The Fourth Letter

 
Thursday, May 24, 2001                                                                      11:40AM
Dear Ducky,
            I had a weird dream about you last night, Ducky.  Actually, you were only in it for a few moments—the rest of it was with your parents, Toni and Tom.  Let me see if I can remember and explain. 
Basically I was riding a bike through your neighborhood—you know, Fano Lane and all that.  Although I guess it’s not your neighborhood anymore since even Toni and Tom have moved away.  Anyway, I was as old as I am now, riding that old pink bike I had with the banana seat (I have no idea how I recalled that item out of the recesses of my memory).  All of the houses looked like they belonged in Disneyland—they  were just a bit too small to look real.  And the houses were basically just facades: brightly painted and cheerful and pretty, but aside from the outside walls, there was nothing else inside.  They were like the empty sets at Universal Studios.  They all had amazing gardens with ponds and pools and waterfalls with very blue water.  I am realizing that it looked a lot like Munchkinland in The Wizard of Oz. 
At the same time there seemed to be a lot of people…yet it was totally deserted and I was all alone.  Everything was moving in slow motion, and there was music coming from somewhere…I finally came to that little street your house is on from the other side, and there wasn’t a real road.  There were shallow canals of that bright blue water, and all the houses were very close together.  The only place for me to ride my bike on was on a very narrow, curvy catwalk-type thing.  I had to bike very slowly, and I ran the risk of falling in, which would obviously poison or kill me in some way (remember playing “Hot Lava” or “Poisonous Peanut Butter”?).  And for whatever reason, all the cows from the field across the street from your house were everywhere and they were big and colorful (red, yellow, blue, purple!) and robotic and they were mooing loudly and spraying milk everywhere and it was like a scary fun house.
I felt weird because I knew that I didn’t belong there—I felt like a spy, an infiltrator, and an outcast.  I was getting nearer to your house and there was mist, fog, everywhere even though there was lots of sun.  I knew I looked suspicious riding that children’s bike, and I kept telling myself that if I was questioned, I would just say that I “got lost,” or that I was just riding through the neighborhood by accidental childhood habit.  And then, there I was, in front of your house, and you were coming out of the front door and walking to the car, and you saw me and looked away and covered your face like those criminals who don’t want to be photographed.  It was you, but it wasn’t: you were very tall and thin, and your hair was short and pixie-ish.  Toni and Tom saw me and immediately started yelling at me and questioning me, trying to distract me from watching you get into the car and disappear.  They looked like they were made out of plastic. 
And although you had disappeared into the car, I seemed to be able to see you on the other side of a screen/window/partition.  Your image seemed to be projected, and it hovered and flickered, catching my eye, pulling my attention away from the admonishments of your parents.
We were standing on the lawn—and yet we were inside the house somehow—except there was no roof and the walls were not connected and there was an unusual amount of glaring sunlight: colors were pale and washed out, and the defining edges of everything seemed to be blurred into a halo of light.  Your robotic parents were talking, but I could barely hear them—I was too busy trying to look at you.  By the time you had walked by, the only sound was a kind of deep humming noise.
And then it just ended.  It stopped.  No more.  I was sad that the dream was over, and yet I was grateful.  I was pained to see you and not be able to touch you and talk with you.  And yet I was overjoyed to have had a brief glimpse of you.  But, overall, I am now confused.  Confused that you are still haunting me.  I believe that dreams are “real,” that they are mediums for the subconscious, a connection to another “world.”  I feel that you are trying to reach me in some way, that you are thinking about me, that you know that I am thinking about you.  We are still connected, Ducky.  I want to believe that we are still connected. I want to believe that you can feel my love for you even though we haven’t seen each other for eight years.