There was a play. An Impromptu acting with partial nudity. The women came for the constantly changing impromptu script. The men came, mostly, for the nudity in the promised nightly sex scene. I had been invited.
There was an after party also, done outside to be polite to the owner of the place and the customers inside, who wouldn’t appreciate the noisy grouping of people laughing and making happy asses of themselves because of the adrenaline and attention. It felt overwhelming for an Introvert and yet I didn’t want to leave. I considered if I could get away with sneaking to a spot, in the outskirts to read, but still remain somewhat still there. The energy in the air would easily deplete me of energy. There was just soo much adrenaline in the air. I felt like I was breathing through a straw.
The presence of you was everywhere. You were there, but not. You hadn’t come to the play or after party and yet, still present as if you had somehow. They all whispered politely about you. Each wanting the others to know they had stories of you. Acceptance by these acting troupe people, manic and a bit over-the-top, but also somewhat revered at the same time, because you were of them, but slightly more because you succeeded at it, where they could only dream and do smaller venues, like this one.
Then, suddenly, I wasn’t at the party anymore. I was at a very old house. There was a beautiful young woman there. She had knowledge of who I am in her eye. I wandered, mostly with my hands. Nervous about her. I found cuts in the wooden vanity with bits of paper sticking out. I pulled the paper and found wax-paper wrapped band-aids vertically under each one. How strange, I thought.
I saw a photograph of a baby boy who hadn’t lived. His name would have been Nathan. In my head, I realized that, that was wrong, the baby that died was a girl..wasn’t it? Somehow I knew that if she’d been a boy, she’d have been Nathaniel.
It felt intrusive, this sudden understanding. Like I shouldn’t be knowing this small personal secretive bit of you. I respectfully decided to not mention it. She smiled at me again. Knowledge in her eye. She’d done it deliberately. Why did she want me to know this detail?
She said she had to go, she had a date. I should lock up after I left. I watched her go. Feeling weird being in someone else’s home after they’ve gone. Suddenly knew you were coming..that this was somewhat your place. I began to panic..and woke up.
Why are all my dreams so damned detailed, but like a movie on fast-forward that I can only retell the bits I grab onto as I wake up?
My heart felt so heavy at your loss in the dream. The panic that you were coming wasn’t because I would see you, I see you all the time. It was because I saw something very private and I felt like I wasn’t properly ready to have you know I knew..or something. Like a dork I completely freaked out.
I woke up and immediately came and typed this.
Why do I dream about you?