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The Engineer, the Priest They Called Him, Stefanie, and her husband Justin were all heading to Scotland, Glasgow to be specific, for reasons unremembered by the dreamer, which is me.
Looking out the window, I almost always demand a window seat, out into the sky. The sensation of my stomach dropping and the sun warm on my face. And I think about how much I love to fly. I also think about Scotland and the people who I know there. The stomach dropping feeling isn't entirely because I'm thousands of miles off the ground. It's also because I dread seeing any of these people because of what condition my heart will be in afterward.
Touchdown in Glasgow. This airport is as familiar to me as my own hands. I know its in's and out's. There is the spot by the window where I held back tears and paranoia of no one showing to pick me up. There is where we hugged goodbye, both times I did this. I point these out to the Priest They Called Him. He smiles sadly at me and calls me his gothic little kitten, as he is wont to give me strange and silly pet names.
Blurring, blurring. We are by the sea. Justin and Stef are off doing their own things. And there is a storm. At the edge of the water, everything is so enormous. I feel tiny and threatened by the sheer size of it. Wind and waves, the roar of the ocean in my ears. It mirrors back to the time when I stood here in a Turkish coffee night and could experience nothing but air in my face and the water's sounds. Dread, primordial fear of the deep, fills my limbs. I want to leave, but I can't.
There is an underground cafe by the ocean. The booth we sit in has a view of the water, which my eyes can not stray from. I keep watch over it, vigilant because I know that it could, at any time, break through the thin barrier and kill us all.
More blurring. Faces and voices run together. I decide to visit the Antichrist's family, who in this dream, live in Glasgow. They both remember me, which is surprising as they each only met me once and I look vastly different now. Nervousness makes me tap my fingers against the table. I'm afraid of running into him, of our pasts crossing.
I had meant to type "paths" instead of "pasts", but I like it better that way. More suitable, in my own eyes.
Back to the dream. I am alone, the Engineer and TPTCH aren't with me anymore. They're off on their own, somewhere. And I'm wandering the streets outside of the Antichrist's parents' house with a sick feeling in my breast. I've had this dream before, I realise. Standing on a street corner, with my hand on the pole of a stop light, I see him. And before I turn my face away, he sees me as well.
He looks good. Not completely bald, there is a small amount of brownish hair growing on his head. A huge difference from the Bic smoothness that I remember. I know that it would feel cat soft if I were to brush my fingers over it. It would feel like Emperor Nympho's nose.
He calls my name, half incredulous that I'm there. That I'm existing in his space. It's no secret that I'm not allowed to step foot in the UK anymore due to immigration woes. Surprise at him recognising the fact that I'm there, I'd half expected him to turn away. To ignore me.
Blurring. He's with a friend, who's name is escaping me. It's not any of his friends whom I met before. We speak of small things, safe things. We speak of things which don't hurt either of us. I tell him of the lover I had after him, the one who also lives nearby and who I don't wish to run into. I leave out the part of how I had been wishing I didn't see him, either. To tell him would be hateful, and I harbour no such feelings towards him.
He smiles uncomfortably and ducks his head, in the same fashion that I remember so well. We walk together and talk about small, insignifacant things. The entire time, the knowledge of I'm soon to miss my plane is in the back of my head. Clock hands sweep past and I ignore them. If I miss it, I'll just get another flight. Carrie did it, on her return trip from NYC, why can't I? I try to forget the fact that I have very little money in my purse. I hope against all hope that it won't cost that much.
The Engineer is there, suddenly. Hair on his head, I suppose there can be only one bald man in my dreams at a time, eh? I invite him to come along with us, but he's hesitating. I don't blame him for this, I would do the same if in his shoes. But, the flight's been missed and we have no choices left to us. Stef and Justin apparently made the plane, so did TPTCH. We go back to the Antichrist's friend's apartment to wait until the next departure.
Blurring.
I wake up.
Looking out the window, I almost always demand a window seat, out into the sky. The sensation of my stomach dropping and the sun warm on my face. And I think about how much I love to fly. I also think about Scotland and the people who I know there. The stomach dropping feeling isn't entirely because I'm thousands of miles off the ground. It's also because I dread seeing any of these people because of what condition my heart will be in afterward.
Touchdown in Glasgow. This airport is as familiar to me as my own hands. I know its in's and out's. There is the spot by the window where I held back tears and paranoia of no one showing to pick me up. There is where we hugged goodbye, both times I did this. I point these out to the Priest They Called Him. He smiles sadly at me and calls me his gothic little kitten, as he is wont to give me strange and silly pet names.
Blurring, blurring. We are by the sea. Justin and Stef are off doing their own things. And there is a storm. At the edge of the water, everything is so enormous. I feel tiny and threatened by the sheer size of it. Wind and waves, the roar of the ocean in my ears. It mirrors back to the time when I stood here in a Turkish coffee night and could experience nothing but air in my face and the water's sounds. Dread, primordial fear of the deep, fills my limbs. I want to leave, but I can't.
There is an underground cafe by the ocean. The booth we sit in has a view of the water, which my eyes can not stray from. I keep watch over it, vigilant because I know that it could, at any time, break through the thin barrier and kill us all.
More blurring. Faces and voices run together. I decide to visit the Antichrist's family, who in this dream, live in Glasgow. They both remember me, which is surprising as they each only met me once and I look vastly different now. Nervousness makes me tap my fingers against the table. I'm afraid of running into him, of our pasts crossing.
I had meant to type "paths" instead of "pasts", but I like it better that way. More suitable, in my own eyes.
Back to the dream. I am alone, the Engineer and TPTCH aren't with me anymore. They're off on their own, somewhere. And I'm wandering the streets outside of the Antichrist's parents' house with a sick feeling in my breast. I've had this dream before, I realise. Standing on a street corner, with my hand on the pole of a stop light, I see him. And before I turn my face away, he sees me as well.
He looks good. Not completely bald, there is a small amount of brownish hair growing on his head. A huge difference from the Bic smoothness that I remember. I know that it would feel cat soft if I were to brush my fingers over it. It would feel like Emperor Nympho's nose.
He calls my name, half incredulous that I'm there. That I'm existing in his space. It's no secret that I'm not allowed to step foot in the UK anymore due to immigration woes. Surprise at him recognising the fact that I'm there, I'd half expected him to turn away. To ignore me.
Blurring. He's with a friend, who's name is escaping me. It's not any of his friends whom I met before. We speak of small things, safe things. We speak of things which don't hurt either of us. I tell him of the lover I had after him, the one who also lives nearby and who I don't wish to run into. I leave out the part of how I had been wishing I didn't see him, either. To tell him would be hateful, and I harbour no such feelings towards him.
He smiles uncomfortably and ducks his head, in the same fashion that I remember so well. We walk together and talk about small, insignifacant things. The entire time, the knowledge of I'm soon to miss my plane is in the back of my head. Clock hands sweep past and I ignore them. If I miss it, I'll just get another flight. Carrie did it, on her return trip from NYC, why can't I? I try to forget the fact that I have very little money in my purse. I hope against all hope that it won't cost that much.
The Engineer is there, suddenly. Hair on his head, I suppose there can be only one bald man in my dreams at a time, eh? I invite him to come along with us, but he's hesitating. I don't blame him for this, I would do the same if in his shoes. But, the flight's been missed and we have no choices left to us. Stef and Justin apparently made the plane, so did TPTCH. We go back to the Antichrist's friend's apartment to wait until the next departure.
Blurring.
I wake up.
