Today as I slowed to a halt at an intersection, a dream drove across in front of me. It was a sky blue, restored convertible car from the fifties. I apologize that my lack of car knowledge inhibits the vision, but imagine a long, smooth hood that rounds down to white rubber wheels and classic, shined hubcaps. The windshield wraps the front of the car, and protected the precious cargo from losing their assorted hats and scarfs. Seated in the front were two old men who seemed finely aged into their seventies. Seated behind them were two matching women, all dressed in clothes that you only buy when you retire.
I dreamed a dream of reunion. I dreamed these two old men having been best friends since five, and maybe after some distance through college at separate schools, were reunited. Soon after they were best men in each others weddings. Of course, the bride in each case was a women they had counseled each other about through many midnights during the long months of courting and engagement. Their wives naturally hit it off, and soon started planning double dates, in which there were never objections from the men, except the request to go to the batting cages instead of the flower garden. During their younger days the women, soft and beautiful, would chatter away in the back seat with matching smiles. The sun was their friend and was glad to soak into their skin, allowing their bodies to turn a radiant gold, the only color that replicated their love for the man seated forefront. As the world smiled at its sky colored ant rolling through dirt roads and hillside, eternal moments of bliss were made.
Over the years children came out crying, and soon it was a month before the couples had seen each other. A month turned into a year, a year turned into a decade, and it became nearly impossible to travel a family of five. Time slowly did its part on the heart, but never on the memory. As grandchildren came the chapters of written careers begin to end, and a conclusions to their life's book began to draw near. The vision of their kin's kin, inspired reminiscence, and a longing grew bubbles large enough to touch across the mileage that separated them. So they met in Montecito, and the old convertible, looking warm as ever, was filled with familiar laughs and love.
I was blessed enough to survey the latter part, and create the former.
However, what if this dream had no resemblance to reality. Sure there is pain and hurt after living seventy years, but doesn't the charity of a poetic dream like that outweigh the gross, reality of life? Maybe this is where my poetic skew that loves happy endings and full circles ends.
I fell into a possible contradiction. The contradiction that keeps me from flying into optimism. Maybe these two couples have absolutely nothing in common, and all four have Alzheimer's, just happen to be at the same retirement community, and felt like a ride. What if the back ladies sit in awkward silence, while the men talk about all the women they got to "know" in the past fifty years. How the drivers feels lucky for not going through the three divorces his companion had, but knows he wished he would have abandoned his wife half way through the marriage to travel the globe with his secret love. What if the women are upset for the convertible, because each are so paranoid about the sun's power over their skin cells.
Neither world is more probable than the other, which do I live in? I am dual minded in nearly everything. I end to be the true poet stuck somewhere in the middle, and praying for the former. Praying for a day when it is all in the former.
I still believe, Maranatha!
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