Dearest Rachel –
Last night’s dream was more firmly grounded in reality than most tend to be – so in some respects, it might not be as truly interesting to hear about simply because of that – but it did operate along certain lines that wouldn’t make sense in real life. Besides, it brings up certain lines of thought that I probably ought to get off my chest, even though they aren’t necessarily immediate concerns. So… here goes…
I think I’ve mentioned that I’ve been trying (somewhat half-heartedly, as it’s slightly painful to listen to it, when I know I won’t hear it again) to distill your voice out of our old vacation videos, as well as whatever I can find from your dad’s collection that we brought back from your childhood home. Not only is it difficult to separate your voice from everything else that’s going on in many of the scenes, you’re often drowned out by other people talking (particularly your mom); your screen time makes you seem so much more timid than you were in real life.
And, of course, there’s the fact that these videotapes from which I’m trying to pull images and voices from are but a very few amid our (let’s face it, your) collection. As I’ve said before, there are so many here that I have no use for; not only are they just recordings of old shows that, more likely than not, I could get better copies of on DVD… or other, less appropriate means (yarrr…), but the whole point of having them was to watch them together later. That would mean watching them with you – and I know that’s not going to happen. There doesn’t seem to be any point in keeping them, let alone converting them to digital format, and yet I still can’t bring myself to discard them. Too much of your time went into collecting and cataloging them for me to just… throw them out.
Anyway, the first scene in this dream had me expressing these frustrations to my mom, and while I don’t recall exactly what it was she said at the time, I found myself rather shocked at what she was implying. Basically, she suggested that the effort of hanging onto these things had a hand in killing you, which made no sense to me even then. Now that I’m awake, I’m chalking that up to dream logic; people acting and speaking out of character are the least strange thing about most dreams, so I certainly can’t hold such a thing against her.
Then again, there may be something to be said about whether retaining all this stuff might have affected the quality of our lives. Granted, you might argue that without it, things would have been a few measures more boring; I don’t know. I certainly haven’t bothered to watch any of it since your departure, and I haven’t dealt with a lot in the way of boredom that I can see. Then again, I’ve been filling me life with a lot of things that wouldn’t have crossed our minds to include as part of our lifestyle, I will admit.
***
The other scene had me driving out in a westerly direction – on a motor scooter, no less! Maybe not a Vespa, specifically, but something along those lines – toward my old workplace. Now, if I might have wondered why my mom would have said what she did about you and your vast videotape collection, that would have gone doubly so for me driving out to the old office. It took all the restraint I had to be civil on the phone with Mohinder when he called as I was riding up to Milwaukee to collect your ashes with Jenn and Lars. If I don’t speak to him for the rest of my life, it will be too soon.
And yet, my dream had me heading out there, to see if they might be discarding office supplies that I might yet be able to put to good use. Good grief. I don’t print stuff anymore; why would I need old binders to put papers in that I no longer create? And why would I go somewhere that I want nothing to do with? And while again, this is all dream logic, which can’t be expected to make sense in any real-world context, why would my subconscious come up with such a scenario?
My answer came in the form of meeting up with DJ, for whatever reason. You’ll recall that he was my original boss, the one who hired me, before being moved laterally in the finance department where he was essentially left to his own devices. In a similar company that would be willing to utter the phrase aloud, he might be considered “madogiwa-zoku” or “window tribe.”
In any event, I did not encounter Mohinder, only DJ. He was reasonably cordial (although I think he make it plain that my coming was a fool’s errand, as there was nothing in the way of discarded office supplies for me to try to collect and repurpose – and yes, he was as bemused about that mission as I was once I woke up), and we chatted for a bit. At some point, he observed that I “got out at just the right time.”
And I think that’s what I was there to hear.
You see, honey, I’ve often worried that I spent more time (at least, more waking time) at the office (and even at home, too much time thinking about my work life) than I did with you and Daniel. Twenty-eight years and seven months – plus two or three months as a temp leading to my being hired permanently – compared to the twenty-eight years and four months we spent together. Sure, we had evenings, weekends, vacations and holidays – and during Covid, we had those final months together 24/7 (and we managed to enjoy it, rather than being at each other’s throats, like some people) – and we’d known each other for the few years we were together in college, so it kind of balanced out. But the basic totals showed you getting the short end of my time – and now, there isn’t anything I can do about that.
So I’m guessing my subconscious was just trying to reassure me that I’d done the right thing – or at least, as right as I could have done. One has to work in order to eat; I couldn’t have left any sooner, after all (well, technically, I could have just blown Mohinder and the company off for those last three months, put in my two weeks’ notice and called it good, but that wouldn’t have been right in my mind. At this point, though, I’m not so sure).
I still wish you and I had had more time together, especially on this end of our days, given how free they are. But that’s always been outside of my control; this is, I guess, the closest I’m ever going to be able to come to absolution.
***
Anyway, I guess I need to get on with the day, honey, despite it still being dark (and rainy) outside and not the sort of day one wants to go out into if one doesn’t have to. Keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 