Marilyn

First, a note. This is a dream I had. It has not been embellished in any way. Immediately after I woke up from my dream, I sketched out an outline of what happened. I didn't know why, but I knew it was important. I was right, it's been a major factor in my life since the night it came to me. There's no way to truly share with you or anyone how I felt and knew and was in this dream; I can only describe things and try to give human elements to the ethereal feelings I was given within my unconscious adventure.

Here goes.

I’m surrounded by a dark indigo reflected from the desert horizon. I’m walking, walking faster than a normal human. My strides carry purpose, and purpose carries me. It’s cold in the sandy plains that envelop me. I have a light around me, but I don’t know from what it is emitted. I’m walking, perhaps circling something at a distance. Yes, circling something. I pause to think about what I’m searching for. Bodies. I’m circling five bodies, they are somewhere, and I must find them. That is why I have the light. I see a place where they must be, then before I know what I’m doing I am approaching them with my unnatural stride. I don’t find bodies, but I am not surprised. Here, my knowledge is pure, boundless. I find marks in the sand, and the mound I had seen looks as if it were a nest now. Bones. I follow the bones. I know I am no longer seeking bodies that lay on the ground, somehow the other four are alive. The bones lead to a lone dune that rises above the sand, beautiful and perfect, at harmony with the indigo sky. The bones show me a brown flap, which I slide through without touching. There is a tunnel. It is cool, dry. Two people greet me. They have faces that change - despite this I still know who they are. But who are they in the waking world? There is no answer, so I press on. Deeper into the tunnel. The walls are lined with a single large computer, more advanced and complicated than any I have seen. Yet I am uninterested, this is not my goal. I turn. The tunnels are well lit, as if the sun was shining through an opaque layer of sand and showering everything in a calm tan. I follow a tunnel out under the indigo sky. It is higher than the entrance, and there is someone here, sitting against the wall. I do not know him, and when he talks to me, his voice is striking, different from a man’s voice somehow. I ask him what he is doing there, and in response his face cringes and then his voice becomes that of an announcer. This man is the voice. I realize the computer inside must be a radio station. I recognize the voice now - Speed, the announcer for my local radio... But where is that radio, relative to here? It is nowhere. I do not dwell on the thought. Now Speed, or the announcer, or the voice - whatever he is, he is on a bed. We have not moved from our spot near the top of the dune. I curl up at the end up his bed and fall asleep to him saying unintelligible things.

I am in an abandoned shack. There is a man next to me. He is portly. He has a face that I will not recognize, nor will I remember. I am helping him, or he is helping me. We are searching. He wails, “This was my first one!”. The thought strikes me that this was once a place of business. A restaurant. His restaurant. “The men came at Eleven! Eleven a.m. and they ordered, their order number was Eleven, and then they told me I was to shut down!” The portly man cried. I felt that I was getting somewhere. I want to comfort him, but somehow I know I cannot touch this man.

I am in a classroom. I wonder which one - as soon as I ask, I know it is Mr. Palmer’s room. Video broadcasting equipment and computers clutter the corners of the room. A beautiful girl with white hair walks past me, towards the broadcasting cameras. I have never seen anyone like her before. Our eyes meet. There are other people in this room, but they are empty, only ghosts here. She is real.

I am with the portly man again. Shadows under his eyes tell me time has passed. Where are we? A small, lit portion of a bigger building. It is dusty and cast in blue. I see four beds, or rather mattresses on the floor. They have worn blankets. The man seems haunted now. “This,” he whispers, “was my second.” Another restaurant. The beds are there as if to discourage any belief that it was once a place of business. The man looks around on the floor and lifts up a bed. He holds up nothing in his hand. We have lost, but knowledge has been gained. “This was my second.” His eyes are large in the dark. “They came at Twelve. The order number was Twelve. They made me shut down.”

I am back in the classroom. The girl walks up to me, and I realize she is expecting a hug. I do not think about it, I hug her. She does not let go. I don’t let go. The other people in the class have faded away, they were only ghosts to begin with. I bury my face in her white hair and smile. She fits perfectly in my arms. ‘Who am I to deserve this?’ I wonder. Then she looks up into me and sees this question. I know that she wants this more than anything. I realized that I do too. We don’t have to adjust to kiss, we simply do. Her warmth is my warmth.

The portly man is looking under all the mattresses. I am watching him in the blue shadows. “They’re coming at One. One to shut me down.”

I am sitting with the girl with the white hair in the classroom. We are sitting next to each other, but I am closer to her than I have been with anyone. She smiles at me - a promise of things to come. “But how will I know?” I ask her in my mind, without words. Such ineffective methods of communication are not needed here. “What is your name?” She smiles at this, and I am stunned. She takes my hand and signs what must be her name - another promise. Her script is too beautiful and too mysterious for me to understand, yet I do anyway. I say her name aloud to her, and she smiles. Her name was signed in geometric shapes, linked through cursive into patterns. She’s in my arms, I’m holding her. She’s holding me too, we don’t let go. I know she won’t let go.

I woke up seeing the signature she had left on my hand in the air, and her name resounding in my mind.

After I had this dream, I began living life with some clearer goal in mind. Maybe I won't meet a girl with literally white hair, and frankly it's unlikely I'll meet her in the classroom of my Video Comm III teacher (Mr. Palmer), and perhaps her name won't be Marilyn at all. I don't know anyone named Marilyn, or anyone who looked like the girl in my dream at all. All I know is that I was given an extraordinary experience, albeit while I was asleep, and that I will hold on to it and let it give me hope. I know one day, I'll find the girl I dreamed about, and when I know it's her, I'll do all I can to hold on to her.