Thursday, May 18, 2017

In the Realm of Dreams

I'm here again. In my grandmother's house. And nothing has changed.
Plastic "rugs" cover the hallway carpet. Light pink. Brand new after my grandfather passed away. There are pictures of my cousins and me all over the living room; on top of the old fashined radio, the TV stand, the floor. The grandfather clock still sits in the corner, reminding me that time stops for no one. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The pendulum swings on.
The rotary phone still hangs on the wall. My grandmother's powder jar still sits on the bathroom vanity. My aunt's room is still decorated exactly the same. Trolls cover almost every inch of her dresser, a rainbow of wild fuzzy hair and gemstone belly buttons.
My grandmother's rooms looks exactly the way it did the last time I slept there. And I miss her.
Have you ever had a dream so vivid, so real that you can almost feel as though someone is there with you, even though they aren't present in the dream? I've been dreaming of my grandmother's house so often lately. Something different happens each time, but the setting is always the same. My grandparents' home. One of the places in which I grew up.
My grandmother is never there, but I can feel her. As I walk from room to room I can picture her there. Baking in the kitchen. Putting on lipstick in the powder room, just outside the bathroom. Taking a nap in my aunt's bed. Putting a load of laundry in the washer, filling the room with the scent of Tide. I can see her in the garage, getting a box of Klondike bars from the chest freezer. Eating dinner at the table, telling us all to talk less and eat more.
And then I'm a little girl, lying next to her in her bed, her hand in mine. And she's brushing the tips of her fingers over my fingernails. And I miss her. 

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