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Dreaming of Two Nights

April 14, 2010

Interior Plan of the House, 2010

Somewhere in California I owned a house with close friends. It was built in the early 1900’s and felt antiquated. The walls were brown, the stairs were wooden and the ceiling ivory. Everything had darkened. The windows allowed very little light to enter the rooms. The resilience this house once had is now gone. There was a gathering downstairs and I was reluctant to attend.

So many things were broken.
The toilets flooded the bathroom. Doors were missing and windows were broken. I began with the window frames. I willed the wood to grow, for the glass to thicken and for the blinds to bend back into place. I tested the window’s functionality. Something was definitely wrong. I could not feel the air outside when the window was open. An older woman came in and asked if I would go downstairs and tend to the guests. I shook my head and grabbed the small electric heater off the floor. I undid the screws and cleaned its interior. As I replaced the screws there were flashes in my mind of circus performers dancing in a massive red tent. I felt that I was there and inside the house at the same moment. I stepped out into the hallway and listened to the chatter below. Everything had decayed inside the house and the friends that lived with me are gone.

That was last night.

The night before I sat in Angie’s room in the same house and watched her unpack her belongings. The house was sturdy and all the windows were open, allowing light and air to travel all the way down into the kitchen. Downstairs our scientist friend was making lunch. Angie unpacked her clothes and set down a pile of items she no longer wanted. I used the pile to exercise my levitation skills. I held the bundle in mid-air and concentrated on separating individual items. It worked until Angie started to laugh. The bundle set off in different directions and clothes landed everywhere.

“Try me,” said Angie. “It’s always tough with people, especially when they’re resisting your will.”

I focused on her eyes and attempted to lift her. She didn’t budge.

“Told you it wasn’t easy,” she cried. “Why don’t you relax and try again? But this time you need to think of me as floating particles.”

I tried again and her feet shuffled slightly to the right. Then her entire body became suspended over the bed.

“Not bad,” she said. “Now put me down. Lunch is ready.”

During lunch Angie confessed she wouldn’t be staying with us very long. Something about the man she loved. They were going to Mexico for an indefinite period of time.

“I understand if you decide to rent out the room,” she said.

“Don’t be silly. You’ll be back soon. I mean, really, how long is this Mexico escapade going to last?” I said.

“You shouldn’t be so presumptuous,” said the scientist. “Perhaps this is her final journey.”

“No, she’s right,” said Angie. “I’ll be back. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to enjoy it while it lasts.”

Two dreams in two nights where the events seem to correlate. The main connection: the house.

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