Dream #65: Mom Candle
03.03.2010 § Leave a comment
A guy and two girls are stranded away from class in the jungle, so the one guy and one girl want each other but can’t act on it for survival’s sake, and the third takes shelter under the waterfall in the murky spinach pond with deadly fish.
There is an outstanding dare to jump, and a hallucination of a beautiful pool, but I am still too scared to jump. So Nathan takes the initiative, rushing past me with some characteristically snide comment, snatching the camera that has been filming this all from out of my mind’s eye, and jumps in.
Back at home at school in the basement of that three-story athletic wing’s hexagonal hall around the pool after hours, I crawl to my room on the black mesh inner lining of the tiled halls. It’s quite steamy. The lining is just to prevent slipping from wetness from the athletic sauna that took place earlier. There’s a thick sweaty smell, and I’m twelve years old and the halls are wet and alone. It’s night and behind my door is all warm because I let Mom decorate it with candles and teddy bears, because I don’t care about decor. There’s even a framed photograph of candles on the cedar chest; one candle is Mom and the smaller one is me.