Dearest Rachel –
I hate dreams like the one last night, full of love and affection and false hope. I suppose I should be grateful for the fact that at this point, they don’t come around very much, but when they do, they hit hard, especially when I become aware of what’s going on, and the wrongness of it all.
I’d describe the setting to you, but it really doesn’t matter. It could have been a street lined with shops like in the tourist town in Honduras which we’ve gone to the past couple of years on the last day of the week – our ‘fun day,’ as a ‘reward’ for the hard work put in thus far – and which we’ve never actually gotten out of the van to wander through, both due to time and probably safety constraints. It could have been a shōtengai like any one of those that Daniel and I have strolled through during the last four years or so. Then again, we may have been in one of the county courthouses, on some sort of lighthearted official business (which, given what “official business” tends to be like on average, you might be able to guess what it was all about). Maybe it was all three in rapid sequence, maybe it was a weird mélange of them all. I hardly need to explain the (nonexistent) logic of dreams to you.
We were moving through this place (or these places) with a speed that wouldn’t have made sense outside of a dream, especially since it barely felt like we were walking all that fast ourselves. We were talking, laughing, making jokes – and she seemed to be familiar with all (or at least most of) the inside jokes you and I had between us. It all felt so comfortable and fun, like this could be our future, and we could be so happy together.
At some point throughout all of this, I found myself with her in my arms, looking into her eyes, and then to her warm smile, as if she knew what was about to happen and was inviting it. I didn’t give it a moment’s thought beyond that, and drew her in for a deep kiss, like the ones we used to share (and you would never let me retire for the night without getting from me). I could sense butterflies, of all things, circling around us, as though they were angels blessing the moment. It felt real, it felt joyous, it felt familiar, it felt loving…
…and it felt wrong. Because when I pulled away, I realized this was a girl who, in real life, I really have dreamed (not literally) that I would like to have a future with, but I’ve been given… not so much a rebuff, exactly, but I could say at least confirmation that she wouldn’t have let things get as far as they did it this moment, that’s for sure. Nothing about any of this would have looked out of place (even the scenery, which should have been a tip-off), and certainly some outside observer would have simply seen a loving couple, maybe with a slight May-December vibe (this white beard of mine does it every time), but nothing otherwise out of the ordinary. But now, as I stared back into her eyes a second time – still happy and content at first, but growing concerned as her expression began to reflect mine – I realized that I’d stepped over a line. Never mind that she had not resisted; indeed, she seemed to have welcomed it, reciprocating every action. This wasn’t supposed to be, even if I would have wished it in real life.
Which may well be the point; my mind was trying to grant me this wish for a moment, especially since it seemed to be aware that I wasn’t quite at my best. Perhaps it could have been considered a get-well card from it to me.
But then, being my own mind, it should have known that I wouldn’t appreciate being granted such a false hope. This girl would never want to be ‘with’ me like that, and I shouldn’t be offered a literal dream of that life when I and my mind – and yes, you’d think those would be one and the same, but no, not really – both know that can’t come to fruition.
By the way, I’m sure that one day, I’ll look at this entry and wonder who this was I was referring to by all this. Of course, I know now, but I know I’ll forget someday; it’s why I sometimes drop names when I probably shouldn’t, in fact. Given the nature of this particular story, though, hers will have to remain secret forever. And the odds are, I won’t take the name to my grave, but I’ll have lost it long before then… unless, by some insanely remote chance, it were to come true.
Yeah, right.
Still, in either case, I could wish for you to keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me well. Whether it does or not, I could use it
Letters to Rachel 