Strange dream last night, beginning as dreams usually do, nowhere special. Things happened, then I found myself traveling--or maybe running?--through the night, until pink and purple streaked the sky and I realized I was on a train, heading east towards the sunrise. No one occupied the seats around me, and I sat placidly, watching the fields and dusty old roads go by.
The tracks curved and the train rose, and passed through a long, dark tunnel, a darkness that felt like the end of the world, emerging into dazzling sunlight. The tracks twisted almost vertically as the train ascended a hill, slowing at the summit, then slowing more, moving only inches at a time.
The journey seemed unlikely to continue, and I felt stranded, alone. Suddenly I heard whistling behind me--"Music, Music, Music". Turning, I saw my dad seated several rows back, dressed in his usual blue workshirt and overalls. He smiled, the train lurched and we continued, now speeding down the hill.
We approached a small town, all quaint little shops and bustling citizens, as the train slowed, then stopped. "Looks like we'll find some place to eat," Dad said.
"It's the altitude," Mom said, because suddenly she was there, too. "Food just tastes better."
The three of us climbed down the stairs and followed the crowd, Dad stopping in front of a flyer posted for a series of MGM musicals being shown at the local library. "Looks like we missed it," he said. "Good. Your mom would make us sit through it like she did with me once."
Mom smiled. "I think you enjoyed it."
Dad shrugged.
"Tell him about--" Mom began, then stopped.
I turned and saw Dad's face as he looked at her, an intensity in his eyes I'd never seen, not in him, not in anyone. He half spoke, half sang:
"The clothes you're wearing are the clothes you wore
The smile you are smiling you were smiling then
But I can't remember where or when..."
Abruptly, the dream ended, and I woke up.
It was just a dream, after all. No way anything like that could ever have happened in the real world. No way Dad would ever let his emotions be known. Hell, no way he'd even know a Rodgers and Hart song. Roger Miller, maybe...
Yet something almost as unbelievable awaited me as I began to stir from my dream. Delmar--Delmar!--snuggled under the covers with me, burrowed under my torso, his head curled down and his front paws crossed in front of his face.
Delmar, my little psychokitty, doesn't do things like this. He's always slightly detached, always somehow unknowable. Yet his love for me is never in doubt, and his rare displays of affection are somehow overwhelming.
I stirred, and Delmar trembled, then stretched, stood up and prepared to leave. I picked him up and sat him on my chest and he stood, purring, and as I stroked his back, I thought about how much I missed Dad.
Then Del, tired of attention, snapped at my fingers and hopped down, and I got out of bed and started my day.
