and skin erupting from momentary
openings in the comforter. Words
unspoken burned fierce on unrestrained lips as passions gave way. The silent sighs were broken only by purrs of
pleasure under the twisting protection of white. The elusive reflection of nirvana however was just momentary... the black car began to move.
I
laughed at the sudden vibrancy of the recollection. As I swerved into a passing lane I was caught
by the humor of the situation. Though I
might write a short story about that.
