Fading Desert Footprints (Complete)

'Rare as is true love, true friendship is rarer.' Jean de la Fontaine

I am dreaming; Kelly is seven, and beside me on the sidewalk on Younge Street. I recall that she is supposed to be 21, and dead, but I'm willing to believe  that this is real.

It is a comfortably warm day, which has coaxed rush hour pedestrians into the open air. The bad weather alternative is threading through nineteen miles of an interconnected underground mall that can get you anywhere in downtown Toronto, like a mole.

We are in front of Baskin Robbins.

"The usual?" I offer. She nods quickly, her blond curls jumping on her shoulders like popcorn. We enter, and I walk to the counter,

"Two waffle cones, one almond pistachio and chocolate, the other napoleon and tiger tail."

The tiger tail comes first. I turn to hand it to her, but she's not beside me. I scan the store, but it is empty. The sidewalk is packed; however, I spot her pink shoes among the feet outside, and watch it disappear past the window front.

I sprint out the shop, yet I don't see her. I run to the corner, and turn right. The sidewalk is empty. I look in all other directions, and the streets are all desolate, like an apocalypse movie. There are no people, and no cars. The city is eerily silent.

"Kelly!" I yell out to the empty air, my voice echoing off the buildings as if they are trying to help me call her name.

I run the few steps back to Baskin Robbins, and it is dark, closed, and locked. I don't know which way to go, and am gasping for air as if drowning.

I take out my cell and rapidly punch 911. I listen expectantly, but nothing happens. I realize I hadn't pressed 'send' which I promptly do. Still no response, and I find out I had accidentally pressed 922. I cancel and dial again, however my shaking thick fingers are clumsy and I can't hit the buttons properly. My heart is racing. I take a deep breath, and press the numbers slowly, yet I still hit the '8' instead of '9'.

I wake up in my chair under a sweaty blanket, my heart still thumping like a jackhammer.

***

I don't know the time or day; I think Officer Johnson came by yesterday, but I'm not sure. I lean forward trying to leave the dream in the back of the chair. My posture in it has caused a dull ache in my lower back. As I move, I hear, and feel, the clicks and clacks of bones and cartilage slipping into their slots; yet, there is one stubborn lingering pain. I twist and turn hoping to find the right angle to pop it into place, like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

Yesterday was a blur after the officer left. This dream with Kelly pushed the Jynx one to the back of my mind. I had forgotten to eat yesterday, but I am still not hungry.

If dreams are messages, the 'Kelly ice-cream' one seems obvious; a fear of losing someone, the helplessness of not being able to do anything, and the frustration of the inability to dial 911. Maybe a negligent father too? I should have never let her go overseas.

The coincidence of the cat dream disturbs me, because of the new connection that they are both deceased.

I cope with my fear of death by thinking lightly of it. In my ideal world, death would be personified as a character in a D.C. comic book, blunted by a sense that it is 'made up'; a step away from reality, as if we only pretend it exists.

I check my phone; no message. I recall having spent hours yesterday staring at the phone, holding on to the fine hair of hope that the last page of the death comic book is a message from Kelly, and the whole thing would be explained after Batman's 'WAM' and 'KAPOW' in a text, and then she would be safe as death gets escorted to Gotham jail.