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Their Hearts In Mine

Caged Loss

By Isaac Haldeman Published 3 years ago Updated 2 years ago 7 min read
3
”That isn’t what love looks like.”

I had the oddest dreams as a child. I even had a few that were reoccurring. One reoccurs to this day.

I recently called an old friend who has a knack for “dream interpretation.” She’s also a therapist. Not my thing…at all.

^The Dream…

I am stuck in a world fashioned for giants. Like Jack and The Bean Stalk but with no magic beans or holes in the clouds to escape through. I always end up in some kind of cage or pin, as some prized possession. The giants, just a normal old couple, never try to harm me and only show aggression in the form of overbearing love. They desire to keep me close to them. Once I’m caged they place me on a shelf, then they sit down and dote upon me. Giant eyes who’s gaze I can’t escape, but want to.

There is something else in the dream with me. A dark green light is all I can see down this long hallway. The light is telling me to stay away. I get the feeling something is looking to eat me up down there. Sometimes I hear what can only be described as the howles of a beast. It’s the only place I never venture to explore in the dream. I do however always stop to consider going down toward the light…that’s when I get snatched up. You’d think I’d learn by now.

*My Life…

I finally matched with a woman who could keep up with my purposefully cryptic, off putting bio and initial texts.

An example “I’ve grown…to be more. More…homicidal than suicidal…and I am very, very easily offended.”

She responded… “Can I be Clyde… and you be Bonnie? I’ll let you drive…and I’ll hold Tommy.”

I meet her tonight at the place I always dreamed to take a woman, Cœur, a French Resturant where my father met my mother, on their first date. I did the math. This was also the night I was conceived. Weird.

I am not overly romantic and it may seem a tad drastic to take a woman I just met, (FaceTimed,) to the place my parents started and my creation had begun.

But.

There is something about her. Something safe. Her name is Luz. I looked up what her name means…and it’s beautiful. I need some light in my life.

Also…life can be shorter than we expect it be. I have the scars to prove it. I bet she ask about my scars right away. I hope she does.

I picked the perfect table with the view my father often described.

“As I sat there awaiting your mother, (he coolly smoked cigarettes as he’d tell the story), I could see the eloquent broad bar, covered by the most beautiful tarnished brass roof. Ah, The lights made the brass look like molten gold. The ceilings were at least 20 feet high so you can really dream in a place like that. The winding,(he gestures to his right), staircase that lead up to a few tucked away lover’s booths. Then. (He masterfully drags from the cigarette). There she was coming in through the front entrance...it was clear in my view and I knew I’d see her first. (Taps ash into bowl). I wanted that son. To see her first. Those few moments before we made eyes. Those last few moments before she held the gaze of these knowing eyes. Sometimes you simply know things. Son, you just know.”

I’m in his seat. The front entrance is clear in my view. The bar, the gold, the secret lovers booths. The vantage point I possess makes me remember my Father. Looking down at my hands on the table reminds me how he could occupy the whole room with his presence. Can’t smoke in doors anymore but I mime a few puffs to set my mood.

I’m nervous. He never mentioned if he was nervous or not. Just that he knew.

My dream^/My life…*

Sometimes those odd dreams pop into my head while I’m awake. My rich mind’s eye will generously allows me to see through my seeing eyes while putting a full “Lawrence of Arabia” sized cinematic experience in my head.

I obviously have control in these lucid states but I prefer to let the dream lead on, while I “yes, and?!” after it.

“Life is improv after all”, Mother always said.

I am both awaiting my date and laying in a pile of giant sized hay avoiding my capture.

*I cup my wine in my hand and watch it swirl in scarlet, smooth motion.

^I hear the thunderings of my elderly captors and them telling me they want to hold and kiss me.

*I see two lovers rise along the ornate spiral hand rail to one of the booths.

^I skid low on the wooden floor boards to duck away from wrinkely hands trying to snatch me up.

*The click of the clock stops, and there she is. Bright green dress reflecting the entrance lights like a beacon. Luz glows green. Her jet black hair flows like a quiet storm.

^There I am at the hallway. The Dark green light telling me to stay away.

*Luz is in a green dress and I am telling her, please come near.

^I dart down toward that repelling light.

*Her brown eyes scan the room as I relish these moments. “Dad, I know. I know.” Her eyes find mine and her broad smile flashes...

^I squeezed under the door that holds the source of the light. I freeze in terror.

Now I should mention what my friend with the knack told me. “The old couple is your parents that never aged past their 40’s. You wish you could have them here with you. You know they loved you but you want then so badly back you feel inprisoned by longing.” Not. My. Thing. But, it feels accurate.

*She sits. How did she get to the table so quickly? “The getaway car is parked out back.” She says with a voice like music. I stand up and step toward her and stop. “I love your scars Bonnie. Tell me the story behind them.”

“I love your commitment to comedy Clyde. I will tell you the story, although it may ruin your night”

“Try me mister.”

I can’t stop myself…I hug her…hold her. She holds me back. RUSH. A rush fills my body. We let go and…I KNOW she KNOWS too.

^There is a beast in the room. A heart with glowing green eyes with long thin yellow teeth that look like prison bars. It screams as it runs toward me with its cage wide open. I can’t move. The hearts movement feels like mine.

*we both sit down and just look at each other. Speechless. How is this happening? Am I dreaming?

^It bites down and again I am a locked up bird. The beast doesn’t speak but I feel it’s weight of longing as I sit in my cell. It whimpers now that it contains me. I feel it beat as my chest beats. My face feels like warming wax fixing to melt as my eyes fill with tears. I want to scream but I can’t even make a peep.

*I pour her a glass of wine…then I tell her a bit about my parents. I think to risk telling her about the table we sit at, but I figure I’ll tell her that story after. After an annaverary. This must be a dream.

“They were both the best people I could ever hope to meet in life. So different from one another but so deeply knit together. I’ll always miss them and wish they were still here.”

“Those scars were from a car crash?”

“A man feel asleep at the wheel. I later learned he had two kids. Single father. He survived and I am so happy he did. My parents are too. My father once told me a story about how hard his father had to work to keep them afloat. They are from Argentina. They came to New York with less than dust in their pockets. So I know my parents would have sympathy for this man. Life is improv. My mother would always say this when we were surprised by life’s circumstances and she had many oppurtinties in to pivot and dance.”

“You have a nice way of speaking Mister Dante…I lost my Brother in a boating accident. I was 16. He was 17. My parents still have not fully recovered.”

“I was 17. We’re some pair huh?”

^In that’s moment I look down and in my hand is a key. I put it onto a key hole…and then the teeth open wide enough for me to slip out of the heart. The beast was no beast after all. It is my love. The love that feels trapped inside of me. I cry for myself and as I do the heart shrinks down to the size of a small precious stone. I bend down and pick it up then place it in my pocket.

“This place has so much room to dream in. I bet we could never fill it up.”

She says this as she looks into my eyes. Her beautiful brown eyes. Those knowing brown eyes.

“I bet we could.”

“Pinch me…because I think I am dreaming now!”

“Let’s not risk waking.”

Short Story
3

About the Creator

Isaac Haldeman

NYC

I enjoy stories and telling them.

I’m the rich father before I am the poor artist.

Working on a novel. Why is it so hard?! ;)

@isaachaldeman

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