Newton Street (Dream)

This is where I dropped in:

I stood in the driveway with Jesse by my side. He was waiting for me to sign the papers. He looked from me to the real estate agent, and back to me. He wore the burgundy shorts and sleeveless black T I’d last seen him in. I’d been here before.

We were back at the condo on Newton Street. I’d toured it earlier this week and really liked the funky layout. Two bedrooms on the the second floor with the living room and kitchen on the third. It was like it’s own separate house that merged involuntarily with the other units. I hadn’t been sold on the black and white industrial design, it wasn’t really me. It was the trees I’d fallen for, the way they draped down in front of the place and lined the street in a vibrant green tunnel. And the silence. What a change.

“I’m not sure I want this place,” I said. I’d said it before.

“Well, I already got rid of my spot,” he said, “I planned to move in with you.”

My heart slammed against my chest wall and echoed in my ears.

Did we plan to live together? I thought. I searched my mind for a record of the conversation. Everything was blurry. I don’t know how I got here, how we got here. 

Thoughts came up quickly like acid in my throat. It’s like I’d stepped on a ride that was spinning too fast to jump off of now. 

I can’t just leave him on the street, I thought, he gave up his home for this. For me. 

I signed the papers.

In that moment I was suspended on the edge of the driveway, watching the scene from a distance. There was the celebratory hug, hand shaking with the realtor, and the transfer of keys. Then I watched time go by in rapid images, like a VHS on fast forward. Moving in, moving out, a new house, new neighborhood, new car. Jesse designing and creating towns, head of his own company, prosperous, wealthy, and consumed. Me, the supportive wife, quiet, and following. 

With each scene, I watched us check off all the boxes we learned we needed. I saw myself on that ride, spinning fast and unable to move. I was flat and stuck so tight against a wall that I didn’t notice the floor drop out from under me. 

“You don’t want this,” I heard, in my own voice. 

“You don’t want this,” I heard, the voice growing louder.

“You don’t want this!” it yelled, pulling me away from the cinematic experience. I turned away.

A petite, old woman approached me on the driveway as I watched the scenes blur together into a ball of mesh. She wasn’t alone, but her husband waited in the car.

Her hand landed like silk on my arm. I could see the veins beneath her thinning skin. A white ball of hair surrounded her head in a wavy afro -- the “old lady haircut,”— my brother and I called it. She was probably in her late 80’s. She watched with me for a moment, but had little interest in the story.

Wow, she can see it too? I thought. 

My focus was on her now. I took her in, I could feel her. She was frail but bright, small but full of energy. A hidden light. She looked at me with with sorrow, with eyes weighed down with regret, weary and tired from her journey. She turned to me, and smiled. With warmth, and love, she said to me, “You don’t want this.”

I looked beyond her at the movie that played out in front of me. It was a pretty nice life. I don’t want this, I confirmed. Even if i did, I don’t need it. I’ve experienced it already.