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touching her
Nov. 13th, 2006 01:32 pmI'm drinking a vanilla latte, back at my desk, after lunch break...
I had an incredibly realistic dream last night. I walked into the bedroom; the lights were off and the TV was on, and bathed in its light was Adam, lying in bed. Petting Tuesday. She was curled up against him.
I stopped dead, stunned, stared, and stammered, "She's dead. What is she doing here?"
Adam just looked at me and smiled. "Oh, she just appeared while you were in the bathroom. I can't touch her unless she touches me. Here, come here."
I came closer. Tuesday looked faded, like a ghost I suppose. She looked up at me with a happy expression. She trilled and chirped at me. I reached down but my hand passed through her. "Let her touch you," said Adam. I kept my hand just above her. She headbutted my fingers. And I felt her -- soft and full and real. She wasn't warm or breathing, but she was purring, and she let me stroke her, and she brushed her face against mine. She licked my fingers, and her tongue was cool but rough and real.
In the manner of dreams, then, we were downstairs in the living room. I was lying on my stomach, letting my baby girl rub against my hand and arm, my face. As long as she was the first to make contact, she was real and soft. And yet she was dead. She was a ghost.
But I got to love her. We got to play with her. It was enough.
I haven't told my husband yet. I'm sure he'll appreciate it. I believe the dream had been inspired by our conversation last night, in bed. He had been touching Tuesday as the syringe had been administered, and holding my hand as well. (One of Adam's "psychic" talents is the ability to draw and absorb spirit energy: on his last trip to the Grand Opryland Hotel in Nashville, he had encountered the angry ghost of an old woman who had lived on the land and had not wanted the hotel built; she had been haunting several of the rooms for years. Adam walked into the room she had been in, and "ate" her, and drew her energies into himself and made them his own.) After he had absorbed Tuesday's spirit, he had passed some of it into me, through our hands. I think it had formed some sort of bridge. She came to us in my dream across that bridge. So, in essence, literally, she is with us.
A theory. A nice, comforting theory.
I had an incredibly realistic dream last night. I walked into the bedroom; the lights were off and the TV was on, and bathed in its light was Adam, lying in bed. Petting Tuesday. She was curled up against him.
I stopped dead, stunned, stared, and stammered, "She's dead. What is she doing here?"
Adam just looked at me and smiled. "Oh, she just appeared while you were in the bathroom. I can't touch her unless she touches me. Here, come here."
I came closer. Tuesday looked faded, like a ghost I suppose. She looked up at me with a happy expression. She trilled and chirped at me. I reached down but my hand passed through her. "Let her touch you," said Adam. I kept my hand just above her. She headbutted my fingers. And I felt her -- soft and full and real. She wasn't warm or breathing, but she was purring, and she let me stroke her, and she brushed her face against mine. She licked my fingers, and her tongue was cool but rough and real.
In the manner of dreams, then, we were downstairs in the living room. I was lying on my stomach, letting my baby girl rub against my hand and arm, my face. As long as she was the first to make contact, she was real and soft. And yet she was dead. She was a ghost.
But I got to love her. We got to play with her. It was enough.
I haven't told my husband yet. I'm sure he'll appreciate it. I believe the dream had been inspired by our conversation last night, in bed. He had been touching Tuesday as the syringe had been administered, and holding my hand as well. (One of Adam's "psychic" talents is the ability to draw and absorb spirit energy: on his last trip to the Grand Opryland Hotel in Nashville, he had encountered the angry ghost of an old woman who had lived on the land and had not wanted the hotel built; she had been haunting several of the rooms for years. Adam walked into the room she had been in, and "ate" her, and drew her energies into himself and made them his own.) After he had absorbed Tuesday's spirit, he had passed some of it into me, through our hands. I think it had formed some sort of bridge. She came to us in my dream across that bridge. So, in essence, literally, she is with us.
A theory. A nice, comforting theory.
