Tuesday, November 13, 2007

These Dreams

You're dying. Someone runs down a hall and is screaming that you're dying and there's nothing anyone can do for you. I'm feeling sad and terrified and helpless. I ask someone where you are and they direct me to a room, where you're lying on a couch, your arms folded across your chest. I crawl over to you and I see you're still breathing, but it's slow and shallow. I ask you if you can hear me, but you don't answer. I tell you I'm here and I'm sorry I wasn't sooner. You squeeze my hand, your way of assuring me that it's ok. My eyes are filled with tears, but I'm not crying. I can't cry right now. I ask you why you did it, but you obviously can't tell me. I don't understand why I fcan't bring you back, I just know it won't happen. These are your final minutes, and I intend to sit with you until the end.

My teacher comes and tells me that I can't do my test this morning because she didn't have the time to transcribe it, and could I ask the prof if I could do it later. I say yes. We walk up a really long flight of stairs. Or rather, she walks. I run, realizing that the longer this little expedition takes me, the less time I can sit with you. I tell the prof what I need to tell him, and I race back downstairs to the room, where you're still breathing. But your breaths are very weak now. It's becoming more and more difficult to contain my emotion, but I still hold it together. People are talking about useless, unimportant crap. I'm silent, listening to your breathing. I think of all the things I never said, and somehow, in thinking them, I know that you understand. And then you're cold. Your breathing ceases, and the room is silent again. And I start running. Running as fast and as far away from everything as I can possibly run. I can't talk to anyone. I won't say anything. I won't show emotion. I'm just going to hide. I burst out the school doors and just keep running. Where I'm going, I don't have any idea in my mind, but my feet take me. I'm moving so quickly that I can bearly feel the pavement under my shoes. After what feels like hours of this running/flying, I realize I'm in bed, curled up. I reach down, and Rosamae's on the floor, asleep and having her own puppy dream. She's wagging her tail and barking those sweet little puppy barks that they make when they dream.

Was this finally closure? Was this finally the way I could say good-bye and stop beating myself up for not having done anything to stop you?


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