No answers

I dreamt of you last night.

You looked good. Healthy, happy, fit. In love.

In the dream, a friend and I accidentally bumped into you…and her. It was a strange situation, as dreams often are. You were parked with her in a unknown Dream Park. I recognized the car and the license plate, which oddly were the same as in real life. Maybe they’ve burned themselves into my sub-concsious, because I’m so afraid of seeing them again. I’m always nervous that I’ll see that car parked somewhere and I’ll know that there is a chance that I will see you, and I will go to pieces.

In my dream, I didn’t go to pieces.  I caught a glance of the two of you, and asked my friend if we could move along quickly. “It’s him,” I explained to her, because she’s never had the pleasure of your acquaintance.

As I was in the midst of explaining our last tumultuous evening together, the night that you broke me utterly and for the last time – you appeared. You confronted me, upset, accusing. I explained that our meeting was purely coincidental. After all, it had  been almost six months (although it was strangely summer in the dream), and this was the first time our paths had crossed. Surely this was a good indication I wasn’t some kind of stalker. After all, the last thing I wanted to see was you, canoodling in a car, with her.

Boldly, Dream Me asked you the question that I’ve been fruitlessly asking myself for almost six months.

“Why did you lie to me? Why didn’t you have the guts to tell me the truth?”

Your face instantly worked itself into that big-eyed, caged animal look that I grew to recognize all too well over the past couple of years. I don’t know what you’re talking about, you said. I never lied, you said. “I told you the truth.  I told you that I didn’t want to be with you, I told you because I didn’t want to lie to you.”

“But you lied about her”, I replied. “Did you not think I would find out that she’s your girlfriend? We met her together, at the same time…or… at least I think we did. You said you met someone online, but you didn’t. You met her.”

Dream You began shuffling his feet.

“Your decision to move onto better things didn’t hurt me as much as the fact that you couldn’t even tell me the truth. After all that time, I didn’t even deserve that much respect in your eyes. And then you wiped me from your life completely – although that didn’t take much of an effort, because I was never really a part of it.”

It appeared as though you were about to open your mouth to say something in your defense, but then you stopped, and just looked at me. Big eyes that couldn’t – still can’t - comprehend why it should matter so much.

And that was when I woke up.  I still don’t have any answers or explanations. No apologies. Nothing.

Not even in my dreams.

These are not my shoes

I have to get these shoes back into the proper places before someone finds me here.

I open the closet door, and see a shoe organizer hanging on the opposite side.  Good.  I glance around nervously.  I probably should not have broken into the house, but it was important to do this while they are all at the wedding.  The perfect time.

Panicking, I manage to find places for one pair, two pairs of his shoes.  I reach into my canvas bag and pull out a woman’s high-heeled pump.  Black.  Why do I have a pair of her shoes?

Suddenly, I hear a noise, and turn to look out the window.  A car is pulling into the driveway.  I struggle as the heel of her other shoe is caught in the bag, and see that there are no other empty spots.  I glance over and see well-dressed family members getting out of the car, parents and aunts and uncles and cousins.  I can’t catch my breath, and I can’t find a place to put the shoes, so I throw them into the closet and close the door.

As the key turns in the lock.  Heart pounding.  I fold the bag and hold it behind my back.  The door opens.  Smile like you’re supposed to be here.

Congratulations, I say to the mother.  Congratulations on your happy day.  She eyes me up and down.  She knows, I can tell.

I’m an old friend, I lie.  I was just putting these shoes away.  Stammering.  Breathe.   I point nervously to the closet.  These are not my shoes, I tell her.

She looks at me sternly and nods, clearly sensing my fear.  The rest of the family doesn’t seem to notice us, as they go about their business of taking off dress coats and arranging items for the celebration which apparently will take place in this very spot.

They’re coming soon, the mother says coldly, implying that now would be a good time for me to leave the house.   I nod, silently.  How do I get out of here?

Then she leans in and says, in a low voice.

She’s carrying his child, you know. 

She turns and joins the others, and I am left standing in the hallway of the house, alone.

Liar.  He couldn’t even tell me the truth about that, either.

I glide down the hall towards the back door of the house and find a way out.  He’s painting the happy family portrait he wanted, I think to myself, as I pick my way down a stone path through the back yard, toward the street.  What a fool, what a liar…

Suddenly, my eyes are open.