The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

life could be a dream, sweetheart

The lilacs are starting to brown and curl out there, and it makes me sad. Sure, there are other flowers coming, other blooms on their way to happening, but the lilacs are my favourite. They don't live long enough.

Another strange dream, about someone I haven't physically seen in fifteen years. He looked the same, though, still had that perfect, corkscrew curled hair, though it was slightly shorter, and we held hands. It wasn't overly sexual, the dream, and I wasn't disappointed by it. I was actually happy to feel as though I were a teenager in the beginning stages of love. There has to be a bit of meaning in it.

So, I googled him when I woke up, hit 'image', and waited. Sure enough, there are a couple photos of him, both from professional music sites, and in both, he is holding a guitar while looking as though he holds some kind of important position. I know it's him, but the hair is shorter (I'll never cut my hair!, circa 1989). He also wears a knit cap in both, and I'm hoping it's not a desperate attempt to conceal the inevitable thinning men so often experience. His face is rounder, the cheeks fuller, but I was surprised to note that he doesn't look old, not in the way so many men his age do. His body is softer looking, but not fat, and he looks good in a t-shirt. His eyes are still almond shaped, but I don't suppose that will ever change. He's not the sort who would go in for plastics, even if everyone around him does it. There is still a palpable smugness about him, a kind of conceit that I used to find charming, but eventually came to find off-putting. I remember once telling him that he had 'potential', after listening to one of his demo tapes, and he was almost irate with me for it, though I'd only been kidding. I protested over and over, telling him it was my attempt at humour, though I secretly knew it was really my attempt at exacting his comeuppance. I have never been able to tolerate people who think too highly of themselves. Self-confidence is fine, pomposity is a different matter, though.

The caption under one of his photos, written by someone in the industry, is as follows: This man is a genius. Great, all the work I did to dismantle his delusions of grandeur, shot down in one unoriginal statement. If I ever knew him at all, he probably looks at that daily and smiles with satisfaction.

Or, he may have grown up a lot. I'm not the same person I was in my twenties, that's for sure. My youth, and much of the ignorance I had in it, has fallen away in small, jagged chunks. I'm still young by many people's standards, but the kind of youth I had when I knew him was the enthusiastic sort, a period of life in which there was nothing ahead but possibility and clear skies. He was no different, except he made sure his life stayed on the path he'd dreamed of. He did what he set out to do, and it must be said, he's obviously still cool.

Maybe he's one of those people who knows from the beginning who they are. They're a rare breed, but they exist. Maybe his confidence was just that, 'confidence', and not exactly egotism. I thought I loved him for a good, long while, in spite of what I interpreted as narcissism on his part. He meant the things he said. He was determined and aware. I lacked all of that.

Occasionally, I wonder if we'll ever cross paths again, and if so, why. I'm very much a believer that there are reasons behind everything, that there is some unknown force at work weaving together the channels and crossroads of life. I think that every person you know, you're supposed to know, that every important connection you've ever made was always intended to be. I like to think that someone I invested so many daydreams had reason in my life. What has his presence ever taught me? Other than how to degrade myself in a typical, pubescent, giggly way.

What sometimes smarts is knowing that while it's now twenty-one years after we first met, I still find myself dreaming about him. I still find myself looking him up despite not having had a real conversation since 1994. Does unrequited love haunt you forever? Is it the troubled ghost of something that died before it lived?

Part of me hopes I never see him again. I don't know that I could handle the emotions that would involve, but the worst for me would be if he looked at me, caught my face in his mind, and had absolutely no spark of recognition. Here I am, in my thirties, still dreaming of him holding my hand and engaging with me in intense conversation, and he may not even remember who I am. This would cut me. It would go deep, and I do not know why.

I don't want him, though. Everything about his life appears to be unrelated to what I need in my own: calmness, quiet, contemplation, predictability. I think what I want is that girlish flush of obsession. I think I am subconsciously looking for a way to hold on to my younger years, like he's the bridge to it. I was too old in many ways back then, and now I've just realized I gave my free years over to worry and rigidity. Maybe I'm looking for a way to reclaim what I mistakenly gave away? My freedom, my jubilance, my passion.

Or, maybe, it was just a dream.

He is still a bit of a dish, though.

*wink*