Troubled dreams

The house on Avenue Z, and all that happened there, played such an important role during my years growing up. I can still vividly recall the details of the house and yard -- more so than any of the houses my parents, brothers and I lived in during that time. Looking back, 212 must have been a touchstone for my mom, and I guess my brothers and I (and maybe many other cousins) felt calm and secure there. It was safe. It was a shelter. If things were rocky at home, we knew we could run to 212 where all would be better. It was more than a house. It was a haven.

As happens when time passes, neighborhoods change. It happened in Pratt City. During my college years the aunts decided MomP and Gindaddy should move. The house was old. My grandparents were aging. The neighborhood was declining. So a committee of aunts, one uncle, and several older cousins decided where my grandparents should move. I was away at school when the move occured so I wasn't involved, but I can't imagine how they went through the accumulation of a life time. I remember hearing that they had a local junk dealer come and pick up all the dark mahogany, oversized furniture -- along with those well-remembered chifferobes. The ones no one wanted at the time. The ones I would love to own now.

So it was that I never had a chance to say good-bye to the house on Avenue Z. I was so busy with my life that I don't remember being bothered by this -- at the time. But, as the years wore on things started to change. Time and again I found my thoughs traveling back through the years, back to Pratt City. And I started having dreams. Dreams about going back to 212 Avenue Z. And the dreams were dark and troubling. This surprised me because all my memories are good and comforting.

Here are the details I remember of a dream I had more than once: I was old enough to drive myself up (or rather down the street) to the house. I parked in front of the house and got out. As I walked up to the steps I saw MomP standing on the front porch -- smiling and waiting for me. I started up the steps confused because even in my dream I knew MomP was dead. When I climbed the stairs to the porch I saw Gindaddy standing in the front door. More confusion because I was aware he was dead, too. I walked inside, very confused, yet hoping it was somehow true, and thinking how much I would love to feel their hugs once again.

It was dark inside the house and I couldn't see well, but I knew I was trying to make my way back to the kitchen. Here again I was aware that the house was different. It was too dark. Too unreal -- sort of. But....I wanted so much to get to the kitchen. I was excited thinking how, maybe, I could be with my grandparents again in real life. I wanted this so much. I knew they were gone, but there was this hope in me that was so real.

The dream ended as I walked into the eeriely dark -- empty -- kitchen.

I have no idea what meaning to attach to the dream. And I have no idea why it chose this unseasonably warm, muggy, windy day to trouble my thoughts.