Just strange

 

Last night I begged, cried and pleaded for Sharon to visit me in my dreams. I have been feeling pretty low, and I felt like I really could use some input from her. Anything. Chew me out, tell me I'm a putz, just talk to me. 

I got what I wanted, in a way. It wasn't what I wanted, though, exactly. I didn't feel like writing it down because it was not enlightening, invigorating or enchiladas, just strange. But I can't be too picky, so here it is:

I dreamed of some scenario where Sharon was being duplicitous with me and covering up some relationship she was having with a black family. At first, I just assumed she was cheating on me. I kept finding evidence like a whole table full of cookies that were meticulously crafted and painted. 

"Aha! There's no way she painted these," I deducted. The detail was too intricate, depicting some kind of cultural art that she wouldn't be familiar with. "These cookies were painted by a black man!"

The man was blind, or maybe it was Sharon who was blind. But she was up and around walking, with my assistance and possibly a cane. And someone was painting these cookies, so it was a confusing matter. 

They were a giant tart type of cookie, shaped like a big martini glass, with a delicious red filling. I was fiddling with one and broke the stem, so I decided to serve the cookie to Richard Leon, my Bible study cult brother, who agreed it was pretty tasty.

I made note of all her activities at school and, sure enough, she was sponsoring a black family. A man and his wife and daughter. I wasn't sure this was cheating, but somehow they were living in our house, in an unused bedroom. 

In some strange way, it appeared that she was going to marry them and become a part of their family, including her actually becoming black. She wore a pinstripe black suit, and her blonde wavy hair was transformed into a Jerry-curled version in black. Her skin tone was darker, too, kind of mixed, but not full black like the man's.

There was a feeling of loss and betrayal, but also acceptance that this was ok, and for the best. I woke up just as unfulfilled and messed up as ever. 

 ---

So, Sharon, if you're reading this, try again. I may just not be up to interpreting some of these odd dreams. But I asked for a dream with you in it, and there you were -- sort of. I still miss you, and I'm still not moving on. If there's a message in that dream, I'm not getting it. Don't give up. I always was pretty hard to get through to, but I'm listening, really.

Maybe you're trying to tell me that I didn't know you as well as I thought. That's ok. You didn't know all of me either. There was a whole side I kept under the surface, thinking it was for the best, that you'd never accept me as I was. I'm sure you probably felt that way, too, about some of these different aspects of yourself which you kept hidden. 

I'm less judgemental now, but still human. I wonder if being dead gives you a different perspective, or would you still be as critical of me as you were when you were alive?