Only Dream

The grass is soft beneath my feet, tickling in between my pedicured toes. The ground is cool, but not wet. The hem of my sundress brushes my knees. Where am I? And where are my shoes?

Dreams soon morph into nightmares in my mind, and I would prefer to have foot protection when the plot of this sunny afternoon turns and arrives at Horrorville. I hesitate before lifting my eyes off my toes and towards my surroundings. What if the warm sun on my skin is a trick? What if a serial murderer’s face and laughless grin are waiting for me? Urg, man up! This is just a dream, it will turn dark soon, so you might as well enjoy this part of it before you wake yourself up with your own screams. 

Clean air fills my lungs, crisp and clean, I breath “down to my toes” as my old vocal coach used to say, and lift my face. I have no clue where I am, all I can say is that I really hope my mind didn’t create this place. It’s gorgeous, beyond gorgeous really.

I find myself in a garden, and I’m not talking about dear Aunt Suzy’s petunias. I’m in a manicured and designed garden the likes of which can be found on royal grounds and grand estates. So I have either been kidnapped to be the mistress of a foreign dignitary, or I’m playing a sick game of guess-where-the-psycho is. Either way, I don’t care. I literally can’t worry about what monster is going to pop out. I am at peace.

As I stand in the middle of a grassy lane that is lined with large bushes that have been trimmed into semi-egg shapes, without the anticipation of a storm the sun wraps my skin in it’s glorious rays. I giggle and turn around, and behind me is an expanse of trees and flowers in full bloom. Lavender, lilies, tulips, daffodils, cherry blossoms, dogwood trees, all kinds of roses, yes there are petunias, and so many others in so many colors that I get overwhelmed.

In real life, and in dreams, when I get overwhelmed with happiness I start to dance. I close my eyes and let the melody of my happiness lift my feet and carry me where ever it wants to. I twirl, leap, sashay, and in general jump and wiggle my body.

“What are you doing?” An inquisitive man’s voice comes from the lane.

No. Please let me have a little more time with the dream part. I open my eyes to a man dressed in an immaculate fitting suit appearing in the lane from behind one of the eggy bushes. While a man suddenly appearing usually means bad news in my dream land, I don’t want to encourage this to turn ugly.

“Sorry, I got lost.” Yikes, a little more high pitch then I wanted, but I think it still came off as friendly and not too nervous.

His chuckle makes me want to start dancing again. As he approaches me his features blur, but not in a run-you-stupid-bimbo kind of way. Remember how in movies from the 30’s and 40’s they would put the filter on the camera to make the woman’s face glow and glisten all dreamy-like? Well the camera in my dream has several of those filters in it, and the only thing I can see clearly is that he’s smiling.

 “Here, I’ll show you.”

“Show me what?” My voice is laced with suspicion, a girl’s gotta be careful in her own dream you know.

He takes my hand in his, turns his back to me, a breeze ruffles his hair ever so slightly as he calls back to me. “Just wait till you see.”

That’s it. That’s all that I ever remember. Oh sure, sometimes he takes me to a wedding happening on the grounds, but I never remember the wedding, and only have a vague recollection of dancing with him. Sometimes he has my shoes in his hands, super cute heels every time. Other times he points out features of the garden I didn’t notice, like a fountain, or a cute white bench.

The sequence that I played out above is the only constant. My entire life this has been the only dream I can remember that doesn’t turn into a nightmare, and on the rare occasion that it visits me, I have no terrors for the rest of the night, just restful sleep.

It’s probably been over a year since the last time I’ve visited that garden. I wanted to write this in hopes of being able to go back there of my own free will, but if that doesn’t happen, that’s alright. At least now I have a record of it if it chooses to leave me. Then I’ll know I’m not completely crazy, I’ll know that I had one. One that delighted me with it’s company more than once.

I had a dream. It wasn’t profound, and it certainly won’t have any impact on history. But it was sunny, and tranquil, and absolutely completely sublime. And it was mine.

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