The Ocean's Floor
Dreamed c.1986 by Cheryl Fish
In the dream I ride in the front seat of a canoe, which has materialized with you. We pass swamp magnolias, sweet smelling pink flowers that grow by the sides of swamps or rivers that resemble them. This river was once the ocean's floor you say as I tum to you. That explains why only pines can grow here, why the earth is so thin and sandy. You offer me nothing that cannot be mistaken for human interest.
My hands pull my hair and my legs tap dance to an imaginary radio. The best rock stations are in Boston, we agree and I race my mind with thoughts of boldness I once took with you, we made love and I never saw you again.
I am on the beach when I awaken, my little radio blaring a barely discernible hum-combing static. I had promised myself no sleeping on the beach, no self-analysis, knowing full well the sun would slow me, sand would cushion, wind and water shake my head and narrow in, showing me to my backpack of a pillow. Sure enough. My hands push myself up and a fresh impact of the dream forces. Your face, a sliding van door, soft whistle and my careless smile searching.
A man parades the dry white sand 10 feet from me. He holds a machine that scuttles, like a walking vacuum cleaner. It clicks; he bends. I see him turning up a glinting coin.
He combs the beach for money. Dropped ice cream change, buried nickels and dimes spilled from blankets and bags, dollar bills that slipped from their positions as bookmarks. He sees me watch him, he moves slowly, thoroughly over every inch. His dark mustache droops, his pants are hiked up too high, he glares.
I have brought nothing to read on purpose. Taking a day off midweek to find quiet, which does not exist. The ocean thickens its voice as it forces itself up shore. In the dream I wanted to jump from the boat. I stood up quickly, shaking the canoe from side to side. You steadied it and rose slowly, then climbed to the center and grabbed for me. To keep me in the boat, I was supposed to stay in the boat. You eased me down but didn't hold me, no letting my nearness tinge you, no leaning to feel my deepening breath. You steady me, release me.
The man with the money does well. Everytime his machine registers, his pants bob up higher, his tongue reaches toward his mustache. I almost relocate to escape him but soon he is out of my way.
I am elastic in the way I can shape this dream's memory. Why I feel something strong for you after a year of forgetting, puzzles me. My legs unbend, elongating past my towel; my head lies down again.
SOURCE: Dreamworks: an Interdisciplinary Quarterly (v.5, no.1, 1986, p.15)
EDITOR'S NOTE
Is this just a dream of regret? Or could it be failure analysis? I wasn't sure what to make of:
In the dream I wanted to jump from the boat. I stood up quickly, shaking the canoe from side to side. You steadied it and rose slowly, then climbed to the center and grabbed for me. To keep me in the boat, I was supposed to stay in the boat. You eased me down but didn't hold me, no letting my nearness tinge you, no leaning to feel my deepening breath. You steady me, release me.He acts protective, but his touch seems cool. He seems to want smooth sailing from their relation-ship, where she wants passion--diving in. Maybe I'm over-interpreting here... but then, he said it's sandy & barren because it was once ocean floor; only "pines" can grow. I suspect a pun on "pining"--since Cheryl's still pining even a year later. But maybe his soil was too thin to sustain more.
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