The fact that I face it alone makes the pain that much more unbearable.
The dream is almost always the same: the general premise is that I meet Beth in some unexpected place and find that something has happened that will permit us to be together. Sometimes we make love. Sometimes I find myself dragged into a marriage I don’t want, but it’s the only way to keep Beth. Last night, I dreamt that I was walkign in my dream version of Stickney and New II with the Chicago–L.A. train line for Harlem avenue). I was walking down 41st Street and found myself involuntarily ogling a girl washing a van with two guys (I think—I’m pretty sure that there was at least one guy who appeared to be her boygriend—there may have been another girl there as well). I seemed to be looking at them through a wooden frame. Retelling a dream is risky business—words solidify images, but dream images are fluid and dresist description. The girl(s) approach me just as I pass them and ask me if I know Beth. I notice I am wearing my beige jacket. Why? I tell them no but somehow at the same time tell them yes. Whatever I said the next thing I remember is that I’m in a field with Beth. The grass is long and brown. She gives me a false naem to wear as a disguise so her mother will not recognize me. I remember being happy. Now we’re in the gymnasium at the SNPJ campsite. But it’s still the field and also a mall I remember from somewhere. Is this one dream or many?
Then she must leave. I think the field is partly the park where I flew kites with Bernie and his girlfrind. The images that enter into a dream are culled from so many experiences. Where did the girls washing the car come from? The Sokol car wash maybe?
I am left alone with Beth’s monther wearing my new name with a disguise, but I realise how absurd this disguise is and Mrs. Arneson recognizes me. THIS IS MY DREAM IT CAN TURN OUT ANY WAY I WANT IT TO.
She says—I cannot recall the exact words but the idea remains—that if I’m this devoted (in love? I don’t remember the critical word/phrase here but “devoted” at least comes close to my meaning.) to Beth than I deserve another chance. Beth returns and I tell her.
But now I become conscious I’m dreaming. This joy is only illusory. It will leave when I open my eyes. I keep myself asleep but it is too late. The dream is gone. Beth is gone. I can’t bring her back.
A long entry here, largely focused on recalling a dream, with some metacommentary included. Not too bad for 19-year-old me with occasional moments of brilliance with merde mixed in to fill the gaps. Beth was my girlfriend at the end of my high school days (although apparently the relationship was less important to her than to me, as I learned years later) and our relationship was broken up by her mother in a weird bit of interventionism. Two years later it was still a torment for me, not mitigated by my own terminal loneliness and failures at dating (although in retrospect, the desert was less dry than I thought at the time).
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