Dream Lover
Last night Linda came to me in a dream.
I was at a race track, watching the ponies. There were people around, but no big crowd. It was broad daylight, hazy sun streaming through a stand of cypress. It felt like early morning, not racing time. The horses were warming up, training. In my waking life, I don't go to race tracks.
I turned to the woman standing with me at the chain link fence. She looked at me and it was Linda. She gave me her sweet smile, the one that always melts my heart, her dark eyes downcast shyly. She pressed her side against my side, so the only place for my arm was around her shoulder. It felt OK there.
We made small talk, but I knew she was dead. I wanted to ask her why she left. I wanted to know if anything hurt. I wanted her to forgive me for...what? I wasn't sure, but I needed forgiveness. I wanted to hold her, take her face in my hands, kiss her eyes.
She turned her head. I heard someone say You know she can't be here.
A pack of horses thundered by. I rode one, and saw Linda, standing at the edge of the track. She was waving and calling to me, something I couldn't hear. I'm sure she would forgive me, if I knew how to ask, if I knew my crime, if I could talk to her again.
But I rode away, around the turn.
I was at a race track, watching the ponies. There were people around, but no big crowd. It was broad daylight, hazy sun streaming through a stand of cypress. It felt like early morning, not racing time. The horses were warming up, training. In my waking life, I don't go to race tracks.
I turned to the woman standing with me at the chain link fence. She looked at me and it was Linda. She gave me her sweet smile, the one that always melts my heart, her dark eyes downcast shyly. She pressed her side against my side, so the only place for my arm was around her shoulder. It felt OK there.
We made small talk, but I knew she was dead. I wanted to ask her why she left. I wanted to know if anything hurt. I wanted her to forgive me for...what? I wasn't sure, but I needed forgiveness. I wanted to hold her, take her face in my hands, kiss her eyes.
She turned her head. I heard someone say You know she can't be here.
A pack of horses thundered by. I rode one, and saw Linda, standing at the edge of the track. She was waving and calling to me, something I couldn't hear. I'm sure she would forgive me, if I knew how to ask, if I knew my crime, if I could talk to her again.
But I rode away, around the turn.
posted by Larry Jones at 10:54 PM
18 Comments:
Damn it, Larry. I'm an easy cry when I'm going through withdrawal!
Seriously, I'm going to have to read that again. It was very touching, but I think it has more to say to me that I can't quite grasp in one sitting. Really excellent!
Have you read it outloud yet? I wonder how it would be different.
I read everything I write aloud. This will only become well-known posthumously, but my writing is poetry. Except for the geek stuff.
Sounds like an interesting dream, for sure. How often do you dream of Linda? I love to analyze dreams, well my own anyway. What do you think it means?
M_
She's never been in my dreams before. When my dream ended my eyes were wide open, and I stayed awake until morning. I don't know what it means, if it means anything.
So...what'd you eat the night before? :P
Steph,
You dickens. You take my sensitive remembrances, and turn them into gastrointestinal disturbances? "I'll say there's more of the gravy to you than the grave..."
Dreams are surreal. They FEEL so super-real and seem to mean something INTENSE, whether they do or not. I often find it's like having a soap opera read to me by James Earl Jones. He makes it sound GREAT, terrifically interesting, certainly better than it is. I LOVE to have James Earl Jones dreams!
James Earl Jones -- my brother. But I prefer the Gwyneth Paltrow dreams...
I've met him, you know. James Earl Jones. Talked to him at length. One of my favorite brushes with greatness.
Is this only 2 degrees of separation, then? Larry Jones reads SJ's blog -- SJ has met James Earl Jones -- Larry Jones and J.E. Jones are as one?
Anybody know Gwyneth?
I never realized how much I'd enjoy being called a "dickens."
Steph,
So you like the literary dirty talk, eh?
Larry, that was so very beautifully written...you made me tear up! :)
sweet...
Larry,
That was beautiful. I hope she comes to you again. I'm sure your only crime is doubting your dreams.
(And it is an online class)
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
The deleted comment had too many embarrassing typos. What I meant to say was: "Yeah, and Hardy's another good one."
Very sweet story and very well written. Meow
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