Dreams of the Sleepless

Troubled Waters

We emerged from the trees right at the little cemetery. I was amazed. Molly pulled the cooler from the car and continued walking past the cabin, calling back, "Come on." When I reached the back of the cabin, Molly was waiting. She pointed into the trees just beyond. "The trail is still here. I wasn't sure it would be."

I had never noticed it before, but there was a narrow path, overgrown in places, leading into the trees. Molly started down the trail with me following once again. After walking a short time, I noticed what sounded like the splashing and gurgling of water. As we walked, the sound grew louder. Soon, I could glimpse patches of water through the dense underbrush. We cleared the trees at the bank of a small stream.

Molly looked up and down the bank searching for something. Attracted to a large clump of high weeds by the side of the creek, she began digging through them with her hands. She called out, "Give me a hand." I wasn't sure what she was doing, much less how I could help, but I stepped up beside her. I could see that she was uncovering something green and smooth. I started pulling back the weeds and underbrush that covered it. As we worked, it became apparent that it was the hull of some type of boat. More work revealed that it was a canoe flipped upside down in the weeds. After a bit more work, we were able to free it from the grasp of the creek bank weeds. Molly grabbed one end and told me to grab the other and flip it over.

Mud fell from the sides, and bugs scattered as we turned the canoe upright. It was obvious this was home for a number of insects. There were two wooden oars mashed into the mud below where the canoe had rested. They were gray and weathered. Molly scooped them up out of the muck and dipped them into the creek to wash away the mud.

Looking over the hull of the canoe, she announced. "I think it's still in one piece. Let's give it a try." Memories of the nightmare were still fresh, and I wasn't crazy about being anywhere near water, but I pressed on grasping the canoe tightly to subdue the tremors that were playing havoc with my hands.

We dragged the canoe over to a flat area of the bank and partly into the water. I helped Molly as she stepped into the canoe and moved to the other end. The cooler went in next. I pushed the canoe into the water, jumping in as it cleared the bank. We slid along the water like butter gliding across a hot griddle. Molly sat in the bow and I sat behind her. She pointed downstream saying, "Let's go this way." We slowly plunged our oars into the water in unison. I could hear the splash of the oars as we pushed ahead.

As we navigated the small creek, Molly took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, "I love this place. When I was young, I spent a lot of time out on this creek." She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at me. "I know it's silly, but I imagined myself floating downstream past large, old plantation homes, towns and large cities with tall buildings gleaming in the sunlight, large ships carrying passengers to faraway lands, golden beaches and then into the deep, crystal blue ocean." She was no longer paddling but looked off into the distance as if she could see her childhood dreams just beyond the bend in the creek downstream. I stopped paddling as well.

Molly turned around in her seat to face me. My continued discomfort must have been visible because she asked if I was all right. I nodded. "Water makes me a bit uncomfortable. I know some people who have had bad experiences." She nodded knowingly, but I don't think she could fathom the depth of the fear.

She related the story of a friend who nearly drowned while fishing. "She was never able to go out in a boat after that. For her, water became something dark and sinister."

I could see her struggling with this last statement and then she spoke, "Isn't it funny how the water led me to dreams of travel, golden sandy beaches, and the deep blue ocean, and water led her to nightmares of drowning and death?" I could tell that this contradiction had never crossed her mind before, and she was still trying to grasp it. She stared over the edge of the canoe at her own reflection in the rippling water and then it struck her. "It's not the water that's good or evil. It simply reflects our inner dreams, wonderful or dreadful." There was a moment of silence and then Molly spoke but she was back in our world. "When I was a child, this stream was a magical path to far off adventure. Now, when I look at it, all I see is a brown and murky creek. I guess dreams are for children."