I was Floating, Drifting, Flying... I was Dreaming

I was dreaming, floating, hovering above myself, watching her make decisions I couldn’t control. When she moved, I moved, as if she was holding a balloon. She pulled the string and I followed, suspended in the air, slightly behind.

I called to her, to myself, “Where are we going?” She didn’t answer. She didn’t hear. She didn’t know I was there.

She was walking. Walking and walking and walking. I was floating behind her. Floating and floating and floating. Where we were going, I couldn’t tell. There was no light and it was cold. The air was wet, laced with the scent of mold. The ground seemed to groan with every step, like it couldn’t support the weight of her, of me. Everything was fuzzy, unclear, confusing, until –a window.

An open window. A breeze came in through it and the curtains began to dance. She took a deep breathe, smiling at the sweet smell of a cold winter night. I saw the white moon, it was big, and full, and bright. The snow was glowing underneath it, sparkling like crystals. She stepped closer and her head tilted to the side, she was intrigued. At what? I floated down, closer to the window but still above her, above myself.

Footprints. One set leading away from the window and into the darkest part of night. They were speaking to her, follow me, they said.

She felt a pull, a tug deep in her chest. She was being called to follow the footprints and she would not ignore it. She climbed through the window and began to run. She was running and running and running, and I was following and following and following. Winter was biting at her cheeks, cutting at her arms and legs, burning her lungs, but she didn’t care. Where did the footprints lead? Did she know? Did she care?

*

There was glittering snow, ice-covered birch trees, a full moon in a black sky, and then… a bedroom adorned in pink walls, barbies on carpeted floor, and a little girl sitting in her bed, clutching a picture frame. And there was me. No longer running after footprints in the snow, but sitting on the edge of the bed, talking to the little girl.

The child, I realized, was me. A younger me; a past me. I was still suspended in the air, floating, watching a scene unfold I didn’t understand. I couldn’t hear, but I could see, and I saw I was trying to comfort. She leaned forward – older me – wiped a tear, and tucked a piece of hair behind the ear of younger me. Her lips started to move and the child nodded, agreeing. What was she saying? Older me held out her hand and younger me placed the picture frame into it. I stood up – older me – and walked over to the dresser, setting down the picture frame. I tried to get closer to see the contents of the frame, to understand what made the child so upset, but I couldn’t. My body wouldn’t move. It is frozen in the air, stuck in a hovering position, forced to only watch the scene, not examine it.

Older me walked back over to the bed, picking up a stuffed animal on the floor. She placed it next to younger me, patted her head, and then her lips were moving again. Younger me wrapped her arms around the stuffed animal and snuggled deep into the covers. She nodded once and closed her eyes. Older me stood next to the bed a while longer, watching. I don’t know how long she stayed like that, but when she finally stepped away, pink walls began to fade, barbies disappeared, and the little girl in her bed was gone.

*

I was dreaming, drifting, trailing above myself, watching her lead me somewhere unknown. Suspended above her, I hovered like a ghost. Where she went, I went, as if there was collar tied around my neck. She held the leash, and I followed, obediently.

I called out to her, to myself, “Where are we going?” She didn’t answer. She didn’t hear. She didn’t know I was there.

She was walking. Walking and walking and walking. I was drifting behind her. Drifting and drifting and drifting. Where she was leading, I couldn’t tell. Darkness was all around. The air was hot and heavy, thick with the scent of burning wood. Ash was falling from the ceiling into her hair. A fresh blanket of it was on the floor. Perhaps a fire was just above our heads. Everything was hazy, muddled, out of focus, until – a window.

It was open. She walked closer and smiled. Footprints. One set leading away from the window and into the darkest part of the night. They were speaking to her, follow me. A yellow moon was shining high in the sky, illuminating the snow, illuminating the path. She didn’t waste any time. She climbed through the window and when her feet hit the ground, she started to run. She was running and running and running, and I was following and following and following. Icy wind whipped at her hair, it seeped into her clothes, into her bones, but she continued on. Where did the footprints lead? Did she know? Did she care?

*

Winter was all around her, then… it wasn’t. One minute she was running on frozen ground, passing through forests of snow-covered pine trees, the next, she was standing still on cobblestone streets, watching the hustle and bustle of a town square.

Noise surrounded her. It came to her ears in various forms. In conversations, in the shrieking laughter of children, in rock salt being crushed under boots. People were moving in every direction. She watched this a while. Studied the people moving here and there, to and fro, and then, she joined them.

I followed as she moved. Hovering above her head, powerless to do anything else except follow. There was an urgency in her step, in her expression. She needed to do something. She needed something from these people. What was it?

“Excuse me,” she said grabbing hold of a stranger’s coat sleeve. He yanked it away. She moved onto someone else. “Ma’am, I’m looking for someone.” The lady walked faster. She raised her hand, flagging down another person. “Can you help me, please? I’m looking for—” The man stepped away from her. Who was she looking for? Could I help? Do I know them? After all, here I am floating in the air, dangling above the heads.

Let me help, I wanted to say it. I tried to say it, but I couldn’t. My mouth wouldn’t open. I couldn’t speak. My jaw was locked and my lips were sealed shut, forced to keep quiet, forced to not interfere.

It seemed she had been at this for hours, grabbing onto sleeves, tapping shoulders, touching hands. Anything to get someone to stop, to help her. She tried and tried and tried, “Please help me, I need to find someone,” but no one would help. They ignored her, walked past her, dodged her pleas. She was growing weary, her steps were slowing, her head was dropping, and eventually, she was standing still again. She was back to watching the people, but now, she was watching them disappear, one by one.

*

I was dreaming, flying, levitating above myself, watching her venture into a void. She set the pace and I kept up, as if I were attached to strings. She was the puppeteer, and I, the puppet, happily obliging to the movements of her hands.

I called out to her, to myself, “Where are we going?” She didn’t answer. She didn’t hear. She didn’t know I was there.

She was walking. Walking and walking and walking. I was flying behind her. Flying and flying and flying. Where she was off to, I couldn’t tell. It was pitch black. The air was stuffy, stale, and smelled of sulfur. The only sound was that of dripping water, slow, but steady –drip, drip, drip. Everything was blurry, distorted, cloudy, until –a window.

It was open. As she stepped closer, her eyes started to sparkle. Footprints. One set leading away from the window and into the darkest part of the night. They spoke to her, follow me. The moon was low, beautiful and blue. The snow shimmered and glimmered beneath it. She climbed through the window, quick as she could, and once her feet touched the ground, she began to run. She was running and running and running, and I was following and following and following. Frostbite was right behind her, nipping at her fingers, at her toes, her ears. It was chasing her, waiting for her to stumble, waiting for her steps to falter, but she was steady. Where did the footprints lead? Did she know? Did she care? 

*

Leafless trees and frozen streams, icy ground and bitter wind. She was submerged in it, running through a world of the deepest winter, and then… she wasn’t. She was standing on a staircase, looking up. Staring at a chandelier directly above her. It was swaying, creaking, casting shadows across her face. It was ready to fall. Her eyes trailed it –back and forth and back and forth.

What was she doing? She needed to move, get out of the way before she was crushed. Move! I wanted to shout the word, but I couldn’t. My tongue was heavy, it stuck to the roof of my mouth when I opened it. I was forced to remain silent, to only observe from my spot in the air.

She watched the swaying as if she was hypnotized – back and forth and back and forth. Did she hear the creaking? Was she aware it was about to fall? It could kill her, kill me. Move! I silently urged her.

She did not move. She stayed standing on the staircase. She was still looking skyward when the wires snapped. It happened quick, the falling of the light. One second it was in the air, and the next, it was crashing to the floor. She didn’t jump out of the way. She didn’t even flinch. She simply let the chandelier crush her.

*

I was awake, laying, warm in my bed. I was no longer dreaming.