Dreams of the Sleepless

Memories

Molly turned the car down the dirt lane to my little cabin. I glanced over. She cut her eyes toward me with a coy smile. Pulling up in front of the cabin, she turned to me and announced with a sweep of her hand, "This is where I grew up, my childhood home." She seemed almost giddy.

I sat in the car for a moment as she opened the door, stood, and slowly drank in the surroundings like a person parched from thirst. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, savoring the moment. She caught my gaze with a twinkle in her eyes.

"I want to ask you for something and it's OK to say no. I'll understand." She paused seeming reluctant to ask the question.

It made me anxious, but I offered, "Ask away."

Molly hesitated. Her smile faded. "Could I go inside my old house?"

I felt a wave of relief. I had imagined much worse. Grinning, I said, "Of course. It's a bit messy, but if you don't mind—"

"No, no, no. I don't mind at all."

I unlocked the door and let her in. She stood near the center of the room slowly taking it all in. She ran her hands lightly over the wooden chairs with a wistful smile. She wasn't really there with me. She was off in her childhood, reliving moments. Perhaps a time when she had peeled potatoes and carrots, cutting them for her mother as she made soup. Or maybe a time when her mother lovingly stood beside her at the small stove, teaching her how to slowly add flour and stir to make a roux. Maybe she was remembering hours spent with her dolls or playing games on the floor. Watching her engulfed in her memories, it struck me how strongly perspective colors our lives. We stood in the same room at the same moment. I saw a run down, cramped, old cabin. She saw a home where there was love, joy . . . and, in the end, the sadness of loss. I stood silently as memory after memory washed over her. Eventually, she placed her hand gently on my arm, smiled, her eyes moist, and said quietly, "Thank you." She walked out the door turning briefly to look back. I followed. Outside, she took a deep breath and exhaled trying to recover. She wiped tears away, fanned her face with her hands, and then smiled at me again.

I swept my hand toward the small family cemetery. "So, this is your family?"

Still wiping away tears, she walked toward the headstones. "Yes, this is my mother." She was standing in front of Martha Grover's marker. She then started mashing down tall weeds next to the headstone to reveal an even smaller stone marker. "This is my father." The marker simply read

Joshua Grover

1954-1992

In a poor attempt at humor, I asked, "So you brought me here to meet your parents?"

As soon as I had spoken, I regretted it. Molly's face flushed and she stammered, "Well, I hadn't really thought of it that way."

I apologized and told her that I was trying to be funny, but I could see that she was still a bit thrown by my comment. I needed to change the subject. "So, what did you do for fun when you were a kid living here?"

Molly looked off into the trees. A smile crept across her face. "I used to play in the woods. I had great adventures. There were no other children nearby, so I had to use my imagination." She stopped and turned to me with wide eyes. "Want to see my secret castle? It might still be there."

"Sure, where is it?"

Molly began walking through the underbrush just past the cemetery. She fought her way through the shrubs and vines. As she made her way, she looked back and motioned to me. "Come on. It's this way."

I followed.

We hadn't gone far before the underbrush and trees made it impossible to see the cabin behind us. Finally, she stopped, looking carefully at the thick tangle of foliage in front of us. Then with childlike excitement she shouted, "There it is!" I blinked and looked around. I didn't see anything. At first I thought it was truly an imaginary castle. I was only partly right. A big oak tree stood before us. Molly approached the tree, stooped down, and then disappeared inside a covering of vines and underbrush. I walked around to where she had disappeared and saw that there was a small hut constructed of bent tree limbs forming an arch. The whole structure had been swallowed up and camouflaged by the forest, but the structure was solid and Molly was crouched inside.

"Very impressive," I commented. "How did you find it? I couldn't see it, and I was looking right at it."

Molly crawled out. Brushing her hands together to remove the dirt and leaves, she said, "It's really simple. You go in a straight line from the house through the headstones until you see this oak tree. The trees around here are mostly pine. This is the only big oak around here."

I looked back nervously at the now invisible cabin and said, "That makes sense, but how do you find your way back?"

Molly could see my concern and smiled. She pointed back in the general direction of the cabin. "Do you see the two pine trees that look like they're growing out of the same trunk? They form a V shape."

I looked and, sure enough, there were two tall pines that looked like a V.

"You head for that V and keep going straight. The house will soon come into view. If you miss, you'll either come to the lane or the highway and you can just double back from there." She smiled, seeming very pleased with herself. I think that she noticed my relief to have some direction. She started off and called back, "Come on. Let's get back. I've got more to show you." Again, she led and I followed.

----- Author's Note -----

The narrator's comment about perception is an important observation. He is struggling with his own perception of the past.

We see, in Molly, another person who remembers happier times in the past. Do you think there is a significance, beyond a happy memory, to Molly's castle?

If you are enjoying Dreams of the Sleepless, please vote. I welcome all comments.