quab
“People who never get anxious always amaze me. The world could be breaking up, and they’re saying, ‘Everything’s fine!’”
The trees in her dreams are much taller than the flirty plants the girl could see from the narrow window of her room. Tall trees meant longevity and success. Or so the girl had read. She’d trained the vines in her boudoir to grow upright from the cold floor, so her room resembled a forest.
The girl read her divinations off the postcards she received from Angela. Angela wasn’t great at keeping time, so the girl didn’t get her readings accordingly. Sometimes they arrive at the correct cycle; other times, not. The cadence didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if the girl had made any important decisions in the waking world. To dream of a cluster of trees alludes to spiritual growth.
The forest in the girl's dream was black. The girl was not afraid of the dark. She didn’t mind the absence of light. A small fire always lighted the woods. People sat in a broken circle by its flame. Shadows rise and move sideways as individuals shift by the smoking logs. A boy sits with knees bent upright to his elbows. He has dark hair and a crooked smile and doesn’t speak for many nights.
You will be attracted to those who teach you tension. Intellectualism stimulates you- figure out a new way to use your brain. The prophecy weaves from May to November. Angela loses track of much of June, and the lecture picks up in mid-August. The girl pieces together the main message: Don’t wait for someone to teach you how to love.
Angela was a bit messy. She left donuts on small china plates overnight, so the flies flew in and crawled out with fat bellies. Angela never purchased fruit. She couldn’t bear the price of raspberries and boycotted the entire seed-bearing structure. When the girl offered bananas and milk, Angela would wrinkle her nose with the septum ring and shake her head two times. The girl offered just to see the septum glitter.
In the dream, two women sit with the boy; one fair and sparkly, the other auburn and ample. Naked to the waist, the women hold onto the boy by each elbow. The girl forces herself to laugh as she walks to the circle. Acceptance by fellowship, never by force. She has an endless hunger for occupancy that counters her need to be alone. Moodiness isn’t a chosen face. The girl wears many colours to keep herself swimming upright in uneven waters.
The cards from Angela arrive with symbols the girl doesn’t understand. Sometimes, the shapes obscure the text, so the girl must infer the meaning. A few cards arrive bloated and smelling of salt. Water damage ruins. The girl doesn't read those notes, and another week is left in the waves.
The girl enters the circle at the fire with her hands by her sides, revealing how little she carries. The group greets her with space over the sound. Stories are exchanged, and no one says anything to the girl. She is braided, cloaked, and uninteresting next to the wild women with loose tresses. The women spread their laughter to the circle as frosting on a cake- smoothing the edges with their buttercream skin.
The boy between the buxom women is nearing manhood. Madhood. His long body looks strong under the thick cloth he wears. What men do is never for themselves, thinks the girl. What we do is always a gesture unto something else.
The seams are splitting, and the girl wants to cry. She always feels so lonely at night. The boy looks at her across the flickering heat of the fire. It is dying. Whoever tends the coals will get less sleep. A trade occurs in the darkness; it's time over power. The boy smiles at the girl and gestures with his dark eyes; come over here, they say.
The situation you seek is not your final destination. When you feel stuck, remember you are in flux and not the origin of the angst. The cards are scribbled in ink pen, a bit clumsy, like Angela had a sneeze while writing. Perhaps she wrote them from a knee while sitting on the toilet.
The girl rises and walks over to the three. She is welcomed into the fold. Her cloak is removed as she sits with her shins to the fire and her back to the forest. She is hot in the front and cold in the back. The women reach around the boy and pull him in closer. The girl shrinks. She throws up a little in her mouth and swallows. The boy looks like he is laughing, but there is no sound. Just space in the fold where the tall trees obscure the sun.
The girl wakes up and realizes how the cards don’t really matter. It’s just a means to hang on to the mystical part of life before the madhood sets in.
Don’t wait for someone to teach you how to love.
Photo source.
