The ones I remember are almost always ones that I wake from, even if I only awaken briefly and then go back to sleep. That usually happens in the last hours before I get up in the morning. I’ve had one or two almost each morning this week that I remember or partly remember. And the nature of them, at least in the way that I recall them, tends to jump-cut. That is, it’ll begin in one location or circumstance and then, without transition, suddenly be elsewhere, sometimes seemingly without regard to what was happening just before.
Perhaps that’s only in memory. Perhaps on waking I simply can’t recall the middle bits that link them. I’m not sure.
The two most distinctive parts I recall are that I/we were shooting a film on my iPhone. I was trying to get all the coverage from the location we were in at the time - the lobby and elevator of a building - so that we would have continuity with all those shots from each character’s POV before we moved on. I was even thinking ahead as to what the natural light through the windows should look like and if there were any shots we should get now for scenes later in the film that should have this look so that they match. I was a little worried that my phone was full, that there might not be enough memory on it and that I needed to get my new upgraded one soon.
So, it was exciting but there was some anxiety around it. The next thing I remember - and this is the most wonderful part - is that I was with you. We were no longer at the first location. We were alone, together, and in a big, nice, old apartment kind of at dusk. It was a bit dark, that point in the day when you haven’t yet turned the lights on. I remember that from being with you in your apartment in SF. Light would be streaming in through the afternoon and I wouldn’t notice that the sun had begun to set. You’d come home from the gym or something and I’d be there on the bed writing and you’d say “What are you doing in the dark? Turn on some lights in here” and you’d snap them on.
This was like that only we never turned them on. I’m a little sad and frustrated that I can’t remember too many details of what we said or were busy doing but I’m enormously grateful for the feeling it gave me.
I know you were really there because I had this sense of well-being, one that I had every morning when I woke even if we were 3000 miles apart, because I knew you were in my life. I knew you were probably asleep - might’ve even left me a message or a text, I should look at my phone and see! - and that we’d talk in a few hours, that we had plans, that I knew exactly how many days or hours it would be until you were next in my arms.
In the dream last night, I had that feeling. And I haven’t had that feeling in years. But I knew it immediately and can still touch its lingering presence. Your lingering presence. The relief, the sense of home that you bring to me just by being near.
That more than anything is what I remember and what characterized this part of the dream - in a darkened apartment between night and day, together, feeling safe and home and free and loved. And you were making sure that I had everything that I needed the way only you ever and always did. You had to go somewhere but you were making sure I had everything I need - keys, directions, where to find anything I might want or need in the cupboards and closets while you were away. And most importantly that you would be back. Or that I could come meet you. For the first time in the longest time, in the dream, I felt sure of that, you made me feel that certainty, that safety, that all-is-well. That was the best part. By far. By far.
There’s more tho’. Before you left, I know that we kissed. That was wonderful. Then, I walked around in the apartment a little. It was a charming old place, full of character. One thing about it that I remember I really liked was that it had a second entrance - a back door that led out to a wooden staircase a couple flights up. I loved that. It reminded me of the place in Bernal Heights where you and I were first alone together, that funny little apartment I had the first two months I was there.
The dream felt like I had been given my life back. I went down the back stairs, I think because I was planning on driving to meet you, and I noticed your car was gone. I remember thinking, of course your car was gone, you’d taken it yourself - you had to be somewhere. I’d just take the bus or a trolley or something. I wasn’t quite sure where we were. In San Francisco? It was dark. It wasn’t New York. Just then, two women came through. One or maybe both of them was European. Either Scandinavian or maybe German. She was a artist and she was with her friend. They were a bit lost. I was feeling happy and safe and friendly and I spoke cheerfully to them. She said she liked being here this time of year. I think by then I recognized that we must be in California. I told her it was even better in the fall. In the autumn.
I don’t remember much after that. I think I woke up for a moment. Good thing, too, because that’s how I usually am able to remember dreams - if I wake even for a moment right after. There was one more dream that I remember just a little that followed.
Again, I was somewhere I didn’t quite know. A house. Your mom was there, tho’, and I think it may have been a house of theirs. This dream had more of a lingering sadness about it because it was closer to what life is like now. In this dream, you weren’t there and I knew that you had already passed. Many dreams, sadly, are like this. That’s why the other dream is so magical and special and important - you were there and I could feel your presence in the familiar way you touch my soul.
In this sadder dream, I was walking around the house and there were little things, some things of yours around. I decided I wanted to give you something - an funny old little lamp that I got when I was 16 on a trip to Europe with my high school choir. My grandfather had it for a long time. I just got it back a year or so ago. Right now, it sits on the nightstand near a couple pictures of you. It’s funny that it should be so close to where I lay sleeping and somehow find its way into my dreams. It’s a little ship. I think I got it in The Netherlands. The light is behind the sails. It’s a small light, like the size and wattage of one you’d find in an old refrigerator. I placed it carefully on a white shelf for you.
It’s waiting there in the dream for you. A ship that is also a light. Waiting for you to snap it on - “Michael, it’s so dark in here - why don’t you turn on some lights?” - and illuminate the room. A ship, maybe to take me to you.
I see now how the dreams are connected.
Thank you, my angel. Thank you for finding me. Take me to you just as soon as heaven will allow, won’t you? With all my love forever.
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