shake me awake
One of my worst nightmares. I'm suddenly given a small hurt creature - a human baby, a kitten - to make well. I can't, of course, I can't even keep it alive, and it shrinks smaller and smaller as I lose it to its inevitable death, by which time I can cup it in the palm of my hand. One of my worst. I can't remember if I started having it after That One Time or not.
This time a little grey fox got hit by a car. Not bleeding or moving, just still and quiet and hurt. And there I am, crouched under the shadow of this huge car, and the wheel's taller than me, hunched over the small silky thing in my hands.
[this next thing has never ever ever ever happened before in my dream]
"Here," you say, suddenly to my right, and you've taken the fox, much smaller now. And you're rooting around in your bag for something - yeek, a syringe. The little dude is no longer than your hand now, oh god, not much time, and before I can think you've plunged the syringe - needle-less, the dream's being kind - into the creature. It's all right, it's done the trick, creature whisked off somewhere and my unicorns and rainbows will help him convalesce, maybe. Whatever, the end.
I remembered it this morning. I never remember my dreams, unless I've taken Melatonin (your idea, actually, though you'd stopped taking it because of weird dreams by the time I took your supply home with me) and even then they usually slip away if I try to tell Ramon. But last night I picked the Melatonin up and then put it back on the shelf again; the last thing I want are bad dreams, however desperately I want to sleep, and we've already taken care of sleeplessness by pretty nearly libation-ing ourselves to sleep every night. Lying awake worrying about Simone is too cruel to contemplate. Anyway, how remarkable that it stayed with me, and I flipped the Universe a double birdy (like I haven't the whole time the shadow of her illness has hovered around us) that not only would I be sent That Dream, but I'd remember it on a day when not only was I not intended to dream, but I'd made sure by NOT taking sleep aids that make you dream. God fucking dammit.
But *I* sent it, fool that my subconscious is. Not fool. Sadist. Betrayed by my own better half. But it sent me you, too, miraculous savior that you were. You saved me as much as you saved the fox in that dream.
***
fox. a fawn-colored fox. my Simone, my little fox-face, my princess, my mosquito, my Queen Bitch, Little Paws, come on, kittypants, come back to me, come back to me Si Si, comebacktome...
***
And you. Long ago cemented in my mind and heart as a lioness who faces death, the death of her loves and those she doesn't know, with courage. And action. You hurt, and pack it all - and much too much of it - into much too small of places. But you also stay, and wait, and Do. You run to pain and death to muscle it away or smooth the passage. And you and I have found ourselves in such similar situations with regard to the mortality of non-humans, and I think my dreaming mind has been a bit cruel to us both.
And Simone's shrinking. Fading, and whether she'll return we don't know. I've now literally bathed - anointed - her in my tears, and she's drunk them. I've plunged a real needle into her, and Ramon three times. Four, tonight, unless it's my turn to have the steady hands. I haven't left the flat in days - Ramon's reintroduced my one clove per day habit just to get me on the outside landing. My current state of mind probably has to do with the fact that I've played nothing but Deva Premal on shuffle near Simone's home by the window, because why the hell not and I'm sure as fuck not trying Hail Marys over her at this point. Maybe she believes in healing chant.
I wait. I stay. I watch, and weep, and look for signs, and brush brush brush her cheeks and the top of her head, and she still leans into me and squeezes her eyes and flexes her paws. She's still here.
But girl, if you're in my dreams now, and if I dreamed Simone into a little fox...were you there to fix her body, or send her on? Needles give and release life. I wish you were here. I don't know what to do. The dream ended in relief for the first time ever, and I'm afraid my nightmare is real, and hasn't even gotten going yet.
This time a little grey fox got hit by a car. Not bleeding or moving, just still and quiet and hurt. And there I am, crouched under the shadow of this huge car, and the wheel's taller than me, hunched over the small silky thing in my hands.
[this next thing has never ever ever ever happened before in my dream]
"Here," you say, suddenly to my right, and you've taken the fox, much smaller now. And you're rooting around in your bag for something - yeek, a syringe. The little dude is no longer than your hand now, oh god, not much time, and before I can think you've plunged the syringe - needle-less, the dream's being kind - into the creature. It's all right, it's done the trick, creature whisked off somewhere and my unicorns and rainbows will help him convalesce, maybe. Whatever, the end.
I remembered it this morning. I never remember my dreams, unless I've taken Melatonin (your idea, actually, though you'd stopped taking it because of weird dreams by the time I took your supply home with me) and even then they usually slip away if I try to tell Ramon. But last night I picked the Melatonin up and then put it back on the shelf again; the last thing I want are bad dreams, however desperately I want to sleep, and we've already taken care of sleeplessness by pretty nearly libation-ing ourselves to sleep every night. Lying awake worrying about Simone is too cruel to contemplate. Anyway, how remarkable that it stayed with me, and I flipped the Universe a double birdy (like I haven't the whole time the shadow of her illness has hovered around us) that not only would I be sent That Dream, but I'd remember it on a day when not only was I not intended to dream, but I'd made sure by NOT taking sleep aids that make you dream. God fucking dammit.
But *I* sent it, fool that my subconscious is. Not fool. Sadist. Betrayed by my own better half. But it sent me you, too, miraculous savior that you were. You saved me as much as you saved the fox in that dream.
***
fox. a fawn-colored fox. my Simone, my little fox-face, my princess, my mosquito, my Queen Bitch, Little Paws, come on, kittypants, come back to me, come back to me Si Si, comebacktome...
***
And you. Long ago cemented in my mind and heart as a lioness who faces death, the death of her loves and those she doesn't know, with courage. And action. You hurt, and pack it all - and much too much of it - into much too small of places. But you also stay, and wait, and Do. You run to pain and death to muscle it away or smooth the passage. And you and I have found ourselves in such similar situations with regard to the mortality of non-humans, and I think my dreaming mind has been a bit cruel to us both.
And Simone's shrinking. Fading, and whether she'll return we don't know. I've now literally bathed - anointed - her in my tears, and she's drunk them. I've plunged a real needle into her, and Ramon three times. Four, tonight, unless it's my turn to have the steady hands. I haven't left the flat in days - Ramon's reintroduced my one clove per day habit just to get me on the outside landing. My current state of mind probably has to do with the fact that I've played nothing but Deva Premal on shuffle near Simone's home by the window, because why the hell not and I'm sure as fuck not trying Hail Marys over her at this point. Maybe she believes in healing chant.
I wait. I stay. I watch, and weep, and look for signs, and brush brush brush her cheeks and the top of her head, and she still leans into me and squeezes her eyes and flexes her paws. She's still here.
But girl, if you're in my dreams now, and if I dreamed Simone into a little fox...were you there to fix her body, or send her on? Needles give and release life. I wish you were here. I don't know what to do. The dream ended in relief for the first time ever, and I'm afraid my nightmare is real, and hasn't even gotten going yet.
posted by Cerise at 6:54 PM
1 Comments:
My dear dear Cerissa,
I tried to comment when you first posted but couldn't. What a brave, sweet, sensitive soul you are. You have a remarkable ability to express all the facets that are you in witty and funny and poignant prose. You make me laugh and cry in the same sentence. Much love, my friend. Much much love.
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