The Dream II

The Dream II
By Eddie G.

The beauty about Dreams is that each and every one of your desires, however pure or wanton, is allowed to fester. In your Dreamworld, you are faced with the juxtaposition of being uninhibited by your conscience, yet at the same time bound by the whims and fancies of your subconscious. And only in your Dreams are you both participant and spectator.

It was just another day in College. I, by fate of some incomprehensible happenstance, was early and the only one in the Lecture Theatre. It shared distinct similarities with its Real-Life counterpart, yet held very stark differences. The tables and corresponding benches were aligned in one general direction, all except for the one in which I occupied. It was the third row from the front and, as the Good Book so aptly puts it, ‘let him who has understanding [make sense of it]’.

One by one the students began to stream in, and words of curt greeting were exchanged with each and every student who whisked by. No one seemed to notice my wayward arrangement, nor did they bother. It gave me the inclination to do likewise. I forgot their faces soon afterwards, for it made no difference. This Dream was not going to be about them.

And then she came and sat down right next to me.

I recognized her face. I knew it all to well. It was a face that riddled my College life with joy, sorrow, laughter and apprehension, sometimes all at the same time. As the lecture progressed, the line that separated Dreamstate and Reality began to waver in and out of conscious existence. My mind began to replay real-life snippets of whenever she had sat next to me. It wasn't long at all before I began to wonder whether I was dreaming or truly awake.

Until, that is, the moment when she placed her hand in mine.

Our eyes locked briefly, before my gaze swiveled down to where my hand was. Her hand was still there, holding mine. The feeling was indescribable, and yet it carried with it a rueful knowing that all this wasn't real.

But then again, what is?

Around us, the scenery began to change, almost like a systematic tear-down and build-up of an acting set. Everything, save for the wayward bench, had changed.

We now sat by the beach, facing the silverblack horizon, with soft moonlight bouncing of the silky ripples of the ocean. Immersed by the lulling rhythm of the crashing waves, she snuggled closer to me, not saying a word. I merely sat there, neither resisting nor reciprocating, reflecting on how I would have reacted had this all been real.

But it was real. At least for the next few hours. Her eyes, her hair, her perfume, her smile, they seemed pretty real enough. Her voice, when it parted from her lips, would in all its beauty put the Sirens to shame.

"You look scared," she said.

"I am."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know what to expect from you. I never do."

"But I told you not to expect anything from me to begin with," she tossed her hair playfully to one side.

"So why the sudden change of heart?"

"There never was a change of heart on my part," she warned, "I still hope you're not expecting anything from me."

I withdrew my hand from hers. "You're doing this to spite me," I said, the bitterness inherent in my voice.

She leaned over and planted a kiss on my lips, and then smiled.

"I'll never do such a thing to you," she said.

"How can I tell that you're not lying?"

"You can't," she said. And then she took my hand again. "What you can do, though, is savour the moment while it still lasts."

I squeezed her hand softly. For once in my life, the words that I've been meaning to tell her since the day we met found themselves.

"You're beautiful."

She smiled slightly, placed her head on my shoulder and said, "I don't ever want this night to end."

"You don't know the half of it."

I learnt that there's no point in trying so hard to make your dream a reality, when Reality, in itself, is already a Dream. And it really matters not which is which, because in the end, only one thing remains crystal clear.

You're beautiful.

I didn't want to wake up. But all good things must come to an end.