The Dream

© danamacy 2010

Monique and Jules own a cat. Jules said that Cat was with them for a reason. When she asked what reason that could be, Jules told her all about a cat’s perception of life and death. Monique wonders how Jules could know about that, but she listens anyway. She trusts Jules. He tells her that cats know when death is coming. And when it comes,

they stand watch while the human passes into the formless, and, one of the lives of the cat goes with the person.

Cat crouches on the desk, haunches twitching; she springs to the bed sending papers flying to the floor. Monique will remember when she wakes, to write it down in her journal. It may be important.

The clock on the shelf ticks, misses a beat, ticks again, but slower…

Monique lives in the city with Jules. It is a shapeless city, or rather, a city shaped by her dreams. A city crammed with towers of glass and steel on a drifting island between two oceans. The streets are like deep canals, where her dreams run rampant, and Jules films them – each and every one. She’s slightly disappointed that Jules rarely films anything but feet. She thinks he’s missing the point, but he tells her that he captures the formless that way. Talking heads fill space with clutter. That’s what Jules thinks.

Monique thinks he could be right. Her dreams are formless. Formless in the way that death can be – or perhaps, they are only that way because Jules leaves out the forms. She’s lost track of whether her dreams are the subject of his art, or whether it’s the other way around, – in reality.

Monique keeps a journal where she records her dreams. She writes out the questions and then gives them to Jules, who wanders through the streets of the city with his camera, searching for clues that will lead to the answers. The two of them are on a

journey to capture an essence of sorts, to capture the meaning of life, just like everyone else. Jules thinks they are really on to something, even ahead of the game, close to finding the truth.

It all began on the morning that Jules filmed their legs. They were entwined from the waist down, connecting their souls like roots are connected to a tree. They’d fallen asleep like that. Cat lay stretched at their feet, licking Monique’s toes, eyes closed in a cat’s bliss. Jules smiles at her and says something. She hears no sound, but reads his lips. I love you. He gives her a present, a small black box. Monique reaches for the gift, turning it over in her hands. She runs her fingers over the writing, making out the letters in Jules’ sprawling script: The D-r-e-a-m. Ah, it’s a film. She slips it in the viewer and rolls over on her stomach to watch. Cat walks onto her back, kneads the flesh of her buttocks and settles down, stretched over the backs of her legs.

The clock ticks faster…

Monique watches. She can see Jules’ feet, running down a street. He’s wearing green Keds. Slap, slap, slap…she cannot hear the sound, but imagines she hears. The pavement is wet. She likes the smell of fresh rain on hot pavement and wishes she were there. Where is he? She knows she’s supposed to guess.

The clock ticks, misses a beat, ticks faster…

Monique watches closely. The images are unsteady, almost violent. She sees the edge of a crosswalk. She looks for the blue stencil of a fish that tells people that the runoff drains into a river. No, she doesn’t see the stencil of a fish, so he’s not there. Where is he? Now the camera is focused on his green Keds with the purple laces. Monique smiles. She told him that people would think he was gay. He’d laughed at her and winked, which meant … I only sleep with you. . .

Monique sees the green Keds pound against the pavement, faster and faster. Where is he? Where is he going? She sees a dog leash dragging on the ground. The leash is red with a silver chain to go around the neck. The camera focuses on the leader of the leash, a white poodle with red booties. Uh-oh, there’s no person in sight. The poodle has a red bow in its curls, right between the ears. Monique knows this is a danger sign. Red means danger. She’ll remember to write it in her journal when she wakes.

Monique watches for clues. She wants to know more. She wants to see more. Where is the owner of the dog with the red bow and booties? She hears a screech, like a chicken being strangled, and then sees the lady; a pale, thin lady with electric orange hair is chasing the poodle. “My precious! Come back, my precious!” Hysterical sounds pooch out from her botched-botox lips where orange lipstick bleeds into the cracks above her upper lip. Monique laughs out loud. Jules rarely went to head shots. That one was for her. He’d warned her about dyed hair and botox. And lipstick. Monique touched her lips. She’d worn lipstick last night. He must have seen the lipstick.

The clock ticks – misses a beat – ticks slower.

The images are shaky, jerking as if nowhere to go. There, she can see another leash. Monique clicks her tongue, yes, she’s figured it out. This leash is green and leads to the hand of Darwin. Darwin is the owner of a smart dog, a grey and white Aussie Shepherd, with one brown eye and one blue eye. Now she sees Darwin’s boots. His feet have a purpose, moving briskly toward a goal. Where? A door creaked open. Ah ha!  It’s he café with the old carved door. Just then, the screen goes black. Jules has shut off the camera. He must be inside, talking with Darwin. They talk about life and other important ideas.

Monique rolls over onto her back. Cat jumps off and climbs back on her tummy, stretches out and purrs, eyes closed. Monique is drifting. For a long time, she thinks of all the clues from the film. She must write them in her journal. She must remember to wipe off the lipstick when she’s awake. She must, because the lady had orange hair and lipstick, and orange stands for caution. Jules was trying to tell her something.

The clock ticks, misses a beat… two beats … three…

Behind her eyelids, she sees the red leash and the silver cinch chain. This means the thin lady didn’t catch her dog. That’s too bad. Now the dog is lost in this big city with dream rivers for streets and surrounded by dark water. The pale, thin lady must be lost too, without her little dog.

Monique dreams, her head resting on the soft pillows of her bed, taking pleasure in Cats’ warmth against her body. She knows that Jules will bring home clues and she’ll have something to write in her journal. She waits.

The clock ticks, steady and slow…

Now she sees a hand holding the red leash. She sees Jules’ hand and she thinks about how his clues always make the question bigger. He and Darwin would sit in the café and talk about the essence of the formless, and then Monique would record it all in her journal. Monique had her own clue… that maybe nothing mattered at all, out there in the river of dreams. It all seemed suddenly vague to Monique, — in the scheme of things. Or maybe the word was obtuse? Irrelevant?

Monique feels uneasy, frustrated as in a dream where she’s trapped and can’t wake up. She’s spinning in darkness where there are no boundaries. Then she sees white, blinding white, and her own hand reaching up to touch her throat. Cat inches forward and crouches on her chest, head stretched out, licking Monique’s fingers, now cold, frozen, grasping the silver chain. Eyes open now, she knows this is not her dream. She is merely a character in her lover’s dream.

END

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