Friday February 28, 2003

Day’s Events:

•   Received phone call from friend in Ontario who decided to move, and asked if he could borrow a room from me for a short while.  Naturally, I agreed.

•   Walked to work (1 ½ hours) while thinking about history of above friend.

•   Finished all work within 40 minutes of shift, leaving over seven hours of nothing.  Decided to aid another department as they were short-staffed, and performed redundant, mindless work until end of shift.

The Dreams:

    Walking down the shore of a beach I’ve never visited I watched the sunset, casting shades of colors I’ve never seen across the water.  Beside me was a tall woman I recognized from dreams I used to have while in Technical School five years ago.  She wore long brown hair highlighted with red, which was incredibly noticeable during this particular sunset.  It had been years since I last dreamt of her, the woman I look for to be my mate, and the sight of her made me wonder why the dreams had stopped so suddenly after graduation.

    She was talking in hushed tones, something was wrong, but just being beside her made verbal comprehension impossible.  For what seemed hours I just stared at her, the wind slowly blowing through her hair, occasionally masking her beautiful oriental face.  Her skin was still the golden tan that it had always been, and although I wasn’t in contact with her, I remember how smooth it was from years before.  A simple white t-shirt covered her upper body, and she wore a yellow bikini underneath.  I was at a loss for words, something that rarely occurs in my dreams with her.

    What was her name …

    … Natasha.

    In an instant I felt as though I was dreaming inside my dream, something that I have only done once before, as I remembered the hundreds of “memories” Natasha and I shared.  I saw the condo we shared in Mississauga, and the 1997 Pontiac Grand Am she drove everywhere.  I remember standing on the balcony gazing out over the shore of Lake Ontario at night with the lights of Toronto casting golden lines on the water, she stood by right as always, and between us was a child.  I recognized her as well, dark hair cut at the shoulders, slender body, very active in social events.  Yet her name escapes me.

    Back on the beach, Natasha sheds one tear.  I go to wipe the emotion from her perfect face, but she pulls away.  At this point I hear everything she’s said up until that point.  She didn’t know who I was anymore; I had become something so vastly different over the years that we had grown apart.  She was leaving.

    Looking down at the golden sand, she whispered ‘Good bye’ and left me by the water.  I watched her leave, unable to stop her, unable to speak, until she was gone.

    In the next moment, I am back at my high school.  This is the building that is most often in my dreams for reasons I cannot explain.  I’m walking down the ‘Arts Corridor’ once again, surrounded by children no more than 10, but they act far older than appearances would suggest.  I see in their lockers thick texts on psychology, astrophysics, mathematics and languages.  I focus on a conversation and start towards the group to get a better understanding of what they are saying.

    The topic was Kuiper Belt Objects, and whether Pluto should have been considered a planet or just the largest of the KBO’s making our solar system’s planet count sit at eight.

    This fascinated me as these children, mostly girls, had well thought out reasons as to why or why not Pluto should be considered the ninth planet.  As they argued back and forth (in an organized fashion, never interrupting the other) several ideas had come forth.  I recall hearing about the Basri Principle which would accept Pluto as a planet and raise this system’s planet count to twelve, and the actual definition of what a planet is.

    These principles had been recent works, something that none of these ‘children’ should have known about.  Yet as I listened to the conversation I was able to absorb an incredible amount of knowledge and create questions that I would later discover on my own in the comfort of my home (a place I have rarely dreamt about recently).  Looking at their faces, I recall each of these children as the younger incarnation of individuals I have met throughout my life.

    Hearing the warning bell, the conversation of definitions and Kuiper Belt Objects silenced and the young group walked into the class across from their lockers, leaving me alone in the hall.

    I walk through the school looking for something I needed, but could not identify.  In many dreams I am able to recall anything with crystal clarity, ‘borrowing’ from my conscious mind to perform complex mathematics or read signs or papers, yet now it has become almost impossible to fathom the shape of a spoon without serious concentration.  I remember putting my hand to my face to cover my right eye for a moment as I struggled to remember what I needed to find.

    When my eyes opened again, a mist had entered the school, covering the floor with odd magenta swirls.  I felt as though I was losing something important, but could not recall what it was that I was losing.  In all my life I had lost everything more than once.  So much so, I had learned in my dreams that I never needed personal possession, and often walked around in the same clothes; a pair of tan khaki’s, a dark blue sweater with a cross across the front, and a simple pair of brown dress shoes.  All in all … I was set for church, golf, or a decent meal at the Keg.

    With the introduction of the fog, I also noticed that I was no longer as clothed.  I now wore only a pair of underwear, leaving me to shiver with the sudden drop in temperature.  Not knowing what to do, I started walking again, hoping that the movement would warm me enough to stop shaking.  I turn the corner towards the library where my intellectual rival of lesser age usually resided only to see that the door was closed, and locked. 

I had no reason to be here.

Looking around at the fading scene, I recalled my first day in this building … hoping to look as though I belonged here, unafraid of public opinion of me or what the senior students might consider ‘initiation’.  Closing my eyes, I focus on that memory, bringing it to crystal clarity.  From the smells of the diesel bus engine, to the fresh cut grass, I brought the memory to life again.  I recalled the black T-Shirt I wore with the Tasmanian Devil on it, and the dark blue jeans that hung loose on my bony figure.  The vividness of the memory made me smile.

Opening my eyes, I noticed that the fog was gone from the halls, and I was clothed again.

The library was busy with students learning and discussing complex ideas and theorems again.

I remembered I was looking for Natasha.

At this point I woke, seven minutes before my alarm clocks were set to activate.