Post by Mimi on Sept 17, 2006 22:09:28 GMT -5
3.2 As Long As Your Dreams Are Coming True
“Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die,
Life is a broken wing
That cannot fly.”
-- Langston Hughes
It was her favorite bedtime story—three significant lines really. She repeated the refrain groggily, accompanied by Raysa’s caressing voice. “I like you forever. I love you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.” Her eyes fell against the darkness as sleep eclipsed her quickly. Blond hair draped across her heart-shaped face. Dreamland. In her dream, she was mobile, skipping happily along. She turned slightly on her heel, pirouetting across the tall field grass outside the house. Raysa’s voice soon disappeared and another faceless spirit of unique distinction, not Southern, not Mira, called her name. She searched her surroundings: in the distance, a willowy form emerged. Long blonde hair lapped in the wind as the willowy form quickened her pace. Amelia. The voice was familiar and she couldn’t distinguish why. With a whim as swift as the wind, she turned and sprinted away from the familiar stranger.
Her sleep broken, Amelia startled awake in her bed. She was alone. Longing for the familiar touch of Mira’s protective hand, she climbed from her canopy bed. Scurrying across the hallow halls of the house, she stopped Mira’s bedroom door, turning the knob, she slipped discreetly inside. The room always held a magical essence for Amelia. Her eyes strayed immediately to the foot of Mira’s towering bed; a cedar chest occupied the space. She flicked on the lamp by the bedside, careful to remain as noiseless as possible. Raysa was sleeping three doors down; she would not be pleased with Amelia’s snooping. Her dream led her there, at the cusp of some unknown facility in the cedar chest. A force drew her hands to the metal clasp. She lifted the clasp, her eyes widened as she opened the heavy lid. She’d watched Mira open the said chest discreetly in the past. Her heart skipped a beat as she pawed the contents of Mira’s chest. Blonde hair arrested her attention, the remainder of a torn photograph. With a stranger, a familiar stranger holding her—as a baby—close to her heart. She traced the ripped edges with quivering fingers. It was the dream stranger; but she couldn’t be a stranger. She was beautiful; she looked exactly like her. Dropping the picture, Amelia folded her knees to the ground. She wanted her body to stop trembling. Something ignited within her spirit. She’d known the beautiful woman, if not only in her dreams. Lifting the tattered picture, Amelia closed the chest and climbed into Mira’s bed.
The following morning, Raysa found Amelia, balled into a fetal position in the center of Mira’s bed. Raysa had been alarmed when she hadn’t found her asleep as she’d left her the night before. Her memory replayed Mira’s ghastly face after John’s appearance, instead of alarming Mira; she decided to search the house first.
“Amelia.”
She popped an eye open at Raysa’s intrusion on her sleep. She was still clutching the mysterious photograph.
“What are you doing in here, honey? You scared your Aunt Raysa.”
Amelia sat up, “I couldn’t sleep,” she said plainly. The local drawl colored her tiny voice with New Orleans dialect. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine honey,” Raysa told her, stroking wild hair back into place on Amelia’s head. “What’s this?” Raysa asked touching the picture.
“That’s me,” Amelia answered searching Raysa’s face. “Who is this?”
“Oh baby, I’m sure you feel confused.”
“Raysa,” Amelia bellowed, lifting the picture to Raysa’s eye level.
“I can’t explain this,” she said softly. “You have to speak with Mira about this.”
Amelia pursed her lips intently, “you know her?”
“Honey please.”
“I’ll call her,” Amelia threatened, “right now.”
“Honey its not the time…”
“I want to go to her,” she decided climbing down the side of the bed. “Can we go?”
“Amelia.”
“I miss her,” she cried convincingly. “I’m scared.”
“I’m here.”
“I want her,” Amelia said adamantly, pumping her fist into the mattress.
Raysa conceded, “We’ll call…okay?”
“Yes,” she said perking up. “Now…let’s call now.”
~~~~
Mira arranged for the jet to bring Raysa and Amelia to Salem, unaware of Marlena’s flight plans. Amelia and Raysa arrived at the Salem airport five minutes after three.
“I want to get a postcard for my collection,” Amelia pleaded as they walked hand in hand through the sparsely crowded airport.
“Honey, I have to go make sure the luggage is all settled,” Raysa said tightening her grasp on Amelia’s hand.
“I can go alone,” Amelia suggested, spotting a gift shop a few feet away. She pulled away from Raysa.
“Amelia, wait honey.”
“I’ll come right back,” Amelia said running off toward the gift shop. Raysa watched as she darted across the room, making certain that she made it safely into the store; after Amelia entered the store, she hurried to gather their items.
Amelia scanned the store, deciding on the perfect postcard to add to her collection. She pulled bills from her jean packet and paid the clerk. “Thank you,” Amelia said politely. She put her postcard in her backpack and dipped back into the light traffic of the airport. Searching for Raysa who hadn’t returned, she headed toward the bathroom. She pushed against the heavy door; the sound of a voice behind it ceased her footsteps.
“All fresh and new,” she heard the voice say softly. Amelia marched toward that voice, she couldn’t stop herself from seeing who belonged to the voice. “Belle, everyone will be so thrilled to see how much you’ve grown.” The baby giggled. Amelia followed her voice, heading down the long span of the bathroom until she was in her view. She saw her from behind, blonde hair toiling across her back. She was holding a baby who was giggling incessantly. Amelia walked closer, and closer, knowing that it was her; this was the woman in her dream. Without warning, her dream woman turned and walked slowly toward her. She pulled the plastic heart-shaped sunglasses that Raysa insisted she wear from her hair to cover her eyes. Why did she feel compelled to cover her face; it was her. Amelia looked through the glasses at her face. She appeared the same, holding the baby close to her heart in the same way she’d held her.
“Honey, are you okay?” She asked, apparently aware of Amelia’s fascination with her. “Are you alone?”
Amelia shook her head.
“Are you sure? If you were my little girl, I wouldn’t want you to be alone.”
Amelia released the pockets of air that she’d filled her cheeks with; and then without the ability to stop herself, she spoke. “I’m okay.” She wanted the dream woman not to worry; it was important to her that she knew that. Why?”
“I’m Marlena,” she said lowering herself to Amelia’s level, “and this is Belle.”
Amelia leaned forward enabling a better glimpse of the baby. Her eyes were blue, warm, and familiar. Amelia touched Belle lightly on her back. “Is she your baby?”
“Yes,” Marlena said proudly, feeling a surge constrict her heart unexpectedly. She lost her concentration for a brief moment. “What a pretty accent you have. Where are you from?”
“New Orleans.”
“Oh how wonderful…and what is your name?”
Amelia dropped her hand from Belle’s back and lifted it to Marlena’s cheek to stroke her face admiringly. Marlena grasped alarming Amelia. “I’m sorry…you’re beautiful.”
“So are you,” Marlena said automatically.
Amelia turned and hurried from the bathroom. She turned to see if Marlena followed; Raysa stopped her at the door.
“Are you okay, you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
Amelia shook her head, “my dream…only the woman from my dream,” she whispered, touching the ripped picture in her pocket clasping Raysa’s hand as they walked through the airport.
“Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die,
Life is a broken wing
That cannot fly.”
-- Langston Hughes
It was her favorite bedtime story—three significant lines really. She repeated the refrain groggily, accompanied by Raysa’s caressing voice. “I like you forever. I love you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.” Her eyes fell against the darkness as sleep eclipsed her quickly. Blond hair draped across her heart-shaped face. Dreamland. In her dream, she was mobile, skipping happily along. She turned slightly on her heel, pirouetting across the tall field grass outside the house. Raysa’s voice soon disappeared and another faceless spirit of unique distinction, not Southern, not Mira, called her name. She searched her surroundings: in the distance, a willowy form emerged. Long blonde hair lapped in the wind as the willowy form quickened her pace. Amelia. The voice was familiar and she couldn’t distinguish why. With a whim as swift as the wind, she turned and sprinted away from the familiar stranger.
Her sleep broken, Amelia startled awake in her bed. She was alone. Longing for the familiar touch of Mira’s protective hand, she climbed from her canopy bed. Scurrying across the hallow halls of the house, she stopped Mira’s bedroom door, turning the knob, she slipped discreetly inside. The room always held a magical essence for Amelia. Her eyes strayed immediately to the foot of Mira’s towering bed; a cedar chest occupied the space. She flicked on the lamp by the bedside, careful to remain as noiseless as possible. Raysa was sleeping three doors down; she would not be pleased with Amelia’s snooping. Her dream led her there, at the cusp of some unknown facility in the cedar chest. A force drew her hands to the metal clasp. She lifted the clasp, her eyes widened as she opened the heavy lid. She’d watched Mira open the said chest discreetly in the past. Her heart skipped a beat as she pawed the contents of Mira’s chest. Blonde hair arrested her attention, the remainder of a torn photograph. With a stranger, a familiar stranger holding her—as a baby—close to her heart. She traced the ripped edges with quivering fingers. It was the dream stranger; but she couldn’t be a stranger. She was beautiful; she looked exactly like her. Dropping the picture, Amelia folded her knees to the ground. She wanted her body to stop trembling. Something ignited within her spirit. She’d known the beautiful woman, if not only in her dreams. Lifting the tattered picture, Amelia closed the chest and climbed into Mira’s bed.
The following morning, Raysa found Amelia, balled into a fetal position in the center of Mira’s bed. Raysa had been alarmed when she hadn’t found her asleep as she’d left her the night before. Her memory replayed Mira’s ghastly face after John’s appearance, instead of alarming Mira; she decided to search the house first.
“Amelia.”
She popped an eye open at Raysa’s intrusion on her sleep. She was still clutching the mysterious photograph.
“What are you doing in here, honey? You scared your Aunt Raysa.”
Amelia sat up, “I couldn’t sleep,” she said plainly. The local drawl colored her tiny voice with New Orleans dialect. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine honey,” Raysa told her, stroking wild hair back into place on Amelia’s head. “What’s this?” Raysa asked touching the picture.
“That’s me,” Amelia answered searching Raysa’s face. “Who is this?”
“Oh baby, I’m sure you feel confused.”
“Raysa,” Amelia bellowed, lifting the picture to Raysa’s eye level.
“I can’t explain this,” she said softly. “You have to speak with Mira about this.”
Amelia pursed her lips intently, “you know her?”
“Honey please.”
“I’ll call her,” Amelia threatened, “right now.”
“Honey its not the time…”
“I want to go to her,” she decided climbing down the side of the bed. “Can we go?”
“Amelia.”
“I miss her,” she cried convincingly. “I’m scared.”
“I’m here.”
“I want her,” Amelia said adamantly, pumping her fist into the mattress.
Raysa conceded, “We’ll call…okay?”
“Yes,” she said perking up. “Now…let’s call now.”
~~~~
Mira arranged for the jet to bring Raysa and Amelia to Salem, unaware of Marlena’s flight plans. Amelia and Raysa arrived at the Salem airport five minutes after three.
“I want to get a postcard for my collection,” Amelia pleaded as they walked hand in hand through the sparsely crowded airport.
“Honey, I have to go make sure the luggage is all settled,” Raysa said tightening her grasp on Amelia’s hand.
“I can go alone,” Amelia suggested, spotting a gift shop a few feet away. She pulled away from Raysa.
“Amelia, wait honey.”
“I’ll come right back,” Amelia said running off toward the gift shop. Raysa watched as she darted across the room, making certain that she made it safely into the store; after Amelia entered the store, she hurried to gather their items.
Amelia scanned the store, deciding on the perfect postcard to add to her collection. She pulled bills from her jean packet and paid the clerk. “Thank you,” Amelia said politely. She put her postcard in her backpack and dipped back into the light traffic of the airport. Searching for Raysa who hadn’t returned, she headed toward the bathroom. She pushed against the heavy door; the sound of a voice behind it ceased her footsteps.
“All fresh and new,” she heard the voice say softly. Amelia marched toward that voice, she couldn’t stop herself from seeing who belonged to the voice. “Belle, everyone will be so thrilled to see how much you’ve grown.” The baby giggled. Amelia followed her voice, heading down the long span of the bathroom until she was in her view. She saw her from behind, blonde hair toiling across her back. She was holding a baby who was giggling incessantly. Amelia walked closer, and closer, knowing that it was her; this was the woman in her dream. Without warning, her dream woman turned and walked slowly toward her. She pulled the plastic heart-shaped sunglasses that Raysa insisted she wear from her hair to cover her eyes. Why did she feel compelled to cover her face; it was her. Amelia looked through the glasses at her face. She appeared the same, holding the baby close to her heart in the same way she’d held her.
“Honey, are you okay?” She asked, apparently aware of Amelia’s fascination with her. “Are you alone?”
Amelia shook her head.
“Are you sure? If you were my little girl, I wouldn’t want you to be alone.”
Amelia released the pockets of air that she’d filled her cheeks with; and then without the ability to stop herself, she spoke. “I’m okay.” She wanted the dream woman not to worry; it was important to her that she knew that. Why?”
“I’m Marlena,” she said lowering herself to Amelia’s level, “and this is Belle.”
Amelia leaned forward enabling a better glimpse of the baby. Her eyes were blue, warm, and familiar. Amelia touched Belle lightly on her back. “Is she your baby?”
“Yes,” Marlena said proudly, feeling a surge constrict her heart unexpectedly. She lost her concentration for a brief moment. “What a pretty accent you have. Where are you from?”
“New Orleans.”
“Oh how wonderful…and what is your name?”
Amelia dropped her hand from Belle’s back and lifted it to Marlena’s cheek to stroke her face admiringly. Marlena grasped alarming Amelia. “I’m sorry…you’re beautiful.”
“So are you,” Marlena said automatically.
Amelia turned and hurried from the bathroom. She turned to see if Marlena followed; Raysa stopped her at the door.
“Are you okay, you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
Amelia shook her head, “my dream…only the woman from my dream,” she whispered, touching the ripped picture in her pocket clasping Raysa’s hand as they walked through the airport.
