I dreamt of you last night
I dreamt of the two of you last night. We were somewhere in the rolling hills of Kentucky very close to a lake. There was an old dirt road not much wider than the old tractors dad used to adore. The dirt road curved around the side of the hill with grass and weeds as tall as the vehicle I arrived in. To the left of me was the back side of a weather yellow trailer, warn and rusty from where the joints of the trailer came together. Rust was pouring from its window panes leaving streaks of brown flowing down the sides. To the right of me in the tall brush, just a few steps up the trail, sat an old box house. Weather grey with all but one white shutters missing. The grass so tall that you couldn’t tell the box was there, except for the rooster perched above it’s top.
There was nowhere for me to park so I just sat in my jeep to gather my thoughts and figure out my next move. As I sat in my clean comfortable space I got an overwhelming sense of peace. The tall grass that scared me upon arrival now seem not so threatening. I could feel each of your presence. One to the right of me and the other to the left. Not knowing which direction to head first I stayed in my space and just waited for the next feeling or thought.
I laid my head back on the head rest. I was tired and somewhat confused as to why I was here, sitting on a dirt road, on a hill, tall grass all around me, in front of a lake I could barely see, somewhere between my mother and father.
As I sat in my thoughts I could feel the presence of my mom to the left. She was inside the trailer. In the kitchen preparing their lunch. I couldn’t quiet tell if she was standing upright or sitting down in a wheel chair. But the more and more I look around this place, a wheel chair seemed almost impossible.
She was preparing a blt (bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich). Cutting fresh tomatoes from the garden they had grown outside the front of the trailer. For a moment it was like I had left my jeep and was transported to the front of the trailer. I could finally see the lake through a narrow dirt path that led you down a hill to the water.
I swung my legs around to view the front of their space. My upper body tilted forward with my legs and arms stretched straight back. Almost as if I were flying like superman. I was wearing a black pantsuit with a pressed white shirt underneath. My hair was a sandy brown with a short straight bob, not the angled blonde bob I usually wear. I didn’t feel older or younger, I just felt interested.
Turning myself I noticed the front of the trailer match that of the back. The yellow rusty color was flanked by brown shutters and a small brown set of steps. These things looked to be the newest things around. The steps where made of wood with handrails. Only wide enough for one person to go up and down them at a time. My thoughts again wondering about a wheelchair. Where was the ramp?
The yard was awkwardly cut. Swirling around three small trees. Each small in skinny in stature. One a little taller than the other and all different in its making. Staring out toward the lake I could see a small boxed garden to the right. The garden was flourishing with tomatoes of all kinds, peppers, green beans and melon vines hanging off the sides. The grass around the box had not been cut as short as the grass around the trees.
Beyond the garden box and three small trees was more overgrown grass, tall as an eye could see. On the edges of its borders were a mixture of old memories. An old beat up try cycle, potting plants, a bird bath, lounge chairs missing their seats and a red wagon that seemed to be as new as the brown shutters and steps.
I felt myself sitting back in my jeep, head tilted back. Before I opened my eyes I could see her sitting inside sitting at the extended arm of the kitchen counter. Facing toward the creation she had just made. Her thick arms bent upward with her elbows resting on the counter. In her hands a blt. I could only see the back of her plump body leaning forward. Her hair was the natural red course light brown I remember. Curly and waving. Curls pressed flat in the back and poofy on top. Out of sorts, bed head. This was not the manufactured bright red she used to wear. She was wearing a night gown full of worn faded pink and purple flowers. Although I had not seen her face I could tell she was smiling. Enjoying each bite and waiting for my father to arrive.
I opened my eyes and stretched my body. I felt like I had been sleeping. My body was sweaty from sitting on the black leather seats of my jeep. It was a very sunny day, but no humidity. Only the sun to warm my body. I decided to open the door to get some fresh air. I stepped out onto the dirt road and looked around. The box I could once see sitting in my jeep had now disappeared in the tall grass. I stood upon the tippy toes of my black heals to see if I could see the rooster a top of the house. The weeds seemed to have consumed my view. I walked around the other side of my jeep and seen a very small dirt path that lead up to the gray box. Still the tops of the grass lay in my way.
I looked to my left and then to my right as if I was expecting someone or something to appear and yet nothing did. Not even the wind. I left my jeep parked on the road and began my trek up the path, pushing back the tall grass with each step.
In any other circumstance I would have been scared about what would be jumping out on me or what might sliver across my path, but the overflow of curiosity kept me pushing forward. What would I see when I finally came into the clearing? Would my father be standing there waiting for me?
The tip of my black pointy shoes hit the front of a step stone and I fell forward. Trying to catch myself on the tall grass didn’t help. Feeling embarrassed about my clumsiness (as if someone seen me) I picked myself up and continued my walk forward. Now knowing another step stone could be in my path.
Three times I stepped up. Three step stones. Each different in size and color. Each unique in their own way. My mind wondered to the three trees. As I took my last step I arrived at the front of the small gray boxed house. No front porch. Only one door flanked by two windows on each side and one lonely white tattered shutter hanging at a tilt to the left side of the left window.
The box seemed more like a big shed or tiny barn than a house. Three concrete bricks led up to the door. Instead of going inside I found myself sitting on the concrete blocks leaning my body against the front door. I was tired and sweaty. The sun beating down on my black blazer, my pants and shoes filled with dust from the road and the path I just came from. Bits of grass covered my legs, shoulders and hair. I was a mess. I took off my blazer, shook off the grass and laid it across my legs. I tilted my head back to rest against the front door and once again I found myself drifting off.
There I was again floating above. This time I was above the box. Sitting at a table to the right was my father tinkering around with a small motor on the table. The room was filled with dust as light shinned through the windows from the right. Two windows on each side of the box and one back door. The sun was shining brightly through those windows almost as if it was giving him the light he needed to tinker with his motor. There were a lot of things in the room. Tools, buckets, old sewing machines and typewriters. Antique cars, glass jars, plates, and rocking chairs. An old blade sharpener sat in the back of the box in the corner. Books sat on shelves on the walls and gathered dust on the floor. Fishing poles and baskets gathered into piles.
The left side of the box seemed more disorganized than the right side. A gathering of all sorts. To the right where he sat was more like a working space for all that was to come. An old white refrigerator sat in the back right corner away from the side of the house just enough for a bunch of brooms and mops to be standing in between.
The rectangle table he sat at had four mismatched chairs. Some made of steel and some of wood. He sat to the right of the table in a wooden pedestal chair that curved around his back almost pushing into his side as he sat croaked with his legs crossed. He was wearing charcoal gray dress pants, black belt and a plaid shirt filled with blues, blacks, and light blue stripes. Every now and then you could see a red or yellow strip running through the shirt. It reminded me of a flannel shirt but his was not made of the same material. It was cotton, warn and although full of dirt and sweat, it was soft.
The air in this place felt familiar. Smelled familiar. Smelling like cold steel with a bit of dust and oil splashed over it. It’s a distinct smell. Not offensive in any way, just familiar. As I watched him work on the motor I noticed his body and hands were not old and curled but yet not young and clumsy. His hair was black and swayed to the side with small streaks of gray running through it here and there. He felt peaceful, content. He reached up to the wine glass sitting on the table and took a small sip. He placed it back on the table leaving a smudge of grease on the glass with pure intentions of fixing whatever it was he was working on.
I hovered in peace and just as quickly as I arrived above my father, I returned to the front seat of my jeep. I don’t remember walking back down a pathway or opening the door. But there I was behind the wheel. And then I felt myself slowly waking up wanting to go back to my jeep on the little dirt road that curved around a hillside with my mother on my left and my father on my right.