100 Dreams

Dream 3

The scene before me is covered in a dreary, gray haze. He stands front and center in the middle of the huge crowd. One hand over his heart, one hand behind his back. He's a soldier, in full uniform. The national anthem playing over the loud-speaker around the block. There's a wide, wooden stage in the middle of town square, but the soldier is standing on the ground next to the steps. On the stage are two microphones. One for him and one for the mayor. The mayor is nowhere to be seen. The soldier's wife and daughter stand-off to the far left corner of the stage, keeping a close watch on the man they hold so dear. His daughter's natural blond curls bounce with the breeze as her mom picks her up off the hard sidewalk.

I make my way through the crowd, weaving between all the people who have heard about this soldier. I've never met the man, and yet somehow, I know everything about him. He's twenty-three, with a two-year old daughter and a twenty-two year old wife. His daughter inherited his natural hair and piercing blue eyes. He went into the war to escape from his father. An abusive, drunken old man. He met his wife in high school and they were married the day after graduation. He's spent his whole life just trying to be a better man than his father.

The anthem ends and he turns around to walk up onto the stage. His gaze lands on mine, and his eyes cut open my soul. This man gave his life to protect everything we have ever held dear. Giving up his time with his wife and daughter; understanding that when he leaves, it may very well be the last time he ever sees them again. When his eyes lock onto mine, I shudder. He's built to kill and has been taught to stand as strong and still as a statue, and yet, when he passes by his daughter, he reaches out for a high-five from her and a kiss from his wife.

He reaches his designated microphone and clears his throat. Before he can get a word out, the mayor appears at the very back of the crowd. He's a dull, short man, with cropped black hair, rosy cheeks, and a very round belly. He's waving his arms as if he's trying to put a stop to something. His lips are moving, but it's as if the world has gone silent. He begins to jump up and down, trying to get a point across to all of us, but as he goes to step into the crowd, it's as if a wall has been put up. He can move from side to side and backwards, but he can't seem to move forward into the crowd. It takes about five minutes of bobbling around before he gives up, head hanging. Scuffing his shoes against the pavement, he makes his way onto a bench and huffs as he throws himself down.

The soldier begins his speech. His voice is faint, as if someone had turned the television volume down to three. Then everything goes silent. I can't even hear my heartbeat. I spin in a slow circle, observing my surroundings more closely. There's an old woman behind me and a small child in front of me. To my left is a boy around my age, and to my right is a building marked "Oliver's Old Knick Knacks". In the window of the shop sits two porcelain clown dolls. Their makeup dripping down their faces like tear streaks. The longer I watch them, the more I begin to feel as if they're staring right back at me. I turn back to the speech right as I hear a bloodcurdling scream. It's the soldier's wife.

She takes off at run towards the stage as everybody in the crowd runs for cover. The soldier is on his knees, grabbing at his chest where a red stain begins to grow. The volume turns back on.

"He's been shot!" the wife screams, "He's been shot! Someone help! Someone do something!"

I try to make my way towards the stage, but it's as if my feet have been glued to the pavement. I try to scream, but no noise will leave my throat. All around me is the screaming of the retreating crowd and the soldier's wife. The soldier is crying as he calls his daughter onto the stage. He pulls his daughter and wife into his chest, holding onto them for dear life. Pulling back slightly, he kisses his wife long and hard and puts a light kiss to his daughter's forehead, before pulling them right back into a hug. I watch as his arms go slack around his family, unable to do anything to help. His daughter looks around, unable to recognize what exactly had just happened. Meanwhile, her mom is screaming, clutching onto her husband and shaking him. The daughter finally breaks free from her mother and father's grip, running straight for me. I can see the fear on her face. She call tell something is wrong, but no one will tell her what happened. She makes it to me and goes to grab my hand, but her hand goes right through mine. She stares at me, unblinking, before she smiles.

"You're it," she says, turning towards the clowns in the window, "And they want to play too." She's still pointing at the dolls when the dream ends, and I wake up in my bed.