I Used to Have This Dream
a piece of short fiction by Tommy Paley

I used to have this dream.
Often.
I am alone.
And I’ve been walking.
Carrying my backpack, teeming with books and frisbees and loose change.
Legs tired, breathing hard, sweat dripping from the bill of my damp hat.
Exhausted.
Stumbling under the weight of the pack, of my own expectations, of impending failure.
How long I’ve been walking and where I’ve been and what I’ve seen were all questions that went unanswered.
It was a dream, afterall.
The location changed, but the dream stayed the same.
Deserted, wind-swept beaches; lush, aroma-filled forest paths; hard, concrete-jungle sidewalks.
And the constant?
Always me, always searching.
Looking.
Desperately trying to find you.
I used to have this dream.
Often.
I am not alone.
Far from it.
I am surrounded by hundreds or thousands or dozens of people.
People of different ages and ethnic backgrounds; a multicultural mass of nameless faces.
A sea of them.
And I, always in the middle, the epicenter; aching to bust out and run, but no room to move or breath.
Like sardines in a tin.
Constrained, trapped, and some other synonyms that describe how imprisoned I was in these dreams.
The location changed; but the dream stayed the same.
On a bustling downtown street, in a holiday-season shopping mall, in a first-year university lecture hall.
And the constant?
Always me, always searching.
Looking.
Desperately trying to find you.
I used to have this dream.
Often.
I am at a party.
Wishing I was elsewhere.
Friends, acquaintances, strangers drinks in hand, chips dipped, tunes blaring, chatting a mile a minute.
The place is pulsing, throbbing, beating as if alive.
And there I am, as in real life, trapped in a corner, counting the seconds until it is time to leave.
Beating myself up for not just relaxing and having fun, half wishing to be swept up in the party and half wanting to just go home.
Pretty girls everywhere, laughing, tantalizing, mocking; out of reach, yet only an arm’s distance away.
Alone while pairs and couples formed before my eyes.
The location changed, but the dream stayed the same.
The impromptu house party destined to be shut down, the night of clubbing till the break of dawn, the social gathering that took on a life of it’s own.
And the constant?
Always me, always searching.
Looking.
Desperately trying to find you.
I used to have this dream.
Often.
I am on a date with someone.
I thought it was you.
The missing link, the unsolvable puzzle, the search for the cure finally over.
Or was it?
Despite the laughing and excitement and inescapable thoughts of the future, of something big, of this being it, something just felt off.
Like a slightly-blurred photo or a painting tilted to one side or that haircut my mom gave me when I was 6.
Yet, there I was, in this dream, trying so hard.
Aching to bust out of this prison of one, wanting you with every ounce of my being, but unable to avoid the nagging voice in the back of my head.
The location changed, but the dream stayed the same.
At home after an elaborately-prepared meal, at a slightly-out-of-my-price-range restaurant, at a-little-too-soon-to-be-here double date.
And the constant?
Always me, always searching.
Looking.
Desperately trying to find you.
I used to have this dream.
Often.
I am old.
The end is near as my days and youth and life are behind me.
And, as I sit by the window, watching the world outside, I am lost in my thoughts.
Of what might have been, but never was; of what could have happened, but never did; of what nearly occurred, but didn’t, wouldn’t, won’t.
Never finding ‘the one’, you.
Scouring the planet for this person to share my life and hopes and dreams with and coming back empty-handed.
Failing in the most profound way for acceptance, for happiness, for love.
Tears slowly roll down my aged, wrinkled cheeks as my mind can’t stop dwelling on this infinitely-large hole in my heart.
The location changed, but the dream stayed the same.
Sunday evening Bingo at the senior’s home; Tuesday evening half-price matinees at the movie theatre; Friday evening walks in the spring seeing young love all around.
And the constant?
Always me, always searching.
Looking.
Desperately trying to find you.
I used to have this dream.
Often.
I met this amazing woman.
She loved me as I loved her.
I found myself knocked me off my feet on a daily basis like I had pined for and hoped for and dreamed for all my life.
That woman was you.
Finally, you.
The only difference was I wasn’t dreaming this time.
All of those dreams full of loneliness and sorrow and heartache would never come true.
After hours and days and years of closing my eyes each evening and searching for you, there you were in all of your glory.
The location changed, but the dream stayed the same.
When I proposed, at our wedding, at your side when our daughters were born.
And the constant?
Always me, always you.
Together.
I found you.

