Memory Book

Dearest Rachel –

Considering that I so rarely see you in my dreams these days – especially in comparison to the quasi-nightmares that are the ones that have me back at my old job, having to deal with Mohinder for one reason or another – it was pleasant for you to visit me last night. Granted, at first it wasn’t all that much, but as everything about it seemed new, I wasn’t going to complain.

I was paging through a memory book from the new church campus that we’ve been attending since it opened some six or seven years ago. Think of it as a yearbook, but without being associated with a particular year – unless you consider its first twelve months of being open (along with the building process leading up to that point) as a “year.” The very existence of this book in my hand suggested that someone was taking pictures of things that were going on around the structure as it was being built, as well as during that first year or so once it was in operation.

Oddly enough, I wasn’t paging through it for where I might have shown up, like I used to do with school yearbooks (and being surprised at how rarely I showed up in them, despite the fact that, apart from band, I didn’t participate much in extracurricular activities, so I shouldn’t have been). Or maybe not so oddly, as I had someone else to look for, as you might guess. And I wasn’t disappointed; it would seem that you spent a fair amount of time over there in this dream history of mine, presumably during the day while I was out at work and Daniel was at school. That’s not how things actually transpired in real life, of course, but it was nice to see you planting and tending certain greenery around the building as it came together, for instance. It wasn’t real, but it was just plausible enough to seem real at the time.

Of course, there were images – possibly even footage, as some of them seemed to move like .gif files, or like a book from the magical world – that should have tipped me off that this wasn’t nearly as plausible as all that. The one with Daniel of the roof of the completed building (how did he get up there?), riding something dark and indistinct – it could have been a broom, it could have been a small dragon – off of the roof and gently making his way to the ground below had me staring at it for some time, wondering what it was I was looking at. Somehow, it wasn’t clicking in my mind that I was in the middle of a dream. Even with something as outlandish as that, it felt like I was paging through a whole new trove of memories that someone else had kept for me.

And, to be fair, the pictures – and footage – of you seemed so perfectly reasonable and in character that I might be forgiven for coming to this conclusion. Along with those of you tending to the herbage at the perimeter of the building, there were plenty of later shots of you hobnobbing with other congregants and visitors; just one person in the crowd, to be sure, but you can understand that my eyes would zoom in on you, no matter where you were in the picture. Everything seemed so normal, at least for you, and I was happy to stare at this memory book (or whatever you might call it) for what seemed like hours.

But at some point, I had to get up. Morning comes, after all, and one must get ready for the day, even when it’s the weekend. So I headed into the bathroom off of the master bedroom, paying no attention to the fact that the room was already lit (who would turn the lights on, apart from myself?), and setting myself down for my morning constitutional. It was at that moment that I heard a muffled sound from the shower stall, and slid the door open…

…to find you sitting on the corner ledge, as if you were waiting for me. “I thought I’d surprise you by greeting you here today,” you smiled.

“Well, you certainly did that,” I replied, as I stepped in to join you and sit on the floor in front of you. I’m sure we must have exchanged a few more words and actions, but it where the scene as I remember it dissolved; I wasn’t in the bathroom at all, but still in bed. And when I went there this time, I had to turn the light on, and you weren’t there anymore – as if you ever had been. It would have been a moment of supreme disappointment, if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve grown accustomed to this empty place; even if it’s just my imagination, the moments where you show up are so rare as to be treasured, even if they aren’t real anymore.

So thank you for the book, honey, and the brief moment of pleasant surprise. I wish I could have kept it, and flipped through it a little longer. I was we could have spent more time together, just talking and… well, you know what it was like (although our places were reversed from what used they to be – but given length of time you’ve been away, who cares?). But the few you let me enjoy this morning will have to be enough for now, and I need to let you know I appreciate them, rather than immediately demanding more; maybe this approach of gentle thanks will suffice to allow them to so proliferate in the future. Do you think you could see you way clear toward that?

Regardless of that, though, at least I can ask you to keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck, as I’m sure I’ll need it.