Son, can you play me a memory?

We’re coming up on the full moon and the dreams have started. I spent most of the night in some sort of church or rec hall waiting for a supper that never came. Hours and hours spent sucking on ice chips and chatting with all kinds of ghosts from my past. One would get up to check on supper or get me a drink and another one would sit down.

Remember that night I stayed at your parent’s house with you?
Not really, why did we stay there?
I was too drunk to drive . . . oh, I wasn’t really, I drove worse, but I just wanted to stay with you. I remember those baby blue satin pajamas you had on.
Really? I don’t remember any of this . . .

Remember that night we went to the Tasty Freeze and got banana splits? Remember we drove out to the airport and laid on the hood of the car watching the planes take off over us?
No. We never did that, did we?
Sure, we did! It was that big old white boat of a car and you were scared because the planes were so close and you screamed yourself horse, hiding your head in my chest.
I think I’d remember this if it really happened . . .

Remember the night I took you out to that camp and we sat on the porch and watched the moon?
Hmm, I’m not sure.
We sat on an old cot and I kissed you for the first time.
I thought we were up Dungarvon in the car when you kissed me the first time.
No, no, it was at that camp. We kissed under the full moon, but you wouldn’t go any further.
That’s not the way it happened. I remember . . .

And on and on and on into the morning. I woke up a dozen times. I had the alarm set for 5:30 because with visible sidewalks I can start walking again and I want to try to get in the habit of going out twice a day. I turned the alarm off at 5:23 before it went off, laid there awake and pondering the dream until 5:35, and then got up, got dressed and forced myself out into the air. I walked down the Old King George Highway to the edge of French Fort Cove. I think the cove is passable but it was a bit early for me to be in the woods in town alone. If it were just the woods I wouldn’t mind. Up home, I’d go into the woods. In town . . . well, I don’t like to chance it, there are some pretty creepy guys around here. The walk just down to the cove and back is 30 minutes at my fastest pace, 40 if I don’t push myself. This morning I pushed myself. Arrived home sweaty and exhilarated, ready to work. I watched the sunrise over the Centennial Bridge in Chatham and left the dreams in the night.

Mood: renewed
Drinking: coffee, black
Listening To: born in the usa, bruce springsteen
Hair: trim anyone?

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