What do you dream about?
Last night I dreamed of a field covered with tents and full of people. There was a sweet smell in the air, like sage or cloves. The sky was a brilliant blue and the clouds passing over the sun would cast shadows on the ground as they moved.
I was reclining on a blanket, a quilt made of large blue patches, and leaning against the chest of a man. He had wide brown eyes and a friendly smile. He brushed my long, dark hair as I looked up at you. I could feel his fingers moving quickly in the rhythm of someone experienced at braiding hair or tying knots - binding my hair, and then just as quickly letting it go to do it over again. Occasionally, he would lean in and whisper a secret to me, tickling my ear with his breath, and knowing he was doing it.
I would lean into his laugh, smiling and nodding and look up at you. You were watching me, just outside an olive green tent in a chair made for camping. You were completely unreadable behind your sunglasses, but I could feel your eyes on me as surely as I felt the hands in my hair. You laughed, someone, I couldn’t see them, was telling you a joke and you were laughing at it, your smile stretching wide over your teeth, your head tipped back to expose your throat.
And yet, with each chuckle, I knew you were looking at me. I sat there, complacent, slowly puffing at a cigar, my lips touching the porcelain mouthpiece briefly before I would let the smoke go spiraling into the air, and a soft sigh with it, and reach across to the edge of the blanket and give it my customary tap-tap to push the ash off the end.
I wanted to tell you something. I am quite sure of it. It was lingering in my mind the same way it does now. Unsure then of what to say, unsure now of what I was thinking. But then, and now, I had the same feeling. You knew it, I hadn’t to say it, and so we laughed, you and I. And we let the thought stay there unspoken between us.
I expect one night, without preamble or premeditation, I will go back to that place and remember what I was going to say to you. Perhaps I will say it then, or perhaps you will say it for me. Or likely, if we ever visit again in our sleep, we will stay, just as we did, and let our smiles talk for us.