filling the spaces inbetween

(the beginning)

he's more than a head taller than i am. he walks next to me, his hands clasped behind his back. sometimes he wears a hat. sometimes his clothing is specific, other times not. he wears slim glasses. his hair is long and straw-coloured.

we walk close on the beach. we leave no footprints. the only sound i can recall (besides his voice) is the lull of the waves and the occasional bird (sometimes it is silent. he doesn't always speak). there is nothing but beach; nearly sunset or rise. no apparent beginning or end to the sand. we walk. we talk. our pace is easy. i wear my nightgown (it hits right below my knee).

i find myself sitting cross-legged on the white bed with white pillows with the window to the left (i sit on the foot of the bed). he has the book on his lap. he is telling me his story. i listen. i lean forward to see if there is any photographs.

the pages are blank.

each night i dream this dream, he tells me the same story, each night i lean forward to notice the pages contain no words.

after he finishes his story, there is a hand-drawn picture of a generic man with a heart drawn over his torso. once or twice i ask him if he drew that. he says no.

note: the first time i had this dream i was about 5 or 6 years old. i had it every single night for many years. the foundation of the dream was the same, we walked, we talked. he would leave me with a puzzle of some sort. i would return with the puzzles answer & he no-longer cared to talk about it. when i was 8, i began seeing a psychiatrist. when i mentioned the dreams, he told me to try to "write" a new ending by thinking of different outcomes. once i thought i should have a writing utensil to write in the book. i tucked a crayon or a marker in my nightgown's pocket. that night, the straw-haired man didn't tell me his story.

around the time i hit puberty, the dreams paused.

they returned in 1995.

they paused again in 2000. other nastiness manifested itself in its place.

this past autumn, he returned... only the sand disappeared. we began to spar, the straw-coloured hair man & myself.

i sat quite tall in the over-sized armchair. the floor was silent. i opened the book and cleared my throat:

"when i complete a chapter i will pause for commentary"

nods all around. i glanced at their faces, not taking in any of them.

i read for my audience, they pretended to care as well as i did. totally ludicrous, i thought repeatedly.

"... i hadn't imagined he would do the same as the others because he stayed a part of my life for so long. i never created an aspect of his personality until i felt him slipping away from me. i gave him the power to harm me. i knew -"

"obviously, you know nothing".

i didn't need to look up to know who was interrupting me.

"commentary is at the end of the chapter, sir"

"sir?" he laughed (that throaty laugh). "kiddo, you need to get off that chair and start a new chapter. you're starting to bore me".

"you?!" i stood up, fists curled. "think i did all of this for you?" (seethe, spit, seethe)

"yes. i'm sure you have. i'm flattered. now open the book to the end and start a new chapter. you'll thank me for it later".

"i hate you" (said with a bit more ?)

"it's expected. you're heartbroken at my expense again. you need to hate me to move on. just don't."

he wrapped his arms around my shoulders. i felt so small. he whispered in my ear (felt elsewhere), "it'll happen again, soon".

i held him so tight, my hands lost feeling.

Posted from Blogium for iPhone