Another night, another dream. This time rather than walking aimlessly, I knew exactly where I was going, but now that I look back on it I can’t seem to remember where that was. Don’t you hate it when that happens? When something felt so real that you were half convinced that you were actually awake, then once you realise that it wasn’t everything becomes fuzzy. Like an out of focus photograph, you have an idea of what you’re looking at, but you can’t quite make out the details.
The little that I do remember goes like this… I was on a bus, going somewhere, I’m not sure where. As I said, that detail has been lost to me. I remember feeling excited, but knowing that I should be scared. I almost missed the fear that had long ago become a part of me. I kept waiting for it to creep up on me but it never did. Relief mixed with confusion flooded through me as I looked out of the window watching the world pass by us.
My heart ached when I awoke and found that it was only a dream, I felt cheated, as if someone had tempted me with something and then taken it away before I could grasp hold of it. I wanted to scream, cry, throw something, anything to rid my body of the emotions bubbling up inside.
Have you ever known what it’s like to not only want, but to need something so badly? I needed that dream to be real.
I tried so hard to maintain the hope that someday soon things would get better, look at the glass half full, that kind of thing, but lately it was becoming more and more difficult to keep it up.
I am a caged bird waiting for my wings. Soon I will fly away and be free.
I can see that there’s frost out on the ground and on the rooftops, the people out on foot are all wrapped up like Eskimos in thick scarves, wooly hats and gloves, it seems an awful lot like one of those days where a blanket and a mug of hot chocolate in front of the TV sound like the best thing ever.
Turning away from the window I quietly walked down the stairs. There’s thirteen of them, wooden and uncarpeted, a splinter risk if you ask my dad. He hates the fact that I love to walk around the house barefoot. Most of them creak when you step on them, but over the years I’ve figured out how to walk on them without making a sound. Sometimes it bothers me that they’re of an odd number. I’m not of an obsessive compulsive nature, at least I don’t think I am, well maybe just a little but that’s not the point. When I go up the stairs I like to take two steps at a time and so that one single step puts me off my rhythm every single time.
You know, none of that stuff about the cars was true, I made most of it up. I don’t know why exactly, it’s just something that I seem to enjoy doing every now and then. The truth is that I did stop to look out of the window and I did see a dark blue Volvo, little red Peugot and an old green Skoda pass by on the street below, but I just don’t know who they belong to, at least not really. The people that own them are strangers, people that I’ve seen around over the years, but I don’t know them and they don’t know me. I don’t mind that really, it’s a relief to be quite honest. I’ve never been very comfortable in social situations, even more so lately. I never know what to say, how to act, what to do. I always feel as if people are watching me, judging every aspect of my being, the way that I look, the way that I carry myself, the way that I talk. I know that it’s all in my head, that I hardly warrant a second look, but still those thoughts eat away at me every time I’m in close contact with people that I don’t know.
I began to make my way downstairs pausing for a few minutes to look out of the landing window. I watched as a few cars went by on the road below, there went Paul in his dark blue Volvo. Paul is a forty-two year old recent divorcee with an ever increasing bald spot and an ill fitting jacket that would have looked dated even two decades ago. He was off out this morning to the vets to pick up his dog Pippi, a two year old Labrador who had had a minor operation on her leg. The image of him walking her with one of those plastic cone things around her neck made me giggle.
The little red Peugot was a young woman named Kate, a tall brunette who lived at the end of the road in the little house with the postbox built in to the wall surrounding the garden. She was off to work in the hairdressers on the High Street where she would spend the day washing and setting pensioners hair while dreaming of becoming a stylist to the stars that appeared in the magazines that she poured over in the evenings.
And then there was Mary in her old green Skoda that huffed and puffed as it made its way along the road. Mary was a lovely old lady, if I were to guess I’d say that she was in her mid to late seventies. She is one of those ladies that enjoys making jams and watching Deal or No Deal in the afternoon with a cup of tea and a slice of cake. Battenburg is her favourite, she swears that it’s what keeps her young. I’m not entirely convinced.
As I lay there waiting for sleep I listened to the clock ticking away in the hall, after what must have been half an hour at least of sleep evading me I told myself that I would count each second that passed, once I reached sixty I would get out of bed. This was something that I found myself doing most mornings, and attempt at putting off the inevitable I suppose. Sixty seconds soon became eighty, eighty became a hundred… This continued for a while. Eventually I sat up and swung my legs out over the side of the bed, it was colder than I had thought it would be and for a moment of two I considered getting back under the covers, but I didn’t want to feel as if I had wasted the day by spending half of it in bed. Shuffling over the landing to the bathroom I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, further details aren’t necessary at the moment.
I had a dream. It was nothing special. If you could open up my head and look around inside you probably wouldn’t have found it interesting viewing. To me though, it was perfect. It was all that I could wish for and more. In my dream I found myself walking down a long pathway, unsure where it was leading, but eager to find out. Nothing worried me, it was as if all of my cares had been blown away on the wind. The clouds where few and far between, letting the sun shine down, warming my pale skin. I could have walked for ever, happy in my simple bliss. But such things never last. Before I could see where the path way leading me a distant sound roused me from my sleep, turning over on to my side I reluctantly opened my eyes. It took a moment for them to adjust in the dim light of my room, I only had to stretch and arm out from under the covers to move the curtain aside, but that seemed like a whole lot of effort. Looking over at the alarm clock that was rarely ever used to its full potential I read the time. 8.34. Too early. There was nothing to do this early in the day. I turned to face the wall, closing my eyes in hope that I could drift back to sleep and recapture even a little of my earlier dream.
