Fading Desert Footprints (Complete)

'The future starts today, not tomorrow.' Pope John Paul II

I am walking in a forest that conjures up images of Frost's 'Road Not Taken', with small paths that diverge and hide behind tall Maples and scraggly Jackpines, or weave through clusters of Birch trees.

I hear both Kellys' voices, but can't understand the words. I call out to them at an intersection of three trails. I run down the left one, but then their voices come from the right.

The trails feel like a maze. I emerge onto a wide rocky beach with polished smooth stones and scattered driftwood jutting out of the ground like skeleton parts. It is evening; the sun has just ducked behind the mountains in the distance, but it is still light out.

I see a long wooden dock with a boat on the end. I catch sight of Jynx jumping into it, and I can see the long hair of Kelly and Kelly on the small craft; one is blond with a yellow t-shirt, the other brunette wearing a pink one. Their backs are to me, tall and rigid, like cardboard cut-outs.

The motor is on yet their cut-outs remain motionless. I run towards them, and call out, but the light wind carries my voice away. As I near the end of the dock, the boat leaves.

I dive into the lake. As I swim, their boat remains twenty feet away. They are still perched side by side in the middle of the boat with Jynx between them.

I start breathing heavily, and slow down. The small boat pulls away from me.

I turn, to retreat back to the dock, however it has disappeared. The dusk sky is clear, yet the beach is out of sight. I manoeuver to look for the boat but it is gone too, without a wake. I spin in the water uncertain which way to go, and, I am tired.

***

I open my eyes; it is about seven a.m. judging by the brightness, and I am exhausted, as if I had been swimming instead of sleeping.

I dismiss the meaning of the dream as another one of loss, frustration, and futility. I latch onto the idea of Kelly and Kelly riding into the sunset in a boat with Jynx, and it gives me a moment of peace.

We had several different dynamics in our family; there were all three of us as a family, but also: mother daughter, father daughter, and husband wife, each one slightly different. The dream highlighted the mother daughter, Kelly and Kelly relationship that put me on the sidelines, which was sometimes my fault, because I occasionally like to be by myself. This is the first time I am jealous of their special bond.

I think of my wife Kelly, and our daughter who was named after her.

When she was born, I had suggested attaching 'junior' to the end of her name as they do with sons. That conversation had lasted half a second.

I recall another day 20 years ago; I came home from work and called her name.

"Kelly!"

"She's out" said wife-Kelly, from the other room. I wondered how she knew, so I went to her,

"But you're right here," I lied.

She shook her head, and repeated,

"She's outside," without any pause in the flow of her knitting.

As I stare at the ceiling in bed, with the dream fresh in my mind, I hear their names echo off the walls; both Kelly, and Kelly, and they sound different. I still don't know how, but they do.

Sometime today, I have to figure out the logistics of Kelly's body. It's too early in the morning for that. I need a distraction, and then tackle it in the afternoon.

Yesterday, I promised Mel to return to my routine.

The morning Java is still bland, and I have no desire to make breakfast. My passport is in the unopened FedEx envelope that arrived yesterday; it sits in the middle of the table like a dull centrepiece.

In the fridge I spot rye bread and some eggs. The rye will be too much work; my sandwiches have utilized the larger pieces from the middle of the loaf. The small slices, plus the ends, are not worth the effort. They are technically still edible but they are destined for the compost pile once they sport a layer of green mould.

In the cupboard, I locate a box of Captain Crunch, which is enticing; its like eating a bowl of candy with milk. I have avoided that indulgence since my diet started three months ago, but I haven't forgotten that it's there. While watching TV, I can hear the Captain Crunch whisper in my ear 'I'm over here waiting for you, come grab a tiny bowl.'

The problem is, if I have the slightest taste, a feeding frenzy ensues, and I will regret it an empty box later.

I ignore the stores, as if opening the fridge and pantry door equated to eating something.

I had packed my gym bag last night; it is at the door, like a dog ready to be let out.

Outside, the world looks different, paler, and quieter; the leaves are less green, the birds less chirpy, the fall air as stale as my gym bag, instead of refreshing.