One time...this dream about you....

One time I had this dream about you. Or you were in it at least.

We were spending time together, I remember, which was as wonderful as it is rare. We were laughing as we always do, whenever chance happens that we’re in similar geography at the same time. Even as I write this I can hear your laugh. It’s a deeper, more mature version of the laugh I knew you to have when we were kids. The way you scrunch up your nose a bit and slap your leg and lean forward....I love it.

For some reason, I believe it was a Sunday and I was headed to church that evening. At least I believe it was in the evening because as I recall we had spent that day together and it was dark outside--that moment when it’s just enough past dusk for the street lights to illuminate.

I remember you--being the “people person” that you are and always setting aside whatever else for them--of course said you’d go with me to church. I really don’t even remember asking but maybe I did.

You and I were raised very much the same. And for years, very much together as well. Something happened, it hurt so bad. I think I’ll probably never know as long as we’re here exactly what occurred, but it certainly rendered our paths increasingly diverged. It wasn’t until much later, both trying to accomplish a similar goal that those paths, albeit briefly, wove back together again momentarily. I knew the fabric from which you were cut and fashioned; the fabric of your family. I knew it well, I knew as I do still so well what it was like in the home where you grew up. I was close to another member of the family and I always looked at you as another brother. I wish now that you and I had spent more time together in those days just the two of us.

So, I knew what church-going once meant for both of us, coming from such a melded and congruous background. And I wondered then, once again about your present lifestyle and what circumstances and choices had brought you to where you were at. A place where you weren’t truly happy anymore. The joy I remember exploding from your talented self when we were kids wasn’t there anymore. The laugh, as I mentioned, was. But it was different. If anybody knew how you’d changed, I did. I was such a fixture in your family in a way--whether it was healthy or not. I knew you weren’t happy anymore and it made me ache ineffably. I wondered too, how you were able to mesh your current place in life with your past to which in many ways you still ideologically adhered. And I wondered what going to church with you would be like. It wasn’t a “wonder” in any way except “curious”; and knowing myself, I was probably even in my dream thinking ahead to conversations that I could foresee based on the experience.

We walked. The church met in a school. I think we were in Portland. I don’t know what church it was either. I’m not even sure I had ever been to the church before. I don’t remember. I remember, though, arriving there on foot. Laughing, we were enjoying each other’s company and as we were approaching the building you stopped for a moment. We were still a bit of a ways from the edifice itself, but we were strolling through the courtyard. I’m not sure if this building in my mind’s eye even exists except in this dream of mine, but the courtyard was a bit of a modern sculpture (used in the loosest of terms) garden. When I finally noticed your halt, I was mid-chuckle and I turned around to see what could have detained your usually lanky (and lengthy) stride....I also remember hearing faint singing coming from inside the school building. It was chilly, and I wanted to get inside.

I’ll never forget this in my dream, the expression of fear on your face. I was kind of shocked, I remember. I didn’t see this coming. You were staring at the entrance to the church, stricken. And shaking your head. I think I was still recovering from laughing when I asked whatever could the matter be, coaxing you to come on in the same sentence. You began to utter “no” to me while still assuming a posture of terror. I didn’t understand. I did but I didn’t. My lingering mirth quickly melted, naturally. I felt as if I were getting a glimpse into....

I don’t remember the end of the dream. I don’t remember if I left you and went to "church" or if I stayed with you and we both “played hooky” or what. I’m sure if we had, there would have been coffee involved. Or something. I don’t remember how it ended. I do remember eventually waking up, with that same ineffable ache that reminds me that I love you very much, that you’re not truly happy, and that I do want, so very very much something inexorably better for you in your life. I woke up feeling this. And wondering....