Mess of Blonde

A vignette of man and his dreams.

He opened his eyes slowly. He had already become awake, already felt the cold wash of reality, but he tried to savor the darkness that moments before had been alight with his subconscious. He had, of course, been dreaming about a girl.

This time she had had dark hair. She was reading in a cafe that he had never been to.  This time he drank coffee with her, watched an old black and white movie with her, and kissed the top of her head when she fell asleep on his shoulder. Her hair had smelled like flowers.

 

I sat across from him as he ate his breakfast., as he stared at the computer screen beside him. I cleared his plate and washed his dishes. He smoked a cigarette and rocked in his chair, creaking. He asked me if I had ever seen The Prince and The Showgirl. I told him I hadn't.

 

I watched him slowly move hunched from the kitchen to an old, beaten wingback chair by the window in the apartment's small living room. Here he looked down at the street and its people. I cleaned the table and left.

 

He closed his eyes and dreamed again of the girl with dark hair. She was listening to jazz now. She wore an outfit arrayed with color, but never let make-up touch her.  She talked of getting a tattoo. She called him by his name now.

 

He was startled awake by a crash from below. Outside his window, two cars sat forcefully conjoined, their metal entwined. Someone screamed. He watched as a door slowly opened, a woman stumbled to her feet and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a phone and tried to dial. It slipped from her hand as she stumbled to the other car, which sat smoking. It teetered slightly as the woman tried to force the driver side door open. Somewhere in the distance a siren had begun sounding. It echoed through the city's canyons. The woman was shaking. She turned against the door and slipped to the ground sobbing.

 

He leaned back and closed his eyes again. The girl returned to his mind. This time her hair was blonde and it flowed as she ran down the stairs to him, screaming of presents under the tree. She jumped into his arms and he spun her around and around and around. She was giggling as he set her down.

 

He had missed the mess of blonde. He had missed her calling him "daddy."