May 8, 2004

Omen dreaming ghosts

I saw you last night, my friend, at a party. Of course it wasn't you, being you're on the other side of this land made for you and me, but I kept getting angry at this guy because I'd turn to look at you, to laugh with you with our eyes, to say something only you would laugh at, and instead it was just this guy who wasn't you, damn him.

Maybe this is just to say I miss you, that you've been burned so deep in me that I'm always writing you letters in my head. Maybe it means I need you now in a way I haven't since the first, or more than that since back then you weren't this gaping hole of something I’d come to need. Maybe it's just another thought that, indeed, if I died and was offered one memory to live (After Life) I'd choose standing with you on a balcony over a Seattle street crossing watching the way crowds push and drive into lanes and trying to predict patterns in those pretty shopping masses.

But I don't know because last week I saw this girl who lives, I don't know, five thousand miles from here. And I knew her, but not very well. We talked about O'Conner and I encouraged her to be less timid in her writing, and that was it between us. So this is confusing, because I saw you and I saw her and it's not like I think of this girl that often and, you know, if she forgot my name after a while I think I'd just think that figured, because it was that passing sort of relationship.

So maybe it doesn’t mean anything and I’m just a little more loony than normal, a little more likely to pick a face out of a crowd and think I know it, a little more likely to dream weird situations where my friends all appear and have roles. And I’m thinking, "ehhhh, it means nothing."

Then this morning I see a six year old. Blond hair. Blue tee shirt matching his eyes. Smile. He reminds me of someone, a little, but I don't know that many six year olds. Then his mom called him "Danny."

I looked up to answer. I looked at the little boy. And I died.

I don't know if I'm being haunted, or haunting. I don't know if I'm trying to foist some meaning on the world or it's trying to foist it on me.

What do we do with tiding-less omens and interpretation-less dreams?