I had a disturbing dream about the one we called Anastasia. At least, in the dream her name was Anastasia (or Anastasia’s real name, I should say). When I woke, I realized she looked nothing like Anastasia. Tall and lean, a mix of Latin and black-Cuban, with a crazed mane of almost-dreadlocked hair and bright green-gray eyes. This wasn’t Anastasia, it was Andi. Or rather, Andi as a character called “Marie” in a short story I wrote some years back.
We kissed, this dream version of Andi / Anastasia / Marie and I. Lying side by side on a huge couch, fully clothed, much like the first kiss Andi and I shared on her parent’s couch in 1993. Except in the dream, my heart wasn’t in it.
This wasn’t a what if dream where your significant other doesn’t exist; I was fully aware of Becky the entire time. I felt no heat. This kiss felt wrong, like a violation, but I went through the motions anyway.
The guilt was compounded by waking up curled around my love, my Cleopatra, my Becky.
I moved to the computer but couldn’t write, which is how I usually wrap my mind around problems. This dream couldn’t be more obvious. I have moved on from my marriage, the court date is set, but I still have some unresolved emotions. The end of my marriage still hurts, and I should figure out why. Becky and I have moved quickly, and I need to acknowledge my smidge of doubt (not about her, of course, but myself).
For some reason, I got it in my head that Andi should pick me up and drive me to the court hearing where we will be finally divorced. Maybe we’ll even have breakfast afterward. That way, if there are things to be said, we can. Closure, they call it, if such a thing exists outside of wishful thinking.
I also think the dream is telling on another level; I’m done going through the motions of love. When I look in Becky’s eyes, it’s like drowning in happiness, lust, chocolate - a welcome, joyous flood of sweetness and death. Like writing, it’s those moments when I feel the presence of God in my life and know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
If you lose that feeling, it’s time to move on.