Come Sail Away

Major Havoc was watching me, looking nervous and uncertain but trying hard to be calm and brave. Captain Chaos was behind him, oblivious to what was about to happen, twirling in circles while waiting for her turn to board the boat. We couldn’t see the boat. It was on the other side of a wall, around the corner, and there was a long line of people steadily and quietly moving forward. They blocked my view, but I knew that even if I wanted to I would never be allowed to look around the corner. Not yet, at least. Not until it was my turn to disembark. Somehow, I knew that my turn wasn’t coming for a long time.

The Major asked me once again what was going to happen. I dropped to one knee in front of him and held his face in my hands. I explained that he was going on a short boat ride. I assured him that everything would be okay. I promised him that I would be on a boat behind him, and that I would join him on the other side. We’ll be together, I promised. That was the first lie. It seemed to help him, but only for a bit. I gave him a hug and told him that I loved him.

The Boss was standing behind the Major. She peeked around the corner, watching the line of people as they boarded the boat. “Oh, look! The driver of the boat is Sharon. We know her from church. Major, you know Sharon. You like her!” He glanced at the boat driver but quickly turned his attention back to me.

“And you’ll be there?” he asked, looking down at his hands.

“Not right away, but I will come later, when it is my turn,” I replied. “Then we’ll be together.”

That was my second lie. He would not know me when I arrived. He would not be waiting for me. He would not remember me, and as incomprehensible as it seemed at that moment, I knew that I would not remember him. How can a parent possibly forget their children? We would not be together because no one remembers life once they’ve crossed the river Styx. It was the river of forgetfulness. I knew he didn’t believe me, but it didn’t matter. In a few moments, nothing would matter. For him.

I hugged him again.

As far as dreams go, it could have been so much worse than it was. I couldn’t take any more of it so I forced myself to wake up. The clock next to my bed announced 5:57 in glowing red numbers. I was up for the day. My first action upon leaving my bedroom was to reheat a cup of coffee. I sipped that as went to the children’s bedroom and checked on them. Both the Captain and the Major were peacefully asleep, completely unaware of their father’s restless dream.

Why do parents dream about the death of their children? What takes place in the inner workings of the human mind that would bring to life the image of a parent’s worst fears? Why would I dream of a mythological afterlife that I don’t believe in and would never desire? Why would I dream that I was losing three of the four most important people in my life, but fixate on only one child? (who, as I type, is merrily investigating the contents of his St. Nicholas Day stocking) (Whew!)  There are a hundred other questions I could ask, but each one is as unanswerable as the one before it. The only thing I knew for certain was that I wouldn’t be able to return to sleep, I needed to check on my children, and this was not the manner in which I wanted to start my Monday morning.

A Tongue Lashing of the Worst Kind

Five minutes ago, I was sitting in the back of an open, flatbed truck with a few other men I did not know while an adult male tiger sat behind me, licking the top of my head. It had escaped from my neighbor’s yard after Coast Guard helicopters arrived and dropped two, large wart hogs into their yard in what I assumed to be an effort to capture and remove the tiger. I was as surprised as you are, since offering a tiger a fresh pork dinner was not what I had in mind when I saw the helicopters arrive. What would be the outcome of the battle between two slightly airsick adult warthogs and an angry Bengal tiger? My family was somewhere behind me on the truck, but they quickly disappeared when the tiger jumped the fence into our back yard. A rather large man in a green striped shirt approached the truck, laughing, holding a paring knife.

“He won’t hurt you,” the man said. “He’s just playing.”

I looked at him nervously. Tigers are big. I could feel his weight pressed against my back as he eagerly lapped the top of my head. That’s the last time I purchase tallow scented Prell.

“Here,” the man continued, offering me his paring knife. “I’m his trainer. You’ll be okay.”

I accepted the offered paring knife, not sure what I would do with it. There was a chain rattling behind me. I assumed it was the choker collar around the tiger’s neck. Actually, it was around the Big Fuzzy Dog’s neck. He was at the foot of my bed, rattling his choker collar in an effort to wake me up and let him out. Reggie the rent-a-dog sat next to the bed, licking my arm. I knew then that I would be up for the day. There’s no going back to sleep after being shampooed by a large cat.

Last night, shortly after falling asleep, I was running for my life when Terminator-type cyborg creatures were chasing me through the streets of Bermuda.

I’m sure that dream interpreters would have a field day with these two nocturnal events. I’m not even certain why I am sharing them here, except that I just woke up, the dream is fresh in my mind, the house is quiet, and I wanted to let you know that my back-up computer is up and running and I’m back on line.

Have a good weekend.

I’ll see you on Monday.

I Hate It When She Does That!

The phone rang at 12:30 in the morning. The Boss and I were sitting on the couch in our former home in Missouri, watching TV. She quickly grabbed the cordless phone between us, the phone she gave me as Christmas present two years ago, and said “hello” with a big smile. I looked at her with a puzzled expression. When the phone rings at 12:30 in the morning it’s either a wrong number or bad news, but this call was obviously not bad news. She looked back at me as she stood up, shook her head in annoyance, and walked out of the room. Twenty minutes later she returned, her conversation over.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“An old friend from high school,” she replied.

“An old friend?” I asked. “What’s his name?” I knew it was a guy.

“Paul.” She spoke her answer matter-of-factly. I could see that she was struggling to suppress a smile.

“Paul. How long has Paul been calling you at 12:30 in the morning?” I asked. It was rare that I was awake with her at that time of the morning, and I knew from her reaction when she answered the phone that she was expecting it to ring and was very happy that it did.

The Boss responded by walking into the kitchen. She stepped up to the kitchen sink and started to wash the dinner dishes that didn’t fit into the dish washer. I leaned against the counter next to her, crossed my arms over my chest, and looked around. The room felt comfortable. I knew I had spent a lot of time there but I did not recognize it as any place I had ever lived.

We stood there quietly while she washed, listening to the sound of the running water and gentle clanking of dishes. Minutes passed before she glanced at me. “He’s just giving me some attention.”

“You’re having an affair,” I challenged, feeling the threat swelling in the center of my chest. “Planning on leaving?”

A heated exchange ensued, the kind of verbal fencing that takes place between a husband and a wife when one person is angry and the other doesn’t want to participate. She stopped washing and started to dry her hands on a towel.

I realized that my head hurt. It had been hurting for days, and it was genuinely starting to annoy me. And that was the clue that I should open my eyes. The alarm clock on the nightstand read 5:02 a.m., and I knew that I was awake for the day.

The entire conversation was a dream. I should have recognized the clues, those things that only make sense in a dream world, such as the house in Missouri with the cordless phones she bought for me after we moved to Kansas, a kitchen I did not recognize, and the Boss doing dishes. My subconscious is an idiot.

Nightmares have been flaring often over the last few weeks. They happen right before I wake up for the day. A few days ago I struggled to rescue a carefree Major Havoc as he merrily chatted while walking through an alligator infested zoo enclosure in the middle of a family room in a house we were thinking of buying. That’s just crazy stuff. My kids don’t walk anywhere. They run.

So, I’m up for the day.

My doctor chuckled yesterday afternoon when he walked into the exam room. He was reading my symptoms that the nurse had written in my chart. He glanced at Captain Chaos, smiled, and said, “I wonder who gave this to dad.” She’s been to the doctor twice in the last two weeks for the same problem that I have: bronchitis with a side of sinus infection.

Why is a parent obligated to catch whatever their children have one week after the children’s antibiotics kick in and heal them? 

At least I’m feeling better with pharmaceuticals.