Mr.Sandman

(3) A Lonely Heart like Pagliacci

For the first time in two months, I had no dreams of him.
Like a wash that bleached my senses, my eyes would open but I would not move.
I dreamt of the house by the sea, running all over the place looking for him, my hands leaving fingerprints on the light wood of the railing leading to the second floor.
When I couldn’t find him anywhere, I headed numbly to the small dock of the lake that led to the open sea and sat at its end, my knees tucked under my chin and my hair swirled at the sun as it descended for the end of the day.
It was new, this feeling of abandon. Unsure why he would sail away, leaving me behind, I waited at the dock, the wind like blades on my back and my eyes firmly settled on the horizon.
Time passed and the reel broke. I saw only space, the emptiness, a blow. I remained still, waiting for the next scene.
Noisily and energetically, the film was mounted and the jagged edges where lost amid the scenery.
A snow coated forest with a frosted gleam shook my knees and I moved with a thick padded jacket and fur lined boots.
I followed a light that quavered with the cold in the distance and rubbing my small chipped nose, I wove around the thick pines.
I stumbled on slippery bundles of stones and fell unto the snow, waddling like a duck in an effort to stand.
This dream was vivid.
I was not accustomed to realistic dreams where he didn’t appear.
I was terrified; this dream had blown on me like a bomb.
Finding the light, I found it to be a bonfire. My glee thrust my muscles with adrenaline and I ran clumsily to it.
I stopped quickly with uncertainty.
The fire was well fed, strong, with little smoke. Around the logs were fresh footprints.
I wanted to move but the function in my body had shut off. I looked around and the darkness of the pines in the background came seeping in, clinging and dragging the blob of black. It enclosed me and I began to weep.
Where was he?
I bit my nails and removed posters from my walls. I wore my pajama all day and ate two apples, three chocolate chunk cookies and a peeled pear before lurking in the dark shadows of my room aimlessly.
My usually bad pulse had worsened and now shook ferociously making it impossible to write or handle a computer mouse.
The radio played Michael Bubley, echoing through the room as my father slept, my brother ignored and my mother was downstairs.
Glancing at the clock every four minutes, I yielded to the blurry 9pm and fell asleep on a rolled up futon with a farie blanket.
The room was lit by candles, the ochre and vanilla colors dimmed with the yellowed film.
Columns wrapped in vines and marble floors took a little more than my breath away.
I walked around achingly searching.
On the side of a spiral staircase, was a small chair with an intricate wiring for the back. On it, was he in a starchy shirt, collar unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His black pants were clingy and glossy like his soft brown leather boots. His head rolled to a side, lips parted and eyes closed with sleep. His hair in a dark sheen had been combed back and had left little drops at his temple.
I made my way to him slowly, and though his muscles tensed as my heels clicked the floor, his eyes remained closed.
He was here, my heart pounded.
The gown I wore had a tight bust and the pounding hurt against my ribs.
He was here!
I picked up the small drops with my thumb and wiped them away. His skin was cool and clammy but the texture was impeccable proof of health. His hands were clasped on his lap where his legs crossed and I kneeled before him, putting my head over them, my heart had swollen to where I could feel the pumping in my throat.
The hands drew out from under and covered my head, weaving into my hair and petting my scalp.
I forced my eyes to remain open. If they closed and fell asleep, a new dream might begin and he may not be there.
I lifted my face and looked up at his inclined one.
Swollen with sleep, his dark eyes blinked at me and made an effort to smile. My shoulders relaxed and I pulled him into an embrace. His arms fit into a snug hold and my lace covered hands held him with despair.
“Why did you leave me?” I whispered sorrowfully into his ear.
His intake of breath was sharp.
He gave no reply.
I pushed myself out of his arms till I could cup my hands on his cheekbones and kiss his lips with vigor.
He didn’t hold back his enthusiasm and returned his grip around me, closing his eyes and tilting his head for accessibility.
He drew me to his lap, nesting me in his arms and my heart slowed to a near stop.
“I love you.” he groaned in a moment when catching air.
The words were meant to make me giggle and stare him down with doe eyes, but the effect was the complete opposite.
My response to his kisses slackened and my frown was stretching my face. I felt the tears coming, the rush of yearning and emptiness reaching to my toes.
I had wanted to hear those words with all of my being, but they sounded like my ‘I love you’s to him.
Forced and unnatural, though sincere.
It shouldn’t bother me but just as soon, I noticed how my body moved to my will. The dream wasn’t empowering me, I had a say.
I was the one that now drew away and saw him with fear.
I had somehow switched roles with him.
I cried out, covering my face and scampering off his lap.
This was not what I wanted to return to. I wanted to return to his honest smiles, to his human heart.
He scrambled off the chair, following me as I ran out double doors and leaped to a foyer with a bright chandelier. A small table with a vase in the middle was empty of flowers and filled with wheat. The doors leading to the outside were locked and bolted.
A hand stilled mine as I shook the knob with hope.
“Now you run from me?” His amused voice was frightening.
He was not himself, I quivered.
I turned to him and smiled weakly. He grinned and the dimples on his cheeks left me transfixed.
“The bedroom is upstairs, luv.” He leered at my bodice and pressed me against the wall.
I swallowed, disgusted and digging for a clever answer.
His hand fondled a swell and the distraction pulled my eyes back to his. They were soft and unusually darker, gentle and hiding something.
I nodded, and with an arm around me, he led me back to the room with columns, taking me up the spiral staircase and into a large grey room with a glass ceiling. My breathing was hitched and his hands undoing the ties at my back were warm. He pulled down the dress off my shoulders and dropped it in a heap around my feet.
My stockings were the color of his eyes and I shuddered.
His kisses were searing and his swiftness in removing our clothing and jumping me to the bed was like a pass of morphine. My brain swelled with my heart and his fingers tingled what they touched.
“Yes,” I moaned, his body straddled by my thighs.
Forehead pressed against mine, he watched me intently as he drove into me, our pelvises compressed with fury.
I was suffocating, the air thick and dry, and heat radiating from his body like a torch melting the snow.
I arched under him, my hair plastered to my face in sweat and his movements picking up pace.
I came but the torrent died with decrease in pressure. He soon stilled above me, but I felt nothing fill me. His face softened with relief and he collapsed over me, his arms quickly pulling me close.
Breathing with near hyperventilation, I felt sated but distressed.
His breathing turned slow and steady.
He was asleep.
I whispered goodbye as I blinked, waking up at seven in the morning.
I hugged myself and cried in my arms.