Carpentry of Dreams

A few nights ago I had a relatively awful dream.  I'm not one for nightmares... and I don't know that I'd classify this as one... but it was vividly negative enough to leave me worried when I woke up the next morning.

Odder still are the characters starring in the dream.  Two guys from my past (one who passed away and another who was shipped off to Wisconsin), my best friend, Mary, and the friend I spoke of in the Broken Friendships entry.  A few others were sprinkled throughout, but the main focus was on this aforementioned group of people.

I'd been badly hurt by the first two men.  I'd lost a lot of blood and it was smeared all throughout the bedroom (which is where the scuffle took place).  Mary had come to find me since I'd been missing from a party that was going on downstairs (we were in some sort of mountain cabin). 

She found me covered in blood and saw the room in tatters.  She ran back into the party and came back with - of all people - my old friend.  We saw one another and weren't entirely sure what to do.  I heard Mary tell him that he needed to do something.  I, however, didn't want him to help me.  It didn't seem fair that he should help me after having been gone for so long.

In my dream, he stayed because it was the right thing to do.  He felt as awkward as I did, and we fumbled for what to say to one another.  However, after talking for a few moments, we slipped back into the familiar and comfortable friendship we once had.  I started to feel better instantly, and I sensed that he, too, began letting the awkwardness fall away.

Tentatively, I reached out to hug him.  I wanted him to understand that I held no resentment.  We hugged, but when we moved away from one another, there was blood soaking through my shirt.  I thought it was mine at first... that I'd missed a gash from the earlier fight... but I then realized that it was his.  He was bleeding, and I hadn't noticed until closing myself against him through the hug. 

I looked into his eyes, horrified that he'd kept such a wound a secret.  It was mortal, I knew it was mortal, and I was terrified that he was about to die.  Then, before I could do anything else, I woke up. 

The entire morning I couldn't shake the feeling of worry.  I admit that I get like this at times.  When a creepy or unsettling thought enters my mind, I cannot stop worrying until it's laid to rest.

So what did I do?

I called him. 

I called him even though we haven't spoken (really spoken) in years.  I called him even though I knew I'd hear disapproval from certain people.  I called him even though I had no idea what I was going to say.

He didn't pick up, so I left a voice-mail that simply sought to know that all was well.  Considering how often I've done this in the past, I figured he'd guess I'd had some sort of dream or something and needed to have my sanity satiated. 

He called back about an hour or two later.  I was building a tower of blocks with Vincent, so I wasn't able to talk long (I was the only one home with him).  However, we had almost verbatim the same awkward conversation we had in my dream.  Ha ha.  It was nice to hear his voice, especially now that I knew he wasn't dying of some imaginary slice to the chest. 

There wasn't any grand reconciliation or invitations to coffee.  I wasn't expecting any of that.  I did, however, get what I was expecting... a returned phone call and peace of mind.

Heart, too.

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