It is dark in here. The red-eye flight to Paris is nothing but a dead-calm container of snoring people and light flashes coming from the multiple mini-tv screens all along the aircraft. Here I am, trying to sleep but not finding a comfy pose - my legs are too short so they don’t fully touch the floor yet the seat is too narrow for me to do my typical pretzel twist. Looking thru the window I can’t see much but even a darker space with blood-red intermittent splashes coming from the wing. So I made up my mind, stood up to stretch and took my traveling pill’s case - an array of choices covered with inviting letters M,T,W,T,F,S,S …red, blue, round, oblong, tiny white… wait, tiny white? What is this pill? I don’t remember putting it in here, how come it has all the W space reserved for such a small pill; I should’ve known better not to take it, I should’ve gotten my regular P.M blue ones… yet I was drawn to it…I opened up, said AHH then took it with the last zip of water left behind.
Who gave me this remedy? What is it doing in my personal case? All those questions started to vanish while I was dozing in and out following the rhythmic turbine noise…eyes closed, deep black tunnel…eyes back open, navy blue upholstery from the back of the front seat…eyes closed, warm known feeling…eyes half open, blurry features of a familiar face…eyes closed…tight …wide shut…and gone.
Flashes of yellow -orangey spots were flying by… shivering feeling making my head turn from side to side… velvet clouds and me floating beneath…a car, looks like a Gremlin circa ‘78; children’s songs in Spanish surrounding the area – Mimoso Raton, Patas Verdes, Mafafa and Pistachon are singing their bubbly tunes from a morning Sunday show I loved – it is me and my little sister riding with mom who is driving us to our new city… music fading and the blurry face approaching… I can’t quite see, just feel… a cold wind is cutting by, distracting noise, and there they are…my childhood friends, playing, dancing, exchanging lunch with me, teachers and guitars, soccer team…then….gone. Train Pullman cabin, coloring books, snacks… sister, me and mom, traveling back… a tiny crowded house where feelings were insane, new city, new adventures, same uncertainty …same faded -looking face, showing up in every corner then slowly going away…again. The sensation of falling is so real, the sudden fast sequence of images, rushing down like heavy rain… there goes graduation, high school friends, rejection, insecurity, seasoned by accomplishments, high heels, eighties’ hair… next to me there is an angel, my perfect match, catching me softly…only to let me fall again… this time was even harder, deeper and deeper in to the darkest place until a ray of light just bright enough to see that my angel was still there, with broken wings, yet wide open to catch me again.
Revolving doors inside my brain, messing with me… phantoms appearing then shading, pushing , grabbing and confusing , the already unbalanced, vulnerable me... sweating and screaming then a sudden shake – “ Miss, are you alright? Do you need some water? We are about to land”… and so I woke up, looking around: same aircraft, same passengers but a good couple of thousand miles away.
While gathering my personal belongings to get off the plain, my pill case fell so I reached down to get it. M, T,W,T,F,S,S letters all in blue over transparent plastic flip caps… multi-colored pills making the sound of a therapeutic maraca... I giggled… while staring at W… only to notice…the space…was not …empty… little white pill …was…still…there.
AFTERWORD
They say dreams are our sub conscience way to tell you something, a window to your fears, desires or pending stuff looking for closure. If dreams are messages, our brain is one tough, mercy-less messenger.
Truth is, we can’t deny our past. As dumb as it sounds, let’s face it: the past in fact, happened. You can’t just let go. As much as you try your memories to go away, they find their way to comeback, they are free, lingering in every detail … that’s the mistake: trying to “let go”. After much consideration, I truly believe we should do the opposite - the trick is to lock them, keep them in a safe place where only you (or at least the conscient you) are the master and key keeper, the real owner.
Memories and experiences made you what you are. Good, tough, bad or worse, they can’t disappear; they can’t be changed (as much as you try). But you can control them, keep them deep inside. Sort them by category then lock them, lock them hard. Allowing them to visit…but only when you want.
…Locked in: The past
