21 Dreams

"Tea Rorschach 1-21" by Jennifer Hines


These are my memories, my dreams, you said. These twenty-one paintings hanging in my living room. You said I painted them after many nights of dreaming and waking.

I have no memory of ever having touched a paintbrush and yet the feeling of deja va coursed through my brain, etching fragments of tiny scenes. Each incomplete bits settled for a second then disappeared back where they came from.

Each night they stared down at me, begging me to look at them. Each night I stayed awake studying them hoping for something to jolt my mind. But each night the details blurred more than the night before. Drawn to their odd shapes and colors like an invisible string that had tied itself to my fragile body, I pulled and tucked but the strings stayed in place.

You came one night to accompanied me but your presence only confused me more. Cryptic in your words, you said,"They're all there - your dreams. All twenty-one of them." You started to touch the middle one but you suddenly pulled away before your fingertip ever touch the surface. You turned to me and smile, kissed me on the cheek and walked out the front door. Your footsteps barely audible against the soft carpet.

After you've gone, I ran my thin fingers on their rough surfaces, each one a different texture, each unique in their own way. Vivid images of children playing in dried autumn leaves splashed before my tired eyes. Then they were gone. Their faces were a blur but I cannot mistake the happiness behind them.

One night, I dreamt about you. We were having lunch at one of our favorite restaurant. You were sitting in front of me, legs dangling off a silver chair, your apple cheeks beamed brightly in the afternoon sunlight. You stared at me with your beautiful eyes as you asked me questions after questions about the show we've just saw at the museum. It occurred to me suddenly what those paintings represented - twenty-one dreams that I had wished for. You, I shouldn't have forget, my sweet child. But now that you've returned to me, the paintings don't seem so foreign now. Their colors becomes less vivid each day but their hidden meanings still remained. Someday they will come to me. My other twenty dreams.



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