A Dream
I am visiting my brother. It has been years since I've seen him (in waking world as well). My husband has come with; my brother delivers us from the airport to his home to meet his wife of some years that I have never met better.
And his son. His four year old son. They both meet us at the door from the garage to the kitchen. My brother transfers to his wheelchair in his van while Hubby and I unload the bags. My brother leads the way into his house. His wife and child stand in the kitchen side by side.
She's beautiful. Exotic. She has darker skin and big brown eyes. Her hair is black and waves away from her scalp. I can't tell her nationality or race by looking at her, which I instantly like. I smile as I by-pass her extended hand for a hug after introduction. Their child is a mixture of the two. He is cute as a bug if a little shy.
After depositing our bags in the spare room, we talk of sleep. Our flight arrived late which made us late to the house. However, we end up on the back porch. It's a wooden deck surrounded by an old, brink wall. Black iron lamps top the brick pillars. His wife has strung paper lanterns from the eves to the end of the porch. Everything looks like it's out of a Crate-n-Barrel or Pier One commercial and yet not. Upon a closer look, I could tell that the furniture and decorations were bought at smaller, independently owned shops.
She brings out snacks as exotic as her. Some are Indian in origin and some are not. All are delicious. One sat atop this clay dish. It consisted of brown lumps that she sprinkled salt on. I think it can't be good, but I try one to be nice. It's delicious and encourages me to try more. As we sit around and talk about the last Spider-man movie and about the reboot while eating snacks, a gust of wind comes by. I sit on the floor of the deck with his son playing with cars. A paper umbrella by me turns inside out as I hold it in place. The wind threatens to take it away.
When his wife comes back from making sure the other decorations are okay, I present her with the umbrella. I try to right it for her, but it turns out to be a two-person job. By the time it is an umbrella again, the supports on the inside are broke. I step back.
She looks so disappointed. My brother touches her hand and offers a very supportive smile. It is easy to see how much he loves her. She smiles back one of those wistful smiles that say she wishes things had gone differently, but that she loves him too.
It is then that it hits me: she really loves him. And he really loves her. And she was trying to impress me. I want to tell her if she wanted to impress me, all she needed to do was share that look with my brother. Instead, I apologize enthusiastically over the umbrella and offer to buy her more. In fact, in that moment, there isn't anything I wouldn't do for her.
And then I wake up. In the waking world, my brother is married to no such woman - in fact, the opposite. He has been for years now. He does not have a son. And his house isn't the one from my dream either.
And his son. His four year old son. They both meet us at the door from the garage to the kitchen. My brother transfers to his wheelchair in his van while Hubby and I unload the bags. My brother leads the way into his house. His wife and child stand in the kitchen side by side.
She's beautiful. Exotic. She has darker skin and big brown eyes. Her hair is black and waves away from her scalp. I can't tell her nationality or race by looking at her, which I instantly like. I smile as I by-pass her extended hand for a hug after introduction. Their child is a mixture of the two. He is cute as a bug if a little shy.
After depositing our bags in the spare room, we talk of sleep. Our flight arrived late which made us late to the house. However, we end up on the back porch. It's a wooden deck surrounded by an old, brink wall. Black iron lamps top the brick pillars. His wife has strung paper lanterns from the eves to the end of the porch. Everything looks like it's out of a Crate-n-Barrel or Pier One commercial and yet not. Upon a closer look, I could tell that the furniture and decorations were bought at smaller, independently owned shops.
She brings out snacks as exotic as her. Some are Indian in origin and some are not. All are delicious. One sat atop this clay dish. It consisted of brown lumps that she sprinkled salt on. I think it can't be good, but I try one to be nice. It's delicious and encourages me to try more. As we sit around and talk about the last Spider-man movie and about the reboot while eating snacks, a gust of wind comes by. I sit on the floor of the deck with his son playing with cars. A paper umbrella by me turns inside out as I hold it in place. The wind threatens to take it away.
When his wife comes back from making sure the other decorations are okay, I present her with the umbrella. I try to right it for her, but it turns out to be a two-person job. By the time it is an umbrella again, the supports on the inside are broke. I step back.
She looks so disappointed. My brother touches her hand and offers a very supportive smile. It is easy to see how much he loves her. She smiles back one of those wistful smiles that say she wishes things had gone differently, but that she loves him too.
It is then that it hits me: she really loves him. And he really loves her. And she was trying to impress me. I want to tell her if she wanted to impress me, all she needed to do was share that look with my brother. Instead, I apologize enthusiastically over the umbrella and offer to buy her more. In fact, in that moment, there isn't anything I wouldn't do for her.
And then I wake up. In the waking world, my brother is married to no such woman - in fact, the opposite. He has been for years now. He does not have a son. And his house isn't the one from my dream either.