the floorboards creak beneath me when I move, so I jump and imagine I can make the walls shatter. This is childish, since second floor ceilings are not puddles, and I get vertigo when I cross a bridge.
There is a bridge which crosses a highway that is on my walk home. I have to concentrate on not thinking when I go over it, and I was surprised when my sibling, visiting for a few days.
When we were kids people always thought Max was the most scared of the two. Because Max was the one with nightmares, they’d wake up shaking and crying sometimes every night. Sometimes, because we shared a room, it would wake me up, too. But there was nothing to do or say. They couldn’t hear me anyway, and the only thing that soothed them was when my mother or father came and cradled them back to sleep.
There was something about them being bigger than us, being adults in a world where we were always confined to the children’s side, a protected area that promised innocence and smiles. There’s so much people will forgive you for, when you’re under ten.
When we stayed with Grandma, Max liked me in the room, too, because sometimes they’d get scared. It’s difficult to wake up from a nightmare and not have someone there.
I have wondered since then if they were my dream catcher. I never had nightmares, not until we separated, when I was around eleven. That was the first nightmare I ever remember.
Then again, when I was eighteen. I had vivid dreams which woke me in the middle of the night. Outside the air was so hot you could barely breathe it in, and inside you shivered from the air conditionning, which I often turned off. I remember my skin shining in blue moonlight as I remembered dreams.
I had three dreams worth mentionning. Max always had the same nightmare, something I imagined a play land with huge blocks, and I think they were trying to look for us all, Mum and me, and we died.
My three dreams felt stranger than that. There was one where a man cheated on his wife, and she saw him at the end of the road kissing her goodbye. But the wife had given her all to this man, had worshipped him enough to give up her independence and her own right mind. They lived in a three storey house, her husband, her child and him. And so on the festival day, when the grey slabbed square was full of people and the fog curled in with smoke, she took the gun from a secret cabinet and went out and shot into the crowd. She shot down her little girl, was around three years old, running around in a red coat. In the dream, I was the little girl. But I was also the mistress, and the wife.
I had another dream where I ran around Paris and was followed by a slightly gaunt, overly loving boyfriend. The boyfriend looked like a Tim Burton character, all gaunt and black and white. We went to a party, and realised we hadn’t dressed up appropriately, everyone else was in a Hello Kitty costume, so we were leant two costumes and slipped them on and went in. Then we left and he chased me, and i laughed in his face while he tried to hug me.
I can’t really remember the last dream, but I know it was a nightmare.
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