cracked mobius

I had a dream about you last night. This is probably not unusual as, though I can't remember what I dream usually, I dream what I think about and I think about you constantly. But this time I remembered it. And that was unusual. And I remembered it because the dream was unusual.

You had come back home, I suppose. Or at least we were both in a place that felt like home, although it really wasn't as the house we were in wasn't home. It didn't feel like anyone's home. It was a huge, ultra-modern, angular house, with blue siding and white trim. The driveway pavement was seamless glass-smooth white concrete. The kitchen was white with steel everywhere and track lighting. The floors were tiled with the expensive tile. The house just shined. It was a Mr. Clean commercial with us as the actors.

The house matched you. You had entered the dream different yourself. You felt like you, but you weren't. You had gelled your now blonde-highlighted hair into random spikes, applied deep blue mascara and wore bar clothes: a tight blue top and black mini. You had one of those mini purses with the straps so thin they could cut you hanging over your shoulder. And your eyes looked missing. They weren't missing themselves, but they made you look like you were missing something. Or something was missing and you wanted to leave and go find it.

For what could only have been to show off your new city self, or perhaps for some felt obligation, you held a massive dinner party for a massive number of people in your massive house. You ran around waitressing, tired, annoyed, but smiling Norma Jean press-on faces at everybody. And everybody reflected these lies temporarily before returning to their natural bitter jeering.

Through all this, I was confused. I saw the girl I loved entombed in makeup and I tried my hardest to tunnel inside. I grabbed your waist from behind and brought you close; so close that it was impossible to focus on the image and impossible to not focus on you. I could smell your hair, feel your lungs breath, your heart pump, your stomach churn. I just held on to your tense body with your arms dangling there feeling useless.

Then your rigid body slumped with a sigh. I let you go. And you were the girl I remembered again with a genuine fluoride smile. Together, we became a Mobius strip. We flowed into each other and there was only one side to us.

And the party suddenly became less confused. Cheerful. The music turned from desultory to upbeat jazz and we danced. We all danced.

But the party ended. And something undefined cut our strip, and we fell apart into two circles.

And when I left you were back into the shell of make up. So I just turned around and walked home, staring at weeds between the cracks in the pavement.

[written c1998]