And So She Runs

Dreams and Delusions

When Laura came through the very probably rotting front door of her home, she was absolutely drenched. Soaked to the core. Her bad choice of sneakers squelched as they moved onto the torn mudroom rug. Somewhere along the way, she must have lost her not thick enough elastic, as now her hair acted like a bush on top of her head. It was matted, dread-locked, and deadly. The frown on her face could not and would not be changed for a long time. If someone were to see her right now, they would swear to witnessing a cartoon rain cloud indefinitely looming over her head.

With an almost lifeless hand, the dreary teenager turned on the light, illuminating the dark house instantly. She called out but no one responded. No one was home, as expected. Grace was away at university and dad was busy at work. It would be a lonely, lonely night. As she waltzed into the kitchen, she spontaneously remembered a book her mother read her as a young child. 'Goodnight moon...' Fortunately, Laura's eyes were now too dry to cry. Instead, she spoke the words to herself, as she remembered her mother speaking them to her. Somehow, it helped the girl to feel less alone.

The rest of the evening was quite uneventful. The type of uneventful, however, that makes a person feel hollow. And Laura felt this – like she felt most of her emotions – very strongly. While making her peanut butter sandwich, her mind desperately pushed away lonely thoughts. While eating, her mind was slowly consumed by them. And by the time she sat on her big, poufy sofa, watching television as she procrastinated on her work, she was completely overwhelmed. Her tears came out like 'screw you! You can never stop me!"

So, in total misery, Laura once again began repeating the rhyme. Goodnight moon. She pictured her lying in the bed that seemed to swallow her up it was so large, and trying (and failing) to find the little picture of the mouse on every page. Her mother, beside her, dropping obvious hints to the perplexed and clueless five year old girl. Her sister, endorsed in her book from across the room, trying to hide the fact that she, too, was intrigued. The warmth of the hug her mother gave before tucking both and her sister in for the night. The warmth of the love of a mother. The cold of the now. The cold of the home of a struggling teenager and a depressed father. Cold. Miraculously, and sadly, Laura uncontrollably shivered. Then, the tears continued, despite the dry eyes.

The lonely teenager, who once was a five year old surrounded by warmth, fell asleep before her father came home. In the almost empty, and now totally silent home, the girl dreamed. She dreamed of herself in a dark room. Lights flashed everywhere, sounds everywhere, yet she couldn't seem to see. Panicked, running, chasing, escaping, chaos. A car horn. A streetlight. No – wait – it's a hospital. No, no, no, the girl shrieked. She's now a child, five years old. No, no, no. She wouldn't go. Black. Why was she wearing black. Dirt. Why did she see dirt. It went on the box. "Goodnight everyone, everywhere." Except, the girl was not ready for night. No, no, no. Tears. More dirt. More tears. Clutching. Then, nothing. Then, cold. The dream ended, and the teenager fell into a deeper sleep.

Meanwhile, half-way across the silent city where people slumber, a lone man sat in a darkened park. On the cold, wooden bench soaked from the rain, he was consumed by his past. He stared longingly, sorrowfully, at the monkey bars with crusting yellow paint and the eternal enemy of nostalgia – rust. He noticed, too, how he felt as if his life has rusted. Once a vibrant yellow, but now duller and will become duller. Over time he would decompose and memories would fade. How dearly he missed the naïve life of his childhood.

In a state of hallucination, almost dreaming, the old man watched his world change. The sun came out to summon day, the small trees that stood large hummed the song of the earth, and the laughter of children resonated through the air. A young boy, no older than nine, sat atop the yellow monkey bars, kicking his feet in an unmetrical rhythm. Occasionally, he looked up at the birds flying through the sky, free from burdens that hold us down to earth. Mostly, though, he stared at a young girl the same age a few feet away. The girl sat alongside her friend, laughing. Her hair curled with every giggle, every movement.

He obviously wanted to speak out -but couldn't seem to. A flustered child in a sweet, innocent love. He marveled at her beautiful and thick brown hair. Her eyes a deep hazel, like the color of a Christmas tree. But mostly her big, bright smile, which enraptured the young boy. An angelic glow that caused his cheeks to turn a cherry red. The smile was contagious, and the old man, despite the time gone by, felt the corners of his mouth curve up, desperately trying to ignore the hint of regret and despair.

With a quiet, cautious voice laced in many emotions, the old man whispered one name. A name that held deeper meaning than anyone could describe.

"Lily."

He wished to reach out, to push the boy off the monkey bars and send him flying towards her. To tell the boy to go get her, because before you know it time and age catch up, leaving your precious youth in the dust. The bitter man sifting through time knew what happened next. He knew what happened for the next 30 years. It made him sad. Time moves forward, and life moves on.

What the old man could not comprehend was the present moment he was letting slip by. He continued, stuck in this past, clinging to these fleeting joys. Remembering these memories and hoping he would never forget them.

Because, they were all he had left of the girl he fell in love with.