This Dream

by "Of Holmes, whom I loved"

The Dream comes at irregular intervals. Sometimes, before I sleep I know it will find me there -- hunting me; like its prey, I cannot escape its grasp. The guilt and blame will haunt me forever. Yet last night I had a new Dream. This Dream was completely unlike The Dream, and yet eerily identical. This Dream has been finding my subconscious in the early hours of the morning, when there is no distinction between wakefulness and sleep. It has found me several times the past weeks and I am confused and curious as to its presence. It is not upsetting, it is not disturbing -- it is This Dream.

The first time This Dream found me was two nights after my arrival in Sussex. I had spent the day avoiding my aunt and her constant questioning after my health. I had little doubt that she was not inquiring after my well-being, but rather after my emotional and psychological state. Her eyes were green with greed and I had no doubt that if she could prove me mentally unbalanced she could legally claim my inheritance as her own. I would lose everything that reminded me of my family, the villa, the houses, and the factories. Though, there was no way I could forget, The Dream kept reminding me (the thin wail of my mother's voice) and would not let me go.

In The Dream, I am an active participant. I am in the vehicle with my brother and I am screaming at him. My father turns around to yell and subsequently loses control of the car. I am thrown from the automobile and can see the outline of my brother's head in the window. In This Dream, I am an observer. I am standing on the side of a road that is both familiar and yet foreign. I can feel the sun on my face and I close my eyes to the cleansing warmth. I turn my face to the sky and drink in the heat like I have been frozen for years. I feel it burning away impurities like a silversmith does with dross. I can hear the low hum of an engine as it approaches, and though I am completely bathed in heat, I find myself incredibly cold. The sound of the engine is getting louder and I wrap my arms around me for warmth. It is then that I notice someone standing to my right and back. I am unsure of whether the figure is male or female and I am unable to see the face.

The sky turns gray, though there are no clouds and the sun is still brilliant. The hum of the engine gets louder as the vehicle appears around the curve. I instinctively step out to try to avert disaster, but a hand touches my shoulder and keeps me still. I see the daughter and son argue and the daughter screams in frustration. I can see the look of exasperation on the face of the mother as the father turns to scold his children. This Dream moves slowly and I am witness to every moment. Every motion is seared into my mind. I can hear the other car approach, but am unable to move. I cannot even avert my eyes. The familiar vehicle drifts across the centerline and is struck by the oncoming automobile. I hear the horrifying crunch of metal on metal, the squeal of tires on hot pavement as the father tries to gain control of the vehicle, and the screams of the family from inside the automobile. I watch as the daughter is thrown from the vehicle to the pavement and her family plummets to the Pacific. I can hear a thin wail of a female voice and then a deafening explosion. The daughter looks on and then collapses into tears in the middle of the road.

I want to help the child, but the presence of my companion is compelling me to stay. I watch as the familiar girl, bleeding and crying, moves off the road and looks longingly at the cliffs that could end her life. She faints. I see a strange man appear from around the corner, presumably the driver from the other car. He was a short man whose countenance changed from irritation at the damage to his vehicle, to concern for this orphan at the side of the road. He peers over the cliffs, and then turns his attention to the girl at his feet. He gently picks her up and carries her to his damaged vehicle. I hear the engine jump to life and the car drive away. I turn to my companion and ask: "Why did I see this? I was there wasn't I? Isn't The Dream torment enough? Why must I live through This Dream?" Oddly, though, it was not a voice of panic that came from my mouth, but of curiosity. I did not understand, and I wanted to. My faceless companion gave me no answer and I turned back to the scene. The day was bright and sunny. There was no smoke coming from the cliffs. The skid marks were gone and I could hear the low hum of an engine as it approached. This Dream was repeating itself, and I begged my faceless companion to return me to my bed.

In a voice that was neither male nor female, I heard in Germanic tones: "I vill protect jou."

I awoke in my bed in Sussex and I was not accompanied by the cold sweat and screaming that usually followed an occurrence of The Dream. This Dream was different. I was not plagued by feelings of guilt or blame. I was comfortable... and confused. What had I seen? Who was my companion? The voice sounded like Dr. Ginsberg, but the figure was not hers. I wanted to talk to her, to understand what it was I had dreamt. She was in America, and I was alone in the little house in Sussex.

The Dream continually haunted me and I became so cross with my aunt for questioning me about it that I hit her in frustration and she collapsed to the floor. I began to read more Freud and Jung, though they provided me with no answers, only more questions. What was I witness to? Why was I there? Who was my faceless companion? This Dream appeared more frequently and I began to welcome its arrival. Each time I fell asleep I knew that this would be the night I would find my answers. However each night was the same as the first one, with one notable exception.

The closer the months of spring, the more frequently This Dream found me. My faceless companion was beginning to develop specific characteristics; the voice was becoming more masculine, though the physical characteristics were neither male nor female. The hand that steadied me was definitely masculine, though the touch was not the rough touch of a man but the tender, compassionate touch of a woman. The statements made by my companion changed slightly as well. The last time This Dream found me, my companion had said "You have nothing to fear, I shall protect you and guide you." That was last Monday week.

Last night was more mysterious than all the others. I had retired early, since I was tired of trying to convince my aunt that I was in need of new shoes. I had outgrown the pair I had and this would be the third pair she bought for me in as many months. This time, in This Dream, my companion was a man, though not one I recognized. He was dressed as a tramp, or more correctly a gypsy. I should not have trusted him though I was compelled to. We watched in silence as the familiar car came around the curve, as it was struck, the child was thrown to the pavement and the car tumbled over the cliffs and exploded. We watched in silence as the child collapsed into tears and then fainted at the side of the road from shock and lack of blood. We watched as the short man came around the curve and carried her to his vehicle. I turned to my companion and asked: "What will happen to her? Who will take care of her?"

"I will."

I woke early and decided that I did not want to face my aunt. I snatched a cap from the desk and folded my plaits into it before placing it on my head. It was just dawn as I left the house wearing comfortable clothing, with a book by Virgil in one pocket and a sandwich in the other. After a few steps in my usual route, I changed my mind and headed in a different direction. I headed southeast towards the sea not knowing what would await me. I still had questions about This Dream, but the book was thoroughly engrossing and I soon forgot about it.