Dreams & Schemes: “Like Red on a Rose” Chapter Two, Part I
Chapter Two
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Dreamland Overture
As feelings for her new favorite waitress grew amorous, Rudella knew she had emotional baggage to burn.
Unlike Piri, who wrapped her problems in blankets of compassion and placed them out of sight. Although Piri’s lived the much harder life, Rudella’s pain was no less important. Comparing emotional wounds was a butter-eating contest: no matter what anyone said or thought, NO ONE won.
Since Rudella was willing to even address her issues, it’s only fair we focused on her. She didn’t know how she was going to address them, but that was fine. Her subconscious needed the merest crack of the door to flood her dreams with the choices and changes she wanted to make. This wasn’t oneiromancy, however. Dreams are conversations with the psyche, not with the future.
This also wasn’t one dream, but a string of introvertive pearls made over many nights, and not often consecutive.
Fireflies or Stars
On the carpeted road of a swamp, Rudella brushed her hands over a wheat field rustling in the nighttime breeze.
The carpet looked familiar, but the memory eluded her. Literally, though that concept in dreams could be wobbly. Fireflies caught in the wind’s swoon avoided her touch, and these glowing skydrops held memories they’d rather not share. Rudella didn’t understand their secret, however; she only knew they were pretty.
Her bare feet shuffled across the damp wool as she looked for purpose in the fog. Like their moth cousins’ predilection for the flame, she was drawn to the fireflies’ light. But they knew she wasn’t ready for them, otherwise they wouldn’t exist.
Stalks of wheat cracked and squished underfoot as her grabby intentions grew stronger. Still the skydrops evaded her to protect her. One almost failed, sailing through her fingers a wing-flap before she would regret it.
Although Rudella wanted to conquer her problems, she also didn’t want to. As we all do for certain troubles. She was lucky in that they were things she could ultimately handle herself. Piri would’ve turned vegetative if she attempted even this much. That didn’t mean Rudella was as ready as she thought as she continued her pursuit.
The Mortician and her fireflies were confused in the torrent of wind-borne leaves from the weeping willows, causing false victories and narrow escapes. Determination fueled both sides in the chaos. To collect. To object. Eventually, with a scream and a flash, one failed.
Rudella forgot the woman’s name. If this was a dream she’d remember in the waking, she would laugh at the fact she held in her heart a nameless fiend. Or maybe she made space for better pain. College weekends were for house parties, whether or not you knew the owners. Rudella was content being a homebody in Conyers; her Chicagoland friends wouldn’t let her. She wasn’t against going places, she just wasn’t an adventurer. But who could turn down a morticians’ party?
She remembered being led, hand in hand, as if under a strobing moonbeam. Beyond it, grinding bodies and candy lights. The steps from where the two began to the living room grew longer in fondness; despite what happened after that night, the moment was magic and precious for Rudella.
When they finally claimed their space, Rudella could only look down. At their feet. At the carpet. Her dance partner lifted her chin so they could see eye to eye. Rudella didn’t remember anything about her face, just the golden drapes that framed it. Her dance partner placed Rudella’s hands on her hips and closed the gap between them. She could still feel the knit fabric of her dress, and the thong underneath. It didn’t turn sexual, but that didn’t bother Rudella. Her dance partner whispered to her she was glad she met her. Dance, little tin goddess.
The come-down happened a few days later. Rudella and her dance partner flirted textually, until she received a call one afternoon. Her partner’s fella tore up their dance card and made it clear getting another one would be grievous.
She spent years being hurt, but it wasn’t until facing the moment that she didn’t know who to blame. The fella was protecting his lady from all threats, but perhaps her dance partner had reason to wander. Then Rudella had a most poignant thought: it was one fucking night in college… get over it, bitch.
To be continued…
